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Post by Administrator on May 11, 2008 21:26:24 GMT
A new memorial, designed by local architect Rob Jacob of JLS Design, will be a replica of the famed Kinsale Hooker from a drawing of one in a fisheries report for the House of Commons, London in 1849. It will feature a recessed granite stone deck on to which will be a miniature model of the vessel with the words
‘In memory of all lost seafarers from the Port of Kinsale’ and the following lines of a verse from the ballad ‘The Boatman of Kinsale’.:
His hooker’s in the Scilly van,
When seines are in the foam,
But money never made the man
Nor wealth a happy home.
So, blessed with love and liberty,
While he can trim a sail,
He’ll trust in God and cling to me
The Boatman of Kinsale.
THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE
The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps
is not a whit more pure-
The goat that round Cnoc Sheehy leaps
Has not a feet more sure.
No firmer hand nor freer eye
E'er faced an autum gale-
De Courcy's heart is not so high-
The Boatman of Kinsale.
Thomas Davis.
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Post by Keith at Tregenna on May 21, 2008 9:47:20 GMT
FULL VERSION.
The Boatman of Kinsale.
Thomas Osborne Davis (1814–45)
HIS kiss is sweet, his word is kind,
His love is rich to me;
I could not in a palace find
A truer heart than he.
The eagle shelters not his nest
From hurricane and hail
More bravely than he guards my breast—
The Boatman of Kinsale.
The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps
Is not a whit more pure,
The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps
Has not a foot more sure.
No firmer hand nor freer eye
E’er faced an autumn gale,
De Courcy’s heart is not so high—
The Boatman of Kinsale.
The brawling squires may heed him not,
The dainty stranger sneer,
But who will dare to hurt our cot
When Myles O’Hea is here?
The scarlet soldiers pass along:
They’d like, but fear to rail:
His blood is hot, his blow is strong—
The Boatman of Kinsale.
His hooker’s in the Scilly van,
When seines are in the foam,
But money never made the man,
Nor wealth a happy home,
So, bless’d with love and liberty,
While he can trim a sail,
He ’ll trust in God, and cling to me—
The Boatman of Kinsale.
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Post by KINSALE on Dec 30, 2008 17:41:31 GMT
Kinsale
God bless the Fishermen, who go out on the sea,
Braving every wave, for the likes of you and me.
Riding every swell, the herring shoals to see,
Then trying to catch that wind, that brings them home for tea.
One minute it. s as clear as glass, the next as black as coal.
With the captain at the wheel, watching every roll.
The chef is in the galley, the coffees on the brew.
But I like my cup of tea, like Gandhi it is true.
And as the waves whirl me around and push me to and fro,
I wish that I was on dry land, a drinking I would go.
To see again the Heart and Crown, the Guinness and the crack,
To listen to those Irish songs, always bring me back.
It takes all kinds to make a world, as you can understand.
The sailor loves the open sea, the farmer likes the land.
The priest has his pulpit, where he can make his stand.
But I like best, when I can rest, my spider in my hand
Frank Taylor (Reproduced here in tribute)
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