Gráinne Mhaol's Lament | A Satirical Visual Chronicle of Irelands Occupation

Gráinne Mhaol’s Lament — A Satirical Visual Chronicle of Ireland’s Occupation

Gráinne Mhaol’s Lament re-imagines the life and legend of Gráinne Ní Mháille (Grace O’Malley) — Ireland’s fearless “Pirate Queen” of the 16th century — through the lens of satire and sorrow. Rather than the usual heroic ballad, this modern lament becomes a visual and musical chronicle of Ireland’s long occupation: proud, defiant, and bitterly aware of the cost of resistance.

Born into the chieftain family of Umhaill in County Mayo, Gráinne commanded ships and men at a time when women were expected to obey rather than lead. She traded, raided, and fought to preserve Irish autonomy along the western coast while Elizabethan forces tightened their grip on the land. In legend she became the embodiment of Irish defiance — a woman who would parley with a queen yet never bow to one.

In Gráinne Mhaol’s Lament, that defiance is refracted through art and irony. The song and imagery weave together scenes of burning villages, shattered harps, and English banners flying over ruined towers — yet beneath it all runs a mocking tone, a satirical bite that exposes the absurd theatre of conquest. It is part elegy, part protest, part mirror held up to centuries of oppression.

The lament does not only mourn the fall of a pirate queen; it mourns the silencing of Ireland’s native voices. Its shifting rhythm moves from sorrow to rage, then to grim laughter — as if Gráinne herself were mocking the empire that thought it could erase her name.

Ultimately, Gráinne Mhaol’s Lament stands as a call to remember: that Ireland’s history is written not only in rebellion and loss, but in unbroken wit and will. Even in lament, the Pirate Queen laughs last.

Would you like me to follow this with one for “The Croppy Boy” next?




LYRICS

John Bull was a bod-ach, as rich as a Jew,
As griping, as grinding, as conscienceless too;
A wheedler, a shuffler, a rogue by wholesale,
And a swindler, moreover, says Gráinne Mhaol
[II]
John Bull was a banker, both pursy and fat,
With gold in his pockets, and plenty of that;
And he tempted his neighbours to sell their entail—
’Tis by scheming he prospers, says Gráinne Mhaol
[III]
John Bull was a farmer, with cottiers galore—
Stout “chaw-bacons” once, that like bullocks could roar;
Hard work and low wages and Peel’s sliding scale
Have bothered their courage, says Gráinne Mhaol
[IV]
John Bull was a bruiser, so sturdy and stout,
A boisterous bully—at bottom a clout;
For when you squared up he was apt to turn tail—
Brother Jonathan lashed him, says Gráinne Mhaol
[V]
John Bull was a merchant, and many his ships,
His harbours, his dock-yards, and big building slips;
And the ocean he claimed as his rightful entail—
mon-SYUR PAR-lay voo bars that, says Gráinne Mhaol
[VI]
John Bull had dependencies, many and great—
Fine, fertile, and fat—every one an estate;
But he pilfered and plundered, wholesale and retail—
Is’t the Juggernaut champion? says Gráinne Mhaol
[VII]

John Bull had a sister, so fair to be seen,
With a blush like a rose, and a mantle of green,
And a soft, swelling bosom! On hill or in dale,
Oh! where could you fellow sweet Gráinne Mhaol
[IX]
And John loved his sister, without e’er a flam,
Like the fox and the pullet, the wolf and the lamb;
So he paid her a visit—but mark her bewail:
“My title deed’s vanished!” says Gráinne Mhaol
[X]
Then he rummaged her commerce and ravaged her plains;
Razed her churches and castles—her children in chains,
With pitch-caps, triangles, and gibbets wholesale,
Betokened John’s love to poor Gráinne Mhaol
[XI]
But one of her children, more bold than the rest,
Took it into his head for to make a request:
“Our rights, Uncle John! Else our flag on the gale!”
Faix, he got an instalment, says Gráinne Mhaol
[XII]
And now he is at the Ould Growler again,
With his logic, and law, and three millions of men!
And nothing will please him, just now, but Repeal
mo seacht n-anam Astaigh thu!
” says Gráinne Mhaol
[XIII]
But should John turn gruff, and decline the demand,
What means of success may be at our command?
Although he be humbled, and now getting frail,
“My Nation will tell you,” says Gráinne Mhaol
[XIV]
“If, stubborn and wilful, he still should refuse
To hear our just claims, or submit to our views,
And resolve, in his folly, to hold the entail—
We’ll ‘kick his Dumbarton,’ for Gráinne Mhaol

Location: Ireland

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