How hard is my fortune how vain my repining,
The strong rope of fate for my young neck is twinning,
My strenght is departed my cheek sunk and sallow,
While I languish is chains in the Jail of Cluain Meala.
No boy in the village was ever yet milder.
I could play with a child and my sport be no wilder.
I could dance without tiring from morning till evening
And my goalball I'd strike to the lightning of heaven.
At my bed foot decaying my hurley is lying.
Through the lads of the village my goalball is flying.
My horse 'mong the neighbours neglected may fallow.
While this heart young and gay lies cold in Cluan Meala.
Next Sunday the pattern at home will be keeping.
All the lads of the village the fields will be sweeping.
And the dance of fair maidens the evening will hallow.
While this heart young and gay lies cold in Cluan Meala.
- :
- The Best of Luke Kelly Live
- Luke Kelly: You Never Heard Better!
- The Definitive Collection
- The Collection
- Festival Of Irish Folk Music - Volume 1
- Working Class Hero
- Luke Kelly: the Collection
- Voices of Ireland
- The Performer
- Kneipenlieder
- Definitivo Canzoni da Pub
- Canciones Definitivos de Pub
- Les Chants des Pubs Irlandais - La Collection Ultime
- Songs for Irish Rovers
- The Town I Loved So Well
- Songs of Irish Emigration
- Irish Drinking Songs, Volume 1
- The Best Of
- Irish Favorites
- Whiskey in the Jar