O Beirne's Mary AnnI
You may talk about race horses,
That ran in ancient days.
Your black ones and your white ones,
Your chestnut and steelgreys,
But I sing of one grey mare,
The pride of Erin's shore,
She belonged to John O Beirne,
In the parish of Kilmore.
The celebrated racer that lately,
Took the sway.
From the Elpin thorough bred.
We're told she ran away.
She led them round from pole to pole.
Along the grassy plain,
With Boyling spurring in their rear.
And not one inch could gain.
Just like a hare before a hound,
Around the course She ran,
Some shouted it was Kirkwoods doe was first,
(leanann ar an chéad leathanach eile)
- Joseph Rhatigan
- (ní thugtar ainm)