The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1881-02-25
An Irish Wake and Funeral.

A correspondent of the Baltimore San,
writing from Ireland, thus relates his ex-
periences at q genuine Irish wake: I
had often heard of an Irish wake, but
never was present at one until last night.
Arranging my garb so as not to be too
conspicuous, went with an escort to the
little farm house "where the dead one
lay and the living lamented," as pretty
French poem tells regarding similar
scene. The locality was Clondalkin.
The ''dead one" was the only son of a
widow. He had been village school
master in the neighborhood, and fingered
amidst the evils of consumption for
twenty eight years, when that fatal
disease terminated in his early death.
The house was composed of two rooms
on the ground floor and two above. In
the lower ones all the arrangements for
the ''wake" had been perfected. The
body was enshrouded and in plain pine
coffin. Around the head of the coffin
were crucifix, print of ''The Mother
of Sorrow" and two somewhat long and
lighted candles, and at the foot but one
candle. By the side of the coffin sat the
widowed mother, also mother of sorrow.
On low stool she sat, rocking her bent
body to and fro, and alternately patting
her hands on her knees as she gave ut
terance to a wall of woe. Occasionally
she would arise, look lovingly on the sad
white face of her darling boy gone"
and in agony let loose the foodgates of
generously flowing heart. The surround
ing persons were entirely women, both
old and young. Sympathetic sorrow was
marked in every face, yet not an atom OF
dismal black mourning could I see.
Prayer book and rosary beads were in
the laps of each. After a severely i'm
pressive silence had prevailed for fully
half hour, little woman of middle age,
with deep dark pair of eyes and thin
scrawny face, well marked with the fur
rows of frowning rather than of time. be-
gan in a montoneous, weird way, IN
Senli-S0ttO UOce notes, a species OF grief
and cultural sounds that were taken up
in a somewhat higher key by her com
panions, and formed witch-like chorus
of "Ullah, ullah; ghola, ghola; ullah,
ghonap This was the prelude to rude
sort of poetry OF ''koening' "a dirge-like,
heroic impromptu poem in the modern
Celtic language. I sought an obscure
yet convenient corner, and to the best of
my ability in phonetic power of pencil
took down these sounds. Later in the
evening, as I remained purposely, I con-
versed with the little old kGner, and
found her extremely shocked at my gross
ignorance of her poetry as noted IN my
book. By her aid made crude cor
rection of the so-called Celtic, as well as
translation, which, in part, is as follows:
And he is gone, sweet son and man,
He is gonel
;Tis now when he to Heaven goes
That angels rejoice and lovely appear
He is gonel
We are lonely, cheated, deceived bellows
He is proud above, above, above!
He is gone!
Oh! coarse coffin that coops the body
Oh! fine Heaven that comforts the SOUL.
SEE He is gone.
We DO not entirely die below;
We do live beyond. aboyei
Heis gone!
Obi thou in manliness all others excelhDg,
Now an angel within sweet gardens dwelling.
The wlite-robed ones are listening to thy voice.
Obi let tby mother hear it, that she may rejoice.
He is gone!
Come Soutb wind, laden sweet
From the fowry fond land
Come, that we may eat
Tiny pleasant favored gifts within our cold re-
treat.
He is gonel