> Folk Music > Songs > Father Murphy
Father Murphy
[
Roud 3020
; Ballad Index Zimm011B
; DT FTHRMRPH
; Mudcat 34757
; trad.]
Colm O Lochlainn: Irish Street Ballads
Nigel Denver sang Father Murphy in 1967 on his Decca album Rebellion!. Producer Mike Vernon noted:
[…] And then the two Irish heroes, Bold Robert Emmet and Father Murphy. Just a short word concerning the last two mentioned figures. John Murphy was born, most probably in 1753, in Tincurry, Co. Wexford. He was, in his younger days, to take orders. As an Irish rebel he was captured, taken to Tullow, where he was reputedly whipped, hanged and beheaded, his body then being burnt.
Frank Harte sang Father Murphy in 1967 on his Topic album Dublin Street Songs. Donagh McDonagh noted:
There are many variants on the broadsheets of this lugubrious narrative. Two, both different, are given in Georges-Denis Zimmermann’s authoritative Irish Political Street Ballads and Rebel Songs (1780-1900) (Geneva 1966). All the variants had wide popularity and as late as 1866 were considered to be ‘of a seditious tendency’ since in that year a ballad singer was arrested at Hillborough, County Down for selling Erin’s King or Daniel Is No More, along with Father Murphy and the Heroes of ’98. It was on the latter that P.J. MacCall based his best known ballad, Boulavogue..
Daoirí Farrell sang Father Murphy on his 2023 album The Wedding Above in Glencree. He noted:
I learned this song from the singing of Frank Harte, who recorded it on an album called Dublin Street Songs [1967] as an unaccompanied song. It tells the story of the important role Father Murphy played in the rebellion of 1798.
Lyrics
Daoirí Farrell sings Father Murphy
Come all you warriors and loyal nobles
Give ear onto my warlike theme
And I’ll relate how brave Father Murphy
Has lately roused from his sleepy dream
Not Julius Caesar or Alexander
Or the great King Arthur ever equalled him
For armies formidable he did conquer
Though with two pikeman he did begin
Camolin cavalry he did unhorse them
Their first lieutenant he did cut him down
With broken ranks and with shattered columns
He soon returned to Camolin town
And at the hill of Oulart he displayed his valor
Where one hundred Cork men lay on the plain
At Enniscorthy his sword he wielded
And I hope to see him once more again
When Enniscorthy became subject to him
It was next to Wexford he did march his men
And there on the Three Rocks set up their quarters
Waiting for the daylight the town to win
But the loyal townsmen gave their assistance
O we’ll die or conquer was the words they said
And the yeomen cavalry gave no resistance
For on the pavement their bodies lay
With drums a-beating the town did echo
And acclamation came from door to door
On the Windmill Hill we set up our camp there
And we drank like heroes but paid no score
To Carraig Rua for some time we waited
Then next to Gorey we did repair
at Tubberneering we thought it no harm
But the bloody army was waiting there
And the issue of it was a close engagement
And on those soldiers we played warlike pranks
All through the sheep walks and the shady thickets
There were mangled bodies and broken ranks
And the shuddering cavalry I’ll ne’er forget it
How we raised the brushes on their helmets straight
They turned about and made for Dublin
As though they ran for a ten pound plate
Some left through Donnybrook and some through Blackrock
And some up Shankhill without wound nor flaw
And if Barry Lawless hadn’t been a liar
There were more went scattering over Luggala
To the Windmill Hill of Enniscorthy
Those British fencibles they ran like deer
Their troops were scattered and sorely battered
By the loss of Kyan and his Shelmaliers
The streets of England they were left quite naked
Of all its armies both foot and horse
And the Highlands of Scotland they were left unguarded
Likewise the Hessians and the seas they crossed
But if the Frenchmen had reinforced us
And landed transports at Baginbun
Father John Murphy would have been our seconder
And sixteen thousand with him would have run
Success attend ye sweet County Wexford
Who threw off the yoke and to battle ran
Let no man think we gave up our arms
For every man still has his pike and gun.