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The song "My Love: The O'Rahilly"

The Cork songwriter Mary Buckley-Clarke wrote a song about The O'Rahilly, "My Love: The O'Rahilly", in 2006.
The song is in the voice of The O'Rahilly's wife, Nancy Brown, mourning his loss in 1916.

"My Love: The O'Rahilly" (2006).

Credits

Song and lyrics reproduced here with the kind permission of Mary Buckley-Clarke.
All rights reserved. Unauthorised reproduction prohibited.
Lyrics by Mary Buckley-Clarke.
Music by Cliff Wedgbury (also here).
Sung by Marie O'Neill.
The CD may be purchased from Mary Buckley-Clarke,

Cork, (087) 699-5321.

Notes

The song was first played publicly on Failte Isteach, RTE Radio 1, 7th October 2006 (jump to 36:12).
There is one bit of poetic licence. It says O'Rahilly "Drove off down Herbert Road". The author says: "Just to confirm, the Herbert Rd is in fact Poetic Licence. I know it was 40 Herbert Park, but Park, with its vocal sound does not flow so well."

Lyrics

Fitzgerald called, he woke you.
The day I feared had come.
A loving hug, a final kiss,
Then Michael, you were gone.
I did not think of pleading,
Allegiance made you go,
With mustered guns all loaded
Drove off down Herbert Road.
For who can hold a candle
To patriotism's grip?
Or think of counting time back
When the mainspring starts to slip?
No power on earth could hold you,
Claimed it was your right.
'For you who helped to wind the clock
Must stay to hear it strike'
I recall the days of Asgard,
Your work, the plots and plans.
The downfall of poor Casement,
Another selfless man!
The time not of your making,
The Great War made it right,
Misjudged their time of rising,
Your honour forced the fight.
They tried to spare my grieving.
They brought your tender notes.
Mere whispers of your loving,
Small relics, treasured most.
Bemused by all the torment,
Believed our love supreme,
Small comfort that your paramour,
A country and her dream.
In sleep I saw Slieve Luachra,
Could hear your lilting song.
In tears I woke tormented,
Knew Darling then, you'd gone.
Fatherless our children,
With one as yet unborn.
Heartbroken, I a widow
Grim cost of freedom's dawn!
They saved your dying letter
Scrawled out at your last breath.
Self-styled as "The O'Rahilly"
Blood christened thus at death.
The only one to fall that week.
Had named it 'A Good Fight'
My love, who helped to wind the clock,
Had died to hear it strike
My love, who helped to wind the clock,
Had died to hear it strike

The O'Rahilly's dramatic entry at 40 Herbert Park in [Thom's, 1914].

"I am keeping well, but find it hard to start life again."
Letter from Nancy O'Rahilly to Mabel FitzGerald, after her husband's death in 1916.
Desmond FitzGerald papers. UCDA P80/1608(2). Online here.

See The O'Rahilly and Memorials to The O'Rahilly.