WITH THE STorY TELLERS

Then Rory Ogue was called upon
As he had travelled far,

And knew the moats, and raths and forts,
From Howth Head to Kilgar.

The seanachie then took the chair
Surrounded by a crowd,

And thus commenced to talk to them
In accents clear and loud.

Knockgraffon’s rich in fairy tales,
And stories quaint and old,
And Knockshigowna’s fairy hill
Does many a legend hold;
Despite of all Kilfeakle’s moat
Could beat them both hands down,
Where the Goblin Queen was often seen
Trailing a satin gown,
And in her hand a silver wand,
On her head a golden crown.

Though I was deemed a plucky youth
With robust manhood blest;

The fairies of Kilfeakle
Oft put it to the test.

While working in a quarry
Out on the Cashel road,

Our powder was so very damp
That it would not explode.

They sent me back to town that night
To get a fresh supply;

I took some liquor while up there
As I was feeling dry;

Then felt like some wild Indian
Upon the warpath bent;

To beat whoever crossed my path,
Was fully my intent.

The night was dark and sultry,
I was in a fighting mood,

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