From A History of Irish Verse by W.B Yeats, published 1895. The following is an anonymous street ballad dating to at least 1848.
By Memory inspired
And love of country fired,
The deeds of men I love to dwell upon;
And the patriotic glow
Of my spirit must bestow
A tribute to O’Connell that is gone, boys, gone –
Here’s the memory of the heroes that are gone.
In October, ‘Ninety-Seven –
May his soul find rest in heaven –
William Orr to execution was led on;
The jury, drunk, agreed
That Irish was his creed;
For perjury and threats drove them on, boys, on –
Here’s the memory of John Mitchell that is gone!
In ‘Ninety-Eight – the month, July –
The informer’s pay was high,
When Reynolds gave the gallows brave McCann;
But McCann was Reynolds’ first –
One could not allay his thirst;
So he brought up Bond and Byrne, that are gone, boys, gone –
Here’s the memory of the friends that are gone!
We saw a nation’s tears
Shed for John and Henry Sheares,
Betrayed by Judas, Captain Armstrong;
We may forgive, but yet
We can never forget
The poisoning of Maguire that is gone, boys, gone –
Our high Star and true Apostle that is gone!
How did Lord Edward die?
Like a man, without a sigh!
But he left his handiwork on Major Swan!
But Sirr, with steel-clad breast,
And coward heart at best,
Left us cause to mourn Lord Edward that is gone, boys, gone:
Here’s the memory of our friends that are gone!
Closed this cruel history,
When Emmet’s blood the scaffold flowed upon.
O, had their spirits been wise,
They might then realise
Their freedom – but we drink to Mitchell that is gone, boys, gone:
Here’s the memory of the heroes that are gone!