You bards alive around Kilmore, wherever you may be
Or anyone that does belong unto our diocese.
Likewise you sons of Grannia these lines I will pen down
Concerning a big meeting, once held in Cavan town.
When Grannias Sons wore green cocrades[?]
Her daughters dressed in white
Their lonesome cries, would rend the skies
Hurrah for Tenants Rights.
Twas at the hour of one oclock, a speaker took the chair
A gentleman of noble birth, brave Councillor Maguire
His pedigree, you'd plainly see, would strike a Tory dumb,
His ancestors were owners once of Florencecourt & Cron
His ancestors were owners, I can't relate them all
But his forefather was once the Rí that ruled in Tara's Hall.
A clergyman next took the chair, I must relate his name
He was Father Pat OReilly from the parish of Drumlane.
And if Irishmen were all like him, it's plain for to be seen,
We'd have back our Irish parliament to shine in College Green
and as the sun sank in the sky, the truth I do declare
Those gentlemen resigned their seats, for home they did prepare
The plot being marked by Orangemen, throughout the north at large
And Drumalaor was picked, her powder to discharge.
Twas the will of providence young Morton had to die
May the angels guard his soul, for the Lord, Who rules on high
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