Brown William, The Power of the Harp…
“ Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.And now, if a few of the seed do remain, They’re vile as the thistles and briars of the plain; They ply for their neighbours the pick and the hoe: Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.Should ye walk through all Man you’ll find no one, I reckon, To mourn for the name that was once in Beemachan; But thousands of poor who rejoice that ’tis low: Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe. ”
