A Poem Written In Time Of Trouble By An Irish Priest Who Had Taken Orders In France

The pipes of our organs are broken

Our harps have lost their strings that were tuned

That might have made the great lamentations of Ireland

Until the strong men come back across the sea

There is no help for us but bitter crying,

Screams, and beating of hands, and calling out.

I do not know of anything under the sky

That is friendly or favourable to the Gael

But only the sea that our need brings us to,

Or the wind that blows to the harbour

The ship that is bearing us away from Ireland;

And there is reason that these are reconciled with us,

For we increase the sea with our tears

And the wandering wind with our sighs.