O, father dear I oftimes hear you speak of Erin´s Isle

Her lofty scenes, her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild

They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell

So why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell

My son, I loved my native land with energy and pride

Till a blight came over all my crops and my sheep and cattle died

The rents and taxes were to pay and I could not them redeem

And that´s the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen

´Tis well I do remember that bleak November (/December) day

When the bailiff and the landlord came to drive us all away

They set the roof on fire with their cursed English spleen

And that´s another reason why I left old Skibbereen

Your mother, too, God rest her soul, lay on the snowy ground

She fainted in her anguishing seeing the desolation round

She never rose, but passed away from life to immortal dreams

And that´s another reason why I left old Skibbereen

Then sadly I recall the days of gloomy forty-eight.

I rose in vengeance with the boys to battle again´ fate.

We were hunted through the mountains as traitors to the queen,

And that, my boy, is the reason why I left old Skibbereen.

Oh you were only two years old and feeble was your frame

I could not leave you with my friends for you bore your father´s name

So I wrapped you in my cóta mór at the dead of night unseen

And I heaved a sigh and I said goodbye to dear old Skibbereen

well father dear, the day will come when on vengeance we will call

And Irishmen both stout and tall will rally unto the call

I´ll be the man to lead the van beneath the flag of green

And loud and high we´ll raise the cry, "Revenge for Skibbereen!"

[*]  La imagen procede de la serie de grabados "Skibbereen 1847"  que fueron editados por The Illustrated London News  en 1847