From grandeur to ruin: Sarah Curran’s home

“She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps” — The fate of Sarah Curran’s house in Rathfarnham









Come Here To Me!

Hidden in the middle of a 1970s housing development in Rathfarnham lies the ruins of a Georgian home, boasting a fascinating history.

Known as The Priory, this house which stood for at least 150 years, played an integral role in “the greatest love story in Irish history”; that of Sarah Curran and Robert Emmet.

Its journey from a beautifully well-kept homestead to a vandalised ruin sums up the unfortunate recurring story that sees the Irish State and other bodies not doing its job in preserving objects of great historical interest.

The house, which was linked to secret societies, wild parties, underground passages, fatal accidents, ghosts, secret rooms and a long-running quest for a forgotten grave, has all the hallmarks of a fantastic melodramatic thriller.

In 1790, the famed barrister and politician John Philpot Curran took possession of a stately house off the Grange Road in the south Dublin village of Rathfarnham. He…

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One response to “From grandeur to ruin: Sarah Curran’s home

  1. Q

    Thomas Moore composed his lyric “She Is Far From the Land” upon the love between Sarah Curran and Robert Emmet.

    She is far from the land, where her young hero sleeps,
    And lovers are round her, sighing;
    But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
    For her heart in his grave is lying!

    She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
    Every note which he lov’d awaking
    Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
    How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking!

    He had lov’d for his love, for his country he died,
    They were all that to life had entwin’d him,
    Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
    Nor long will his love stay behind him.

    Oh! make her a grave, where the sun-beams rest,
    When they promise a glorious morrow;
    They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
    From her own lov’d Island of sorrow!

    Here it is sung by Webster Booth:

    —A beautiful pure sweet mellow English tenor, said Aunt Kate with enthusiasm. (-The Dead, Joyce)


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