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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Ochone!" cried Barney, taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking down with a disturbed expression, "there's an arthquake, I do belave." For a few seconds there was a dead silence. "Nonsense," whispered Martin uneasily. "It's dramin' I must have been," sighed Barney, resuming his pipe.
Ochone, hand, that was once gentle. It is often it was put under my head; it is dear that hand was to me. Dear mouth! Ochone, kind mouth that was sweet-voiced telling stories; since the time love first came on your face, you never refused either weak or strong. Dear the man, dear the man, that would kill the whole of a great army; dear his cold bright hair, and dear his bright cheeks!
Nefer you pe minding, my son: you couldn't help ta Cam'ell mother, and you'll pe her own poy however. Ochone! it will pe a plot upon you aal your tays, my son, and she'll not can help you, and it'll pe preaking her old heart." "Gien God thoucht the Cam'ells worth makin', daddy, I dinna see 'at I hae ony richt to compleen 'at I cam' o' them."
"'Give me the graip, John; give me the graip. "So an' on the night wore through; whiles we would be telling old stories, and there would be times when we sat silent except for auld Kate whimpering at the fireside. "These were the days and these were the nights, ochone and ochone, for the like o' them we'll be seeing nevermore."
"Ochone! what has become of the master?" he exclaimed. "Shure, he hasn't been drowned? Ochone! ahone! what will become of us?" None of us could answer Tim's question. My father and the brave skipper had disappeared with the vessel, which, with too much reason, we feared had gone down. Tim only knew that he had found himself suddenly swept off the deck, and struggling in the water.
And Emer took the head of Cuchulain in her hands, and she washed it clean, and put a silk cloth about it, and she held it to her breast, and she began to cry heavily over it, and she made this complaint: Och, head! Ochone, O head! you gave death to great heroes, to many hundreds; my head will lie in the same grave, the one stone will be made for both of us. Och, hand!
O'Kelly has manuring for his land, that is not sand or dung, but ready soldiers doing bravery with pikes, that were left in Aughrim stretched in ridges Och ochone! Who is that beyond on the hill, Ben Edair? I a poor soldier with King James. I was last year in arms and in dress, but this year I am asking alms Och ochone! An Aran Maid's Wedding
They were sacred things in his memory. "Now you're getting vexed," she said. "You're as cross as twa sticks. I can see it in your eyes. Well, I've more to do than to be coaxing you." She turned her back on him and began to sing "I would I were in Ballinderry, I would I were in Aghalee, I would I were on bonny Ram's Island, Sitting under an ivy tree. Ochone! Ochone!"
Well, wan evenin' I wint to see her, an' says I, `Mrs Morgan, did ye iver hear the bit song called the Widdy Machree? `Sure I niver did, says she. `Would ye like to hear it, darlint? says I. So she says she would, an' I gave it to her right off; an' when I'd done, says I, `Now, Widdy Morgan, ochone! will ye take me? But she shook her head, and looked melancholy. `Ye ain't a-goin' to take spasms? said I, for I got frightened at her looks. `No, says she; `but there's a sacret about me; an' I like ye too well, Phil, to decaive ye; if ye only know'd the sacret, ye wouldn't have me at any price.
The weird music of the wind became Ireland's cry of lament for her dead. The tossing boughs beyond the window, rain-spattered and somber, took on eerily the outline of dark-cloaked women keeners rocking and chanting the music of death. The rain was tears. Ochone! Ochone! The wind of sorrow rose and fell, rose and fell, with unearthly cadence.
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