School: Clochar

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   "They named you Gypsy - You were no such thing, But Irish as the soil where rests your head. A king! Ay sure! and every inch a king, And now you're dead. "The roving blood of Scythia is in your veins, The hedge your shelter, and the hearth your bed. Who'll fill your vacant place or who remains, Now that you're dead? "Not one remains can take on or keep your place, Your Caste's romance with you last chief is sped, But broken brúscar is your age old race Since you are dead. "Remote from you the cant of knaves and tools, Their shams and formulas in falsehood bred, Their pharisaical [?] and their rules. Pity you're dead. "The mountain man will caoin departed days when he beholds your tribe by seafóids led, He'll trill no more to your great Gaelic Phrase, His grief your dead. "Rest light on his bones Leag's Ancient sod. And Christ, who had not where to lay your head, Remember not his faults dear son of God and Mother Mary pray for all the dead."

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   Topics

   1. agents (~1)
      1. people by social grouping
         1. travellers (~3,023)

   Language

   English

   Collector

   Micheál Ó Gealbháin

   Gender

   Male