The Boys of Barr na Sraide

O the town it climbs the mountain and looks upon the sea

And sleeping time or waking time ’tis there I long to be

To walk again that kindly street, the place I grew a man

With the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.

With cudgels stout we roamed about to hunt for the dreoilín.

We searched for birds in every furze from Letter to Dooneen.

We sang for joy beneath the sky; life held no print or plan

And we boys in Barr na Sráide went hunting for the wran.

And when the hills were bleeding and the rifles were aflame

To the rebel homes of Kerry those Saxon strangers came

But the men who dared the Auxies and who fought the Black and Tans

Were the boys in Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.

So here’s a toast to them tonight, those lads who laughed with me

By the groves of Carhan River or the slopes of Beenatee

John Dawley and Batt Andy and the Sheehans Con and Dan

And the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.

But now they toil on foreign soil where they have gone their way

Deep in the heart of London town or over in Broadway

And I am left to sing their deeds and to praise them while I can

Those boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran

And when the wheel of life runs down and when peace comes over me

O lay me down in that old town between the hills and sea

I’ll take my sleep in those green fields the place my life began

Where the boys of Barr na Sráide went hunting for the wran.

(Sigerson Clifford 1913-1985)