Rising of the Moon

 

Something for the weekend.  I am in a disgusted mood at the papal events of this week, and when I am in such a mood it is time for a little Irish rebel music, and nothing fits the bill better than The Rising of the Moon.  The song, written around 1865, celebrates the Irish rising of 1798, when Protestant and Catholic Irishmen, with the help of a small French invasion force, launched a rebellion, probably the largest and most hard fought revolt against English rule in the history of Ireland.  Like all such Irish revolts, except for the last one, it was defeated and drowned in blood.  However, the Irish have ever celebrated their defeats even more than their victories, and The Rising of the Moon is a fitting tribute.

Oh! then tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, Tell me why you hurry so?”

 “Hush ma bouchal, hush and listen”, And his cheeks were all a-glow.

“I bear ordhers from the captain, Get you ready quick and soon,

For the pikes must be together At the risin’ of the moon”.

At the risin’ of the moon, at the risin’ of the moon,

For the pikes must be together at the risin’ of the moon.

“Oh! then tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, Where the gatherin’ is to be?”

“In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me.

 One word more—for signal token Whistle up the marchin’ tune,

 With your pike upon your shoulder, By the risin’ of the moon”.

 By the risin’ of the moon, by the risin’ of the moon,

With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin’ of the moon.

Out from many a mudwall cabin Eyes were watching thro’ that night,

 Many a manly chest was throbbing For the blessed warning light.

 Murmurs passed along the valleys Like the banshee’s lonely croon,

 And a thousand blades were flashing At the risin’ of the moon.

At the risin’ of the moon, at the risin’ of the moon,

And a thousand blades were flashing at the risin’ of the moon.

There beside the singing river That dark mass of men was seen,

Far above the shining weapons Hung their own beloved green.

 “Death to ev’ry foe and traitor! Forward! strike the marchin’ tune,

 And hurrah, my boys, for freedom! ‘T is the risin’ of the moon”.

 ‘T is the risin’ of the moon, ‘t is the risin’ of the moon,

 And hurrah my boys for freedom! ‘t is the risin’ of the moon.

Well they fought for poor old Ireland, And full bitter was their fate

(Oh! what glorious pride and sorrow Fill the name of Ninety-Eight).

Yet, thank God, e’en still are beating Hearts in manhood’s burning noon,

Who would follow in their footsteps, At the risin’ of the moon!

 At the rising of the moon, at the risin’ of the moon,

Who would follow in their footsteps, at the risin’ of the moon.

More to explorer

8 Comments

  1. Donald,
    .
    I would imagine that a majority of orthodox devout Catholics are as disgusted as you. But God wins in the end. Why He has permitted this man Jorge Bergoglio to occupy the Papal Seat we may never know in this life. But God’s sovereign will will always be accomplished. As for the occupier of the Papal Seat, Ezekiel 34:1-10 comes to mind.

  2. One of my favorite songs arising from the ’98 rising tells the story of Fr. John Murphy who led a local uprising in the West and was brutally executed for his troubles.
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnXwFl3pGDc

    At Boolavogue, as the sun was setting
    O’er the bright May meadows of Shelmalier,
    A rebel hand set the heather blazing
    And brought the neighbours from far and near.
    Then Father Murphy, from old Kilcormack,
    Spurred up the rocks with a warning cry;
    “Arm! Arm!” he cried, “For I’ve come to lead you,
    For Ireland’s freedom we fight or die.”

    He led us on against the coming soldiers,
    And the cowardly Yeomen we put to flight;
    ‘Twas at the Harrow the boys of Wexford
    Showed Booky’s Regiment how men could fight.
    Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
    Search ev’ry kingdom where breathes a slave,
    For Father Murphy of the County Wexford
    Sweeps o’er the land like a mighty wave.

    We took Camolin and Enniscorthy,
    And Wexford storming drove out our foes;
    ‘Twas at Sliabh Coillte our pikes were reeking
    With the crimson stream of the beaten Yeos.
    At Tubberneering and Ballyellis
    Full many a Hessian lay in his gore;
    Ah, Father Murphy, had aid come over
    The green flag floated from shore to shore!

    At Vinegar Hill, o’er the pleasant Slaney,
    Our heroes vainly stood back to back,
    And the Yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy
    And burned his body upon the rack.
    God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy
    And open heaven to all your men;
    The cause that called you may call tomorrow
    In another fight for the Green again.

  3. Great Irish rebel song, here’s another:

    I was born on a Dublin street where the Royal drums do beat
    And the loving English feet they tramped all over us,
    And each and every night when me father’d come home tight
    He’d invite the neighbors outside with this chorus:

    Oh, come out ye Black and Tans,
    Come out and fight me like a man
    Show your wives how you won medals down in Flanders
    Tell them how the IRA made you run like hell away,
    From the green and lovely lanes in Killashandra.

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