There is
also a traditional Irish song entitled, The
Glens of Aherlow which originated as a
ballad written by Irish republican Charles
Joseph Kickham (1828-1882). It was first printed
in The Kilkenny Journal, Kilkenny, on 7
October 1857, the writer using the pseudonym
"Darby Ryan, Junior".
The song
is based on the true story of a young ex-soldier
from the Glen of Aherlow named Patrick Sheehan
who was blinded at the Siege of Sevastopol.
Sheehan was later jailed in 1857 for begging in
Grafton Street, Dublin, his British army pension
having expired after six months. Due to the
publicity arising from this case, the British
government was shamed into inquiring about
Sheehan, to whom a life pension of a shilling a
day was granted.
Lyrics
My name is Patrick Sheehan,
and my years are thirty-four;
Tipperary is my native place, not far from
Galtymore;
I came of honest parents, but now they're lying
low;
Though' many's the pleasant days we spent in the
Glen of Aherlow.
My father died; I closed his eyes, outside the
cabin door;
For the landlord and the sheriff too, were there
the day before,
And then my lovin' mother, and my sisters three,
also,
Were forced to go with broken hearts, from the
Glen of Aherlow
For three long months, in search of work, I
wandered far and near;
I then went to the poorhouse to see my mother
dear;
The news I heard near broke my heart, but still
in all my woe,
I blessed the friends who made their graves in
the Glen of Aherlow.
Bereft of home and kith and kin, with plenty all
around,
I starved within my cabin, and slept upon the
ground;
But cruel as my lot was, I never did hardship
know,
Till I joined the English army, far away from
Aherlow.
Rouse up there," cried the corporal, "Ya lazy
Irish hound!
Why don't you hear the bugle, its call to arms
to sound?"
I found I had been dreaming of the days long,
long ago,
And I woke upon Sebastopol, and not in Aherlow
I tried to find my musket, how dark I thought
the night!
O blessed God! It wasn't dark, it was the broad
daylight!
And when I found that I was blind, my tears
began to flow,
And I longed for even a pauper's grave in the
Glen of Aherlow.
A poor neglected mendicant, I wander Dublin's
streets
My nine months' pension it being out, I beg from
all I meet;
As I joined my country's tyrants, my face I can
never show,
Amongst my dear old neighbors in the Glen of
Aherlow.
So Irish youths, dear countrymen, take heed in
what I say;
For if you join the English ranks, you'll surely
rue the day
And whenever you're tempted, a-soldiering to go.
Remember poor
blind Sheehan from the Glen of Aherlow
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