Música: Dear old Skibbereen (Canción libertaria irlandesa)

Una canción popular irlandesa, en la que un hijo le pregunta a su padre por qué, siendo tan hermosa y rica como dice su amada tierra natal irlandesa (el pueblo de Skibbereen, en el condado de Cork), ellos han tenido que emigrar a América. Y el padre entonces le relata las penurias de su patria a manos del gobierno británico. La pobreza de la sociedad irlandesa tiene su causa primigenia, tal como dice Murray Rothbard, en la supresión del anterior orden libertario, y a la feudalización de los títulos de propiedad de la tierra, acciones llevadas a cabo por el poder político británico. Lejos de las ensoñaciones imperialistas, la estatificación y la consiguiente feudalización de la propiedad, solo trajeron miseria y exilio a generaciones de irlandeses.

A mi este tema me resulta bastante cercano, por el paralelismo que le veo, salvando las distancias, con respecto al caso asturiano, con sus hijos en el exilio a causa de la criminal intervención política.

Oh father dear, I often hear you speak of Erin's isle

Her lofty hills, her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild

You say she is a lovely land wherein a saint might dwell

So why did you abandon her, the reason to me tell.

Oh son, I loved my native land with energy and pride

Until a blight came on the land, my sheep, my cattle died

My rent and taxes went unpaid, I could not them redeem

And that's the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen.

Oh well do I remember that bleak December day

The landlord and the sheriff came to take us all away

They set my roof on fire with their cursed foreign spleen

I heaved a sigh and bade goodbye to dear old Skibbereen.

Your mother too, God rest her soul, fell on the stony ground

She fainted in her anguish seeing desolation 'round

She never rose but passed away from life to immortal dream

She found a quiet grave, me boy, in dear old Skibbereen.

It's well I do remember the year of forty-eight,

When we arose with Erin's boys to fight against our fate;

I was hunted through the mountains as a traitor to the Queen,

And that's another reason why I left Old Skibbereen

And you were only two years old and feeble was your frame

I could not leave you with my friends for you bore your father's name

I wrapped you in my cota mor in the dead of night unseen

I heaved a sigh and bade goodbye to dear old Skibbereen.

Oh father dear, the day will come when in answer to the call

All Irish men of freedom stern will rally one and all

I'll be the man to lead the band beneath the flag of green

And loud and clear we'll raise the cheer, Revenge for Skibbereen