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Registered with Irish Roots Clan Associations

My name is Patrick Sheehan,
My years are thirty four,
Tipperary is my native place,
Not far from Galtymore;
I came of honest parents -
But now they're lying low -
And many a pleasant day I spent
In the Glen of Aherlow.

My father died; I closed his eyes
Outside our cabin door -
The land lord and the sheriff, too,
Were there the day before -
And when my loving mother,
And sisters three also,
Were forced to go with broken hearts
From the Glen of Aherlow.

For three long months, in search of work,
I wandered far and near;
I went then to the poorhouse
For to see my mother dear;
The news I heard nigh broke my heart;
But still, in all my woe,
I blessed the friends who made their grave
In the Glen of Aherlow.

Bereft of home and kith and kin -
With plenty all around -
I starved within my cabin,
And slept upon the ground;
But cruel as my lot was,
I ne'er did hardship know,
Till I joined the English army
Far away from Aherlow.

"Rouse up there," says the corporal,
"You lazy Irish hound,
Why don't you hear, you sleepy dog
The call 'to arms' sound?"
Alas, I had been dreaming
Of days long, long ago,
I woke before Sebastopol,
And not in Aherlow.

I groped to find my musket -
How dark I thought the night;
O blessed God, it was not dark,
It was the broad daylight!
And when I found that I was blind,
My tears began to flow,
I longed for even a pauper's grave
In the Glen of Aherlow.

O blessed Virgin Mary,
Mine is a mournful tale,
A poor blind prisoner here
I am in Dublin's dreary jail;
Struck blind within the trenches,
Where I never feared the foe;
And now I'll never see again
My own sweet Aherlow!