The Rachray Man

OCH, what was it got me at all that time

To promise I’d marry a Rachray man?

An’ now he’ll not listen to rason or rhyme,

He ’s striving to hurry me all that he can.

‘Come on, an’ ye be to come on!’ say he,

‘Ye’re bound for the Island to live wi’ me.’

See Rachray Island beyont in the bay,

And the dear knows what they be doin’ out there

But fishin’ and fightin’ and tearin’ away,

An’ who ’s to hinder, an’ what do they care?

The goodness can tell what ’ud happen to me

When Rachray ’ud have me, anee, anee!

I might have took Pether from over the hill,

A dacent poacher, the kind, poor boy:

Could I keep the ould places about me still

I’d never set foot out of sweet Ballyvoy.

My sorra on Rachray, the could sea-caves,

An’ blackneck divers, an’ weary ould waves!

I’ll never win back now, whatever may fall,

So give me good luck, for ye’ll see me no more;

Sure an Island man is the mischief an’ all—

An’ me that was never married before!

Oh think o’ my fate when ye dance at a fair,

In Rachray, there ’s no Christianity there.