The Makem & Spain Brothers: The Tradition Continues
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In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave
And wildly around it the wintry winds rave
Small shelter I ween are the ruined walls there
As the storm sweeps down over the plains of Kildare

Once I lay on that sod, it lies o'er Wolfetone
And thought how he perished in prison alone
His friends unavenged and his country unfreed
"Oh bitter" I said "is the patriots meed"

For in him the heart of a woman combined
With a heroic life and a governing mind
A martyr for Ireland, his grave has no stone
His name seldom named and his virtues unknown

I was woke from my dream by the voices and tread
Of a band that came into the home of the dead
They carried no corpse and they carried no stone
And they stopped when they came to the grave of Wolfetone

There were students and peasants, the wise and the brave
And an old man who knew him from cradle to grave
And children who thought me hard-hearted for they
On that sanctified sod were forbidden to play

But the old man who saw I was mourning there said
"We come sir to weep where young Wolfetone is laid
And we're going to raise him a monument too
A plain one yet fit for the simple and true"

My heart overflowed and I clasped his old hand
I blessed him and blessed everyone in his band
Sweet sweet is to find that such faith can remain
To a man and a cause so long vanquished and slain

In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave
And freely around it let wintry winds rave
For better they suit him, the ruin and the gloom
'Till Ireland a nation can build him a tomb