Youll not find the name in geography books,
It isnt marked on the map,
Nor mentioned in atlas or history,
Yet youve heard of the place mayhap.
The fairies lurk in the boreens there,
And the scent of the black-thorn haunts the air
Where Atlantic batters the coast of Clare
West of Fanny ODeas
Now the old folk tell, in their cheerful chat
By the kitchen fires bright glow,
Of hurling matches, or dance or fair,
Of happenings of long ago.
How the heftiest fighters came from there,
Women and men who could do and dare,
From the very heart of the heart of Clare,
West of Fanny ODeas.
From West o Fannys the folk went forth,
To the uttermost parts of the earth;
And the forest fell neath their sturdy stroke,
The cabin rang with mirth.
They builded homes, and the faith was there
Living circles of love and prayer,
Far from the rocky coast of Clare,
West of Fanny ODeas.
As the old folk chat at the kitchen fire
Of doings of long ago,
The young ones smile, with a tender scorn,
At a well-worn phrase they know:
Now many strange countries and climes there be,
And many queer names oer land and sea,
But where in the name of geography
Is West of Fanny ODeas?
