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Ballydine
by
Christy Moore
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As I wandered abroad by Kilsheelan Where the river meanders on down To my left lay the Comeragh Mountains To the right of me sweet Sliabh na mBan Where the fishermen cast on the waters And the apples are pressed into wine Where the herd returns slowly to pasture Through the fields that surround Ballydine I marvelled at nature's abundance In Tipperary so rich and so rare I drank from the well of spring water Breathing in deep the fresh air When I came to John Hanrahan's homestead In the fields around Ballycurkeen I lay down in a meadow of wild flower And dreamt a mysterious dream I dreamt of a curious eviction Unlike the evictions of old No sign of a redcoat nor bailiff 'twas more pernicious and cold On the air cam a colourless vapour The fields they felt silent and still As I lay in that meadow of wildflower Dreaming on Hanrahan's hill When I awoke I was frightened I knew 'twas time to head home I made my way back to Cluan Meala On the road passing Merck Sharpe and Dohme
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