John McCullagh March 12, 2004
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‘It wus in the days of Oisin,  an’ Patrick was sore tormented for iverything that he’d be buildin’ on the Brague wud be down in the mornin’. 

An’ Oisin wus jist back from the lan’ of niver die, where he might have been livin’ still, only that he liked Ireland better.   An’ that’s that.



Shure it wus on the other side of Carrickbroad it all happened.  Oisin on he’s big white horse wus careerin’ up the mountain when a woman with a bag of turf – bad luck to her anyway, for it wus the greed of her caused it.  Why cudn’t she be after fillin’ what she cud carry an’ not be burdenin’ herself with the lazy man’s load?  But shure all the sorrows of Ireland come be the weemin an’ if ye ax me, they’re the cause of many a heart burn still.  An’ mebbe some of them are worth it an’ more like, some are not.

How an’ so ever, till be slicin’ a long story short, shure Oisin forgot he wus safe on he’s horse ony so long as he didn’t be after droppin’ his legs on the groun’ an’ down he hopped and helped her up with the turf on her back.  An’, och anee, that wus the harm.  Oisin soon felt the death upon him an’ down he lay upon the hillside.  An’ the woman who wus mebbe the Cally Berra or someone like her, went away.

An’ Patrick wus passin’ along an’ he heared all about it, an’ up he goes.  An’ says Patrick till Oisin, ‘It’s sorry I am to see you so wake now.  Sure it’s yourself can have the wish three times one before you die.’  An’ Patrick talked to him about Heaven but Oisin wusn’t in much of a bother.  Says he, ‘Are there hounds and baygels there?’ ‘The devil the one.’  ‘Well, I’m not goin’ there at all,’ says Oisin.  An’ Patrick wus sore put out for he wus after taking a liking to him.  Says he, ‘Tween you an’ that brute of a bull on the Brague, I’m like to be breakin’ my heart’.

An’ Oisin’s wish wus this.  ‘Will you bury me on Slew Gullion.  An’ will you bury me high an’ dry an’ clap a stone or two above me.’  ‘Deed an’ I will’, says Patrick.  Then says Oisin, ‘This is my last wish.  Give me strength again till I take a look at yer bull.  Give me back my strength an’ I’ll rid ye of him.’  An’ Patrick says, ‘Rise me boul’ boy an’ be after doin’ yer best!’

An’ Oisin went an’ sarched for the bull an’ when he foun’ it he struck it a mortal box in the face that knocked it as stiff as you like.  An’ it’s buried on a mountain somewhere near till the Brague with a stone [The Grey Stone of Corran] above it, like a Christian himself.  An’ when Patrick come till look for him, thinkin’ as like as not he wud be totally destroyed, there he wus asleep in the skin of the baste.  Usin’ it for a blanket he wus.  But shure he woke no more.  An’ they brought him back till oul’ Slew Gullion an’ buried him there.  An’ Patrick wus real sorry.’

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