Bonambuie
by Anne Briggs

O the bonambuie that ne'er broke out
On a drinking bout, he might as well have drunk;
For his bones are thrown on a naked stone
Where he lived alone like a hermit monk.
0 the bonambuie! I pity your lot,
Though they say that a sot like myself is curst
I was sober a while, but I will drink and be wise
For I fear I may die in the end of thirst.

It's not for the kind bird that I would mourn,
The blackbird, the corn-crake, or the crane,
But for the bonambuie that's shy and apart
Where he drinks in the marsh from the lone bog-trail.
If I had known you were near your death
While my breath held out I'd have run to you,
Till the splash in the Lake of the Son of the Bird
Your soul would have brought to life again.

And me truelove told me to drink no more
Or my life would be over in a little while;
It's the taste of the whiskey, it gives me health and strength
And will lengthen my road by many's the mile.
You see how the bird of the long smooth neck
He gat his death from the thirst at last
So console not my sould, and fill up your glass,
For you'll get no more sup when this life is past.


(Note - "bonambuie" refers to a bittern. The traditional song is from a famous Irish poem called "An Bonnán Buí" ("The Yellow Bittern") by 18th century poet Cathal Buí Mac Giolla Ghunna. These lyrics are very close to a translation by Thomas MacDonagh, though MacDonagh uses the English title.)
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