Tags
bay, beach, bones, cages, crime, dollar, Dublin, gold, jewels, murder, New Ross, ship, silver, treasure
The Ballad of Dollar Bay
(Air Traditional – Lord Franklin)
The Earl of Sandwich, a fine ship was she,
As strong as any sailed the salt sea.
But it was not winds or towering waves
that laid her low, but four sailors, cruel knaves.
It was November Seventeen Sixty Five,
Those butchering killers left none alive.
Captain and family in the ocean they threw,
Then followed passengers and honest crew.
McKinley, Quintin, Zickerman and Gidden,
Thought the ship would sink, their crimes be hidden.
With bags of gold and silver, jewels galore,
They took the longboat and rowed for shore.
There in the sand, Spanish dollars they buried,
To New Ross and a rich life they hurried,
But it wasn’t to be, the brave ship was found
Their crime discovered when she ran aground.
The cabin boy, they had left for dead,
Was still aboard when she hit rocks ahead,
Clinging to life he was finally saved,
And told of cruel murder he’d braved.
The robbers were soon in the taverns of Ross,
On bar counters ‘twas gold coin they would toss.
Where did that come from, the townspeople thought?
It wasn’t long before they were caught.
Then they were taken to that little bay
To show where the rest was hidden away
They gave up the treasure, ‘twas a great haul,
But some say they didn’t uncover it all.
For murder they were told they would die,
But never in graves would peacefully lie.
As warning their bones in cages were seen
Rattling off Dublin, by Sandymount Green
That little bay where they dug in the sand
Is easy to find, it’s nearby at hand.
So if it’s treasure and riches you seek,
Go down to Dollar Bay, and dig on that beach.
chrisbkm said:
Well told tale and pleasure to read!
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connellykevin said:
Thank you, delighted you enjoyed, believe it or not it is simply written around a true story from down the coast near me.
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Mike Jewett said:
Beautiful, Kevin.
I have to admit that I came here to share a poem; in The Daily Poet today, you offered a prompt about regret and choosing an interesting word on a randomly selected page in Jane Eyre. I chose a few words to end stanzas with, and I expected there would be a link in the email to share the result, but as there wasn’t, Google helped find a way.
Anyway, I hope you don’t mind.
—
The Shower
My everyday thinking is a dead
frog’s dissection. A scalpel
cuts open the tender belly. Its
pastel green skin is peeled
back even though this is bad
science. Unethical. The cloaca
gives a dewdrop. My grandfather
in his white underwear bickers
with water in the basin. For the past
two weeks you have been reading about
a bad break. Yet today I consider myself the
luckiest man on the face of the earth. A stout
speech by Gehrig, less than two years
to live. I still smell the arsenic
in the medicine cabinet; so paltry.
So deadly. The frog in the well knows
nothing of the sea. Lying on the cold metal
tray, five little gingerbread men.
Five green speckled frogs.
Less than two years two to live,
my papa, my papa, enters the shower.
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