Really Old Folk Songs Of Ireland
As opposed to the other sections of the site these song have never been recorded to the best of my knowledge. Some are over 100 years old. There are a total of 1900 songs on this site. The vast majority are over 50 years old. So the best place to start looking for old songs is the A-B Section and take it from there going through all the sections. For the complete list of Irish Folk Song Lyrics go to that link where you'll fine about 2,000 songs.
Sally Broome Song Lyrics By Danny Doyle. This is a very sad sorth of lament and spoken story.I'ts from a very old danny doyle tape of mine. Danny puts a lot of feeling and compassion in to the spoken words, song and music Of this beautifull piece. Sent to me by Patrick Burke. Edit Text
Wev’e seen our valley changing sally broome
They’ve come and rearanged us sally broome
They’ve taken all our lives
And turned us round
The day they brought the soldiers to our town
And the lights went out
In the valley sally broome.
2
(long spoken verse follows)
(including background sad pipe music)
When you were young was this valley green
Did the heather grow beneath your toes
And you and some young man
Went running.
Ah, but you were hungry then
And the famine took your men
Your brother and your lover
To America.
They sent for you
When you had enough
But no letter ever came i find
There was just a line from some sad stranger
Who said
A Boston winter took their lives
And desperate cold and alone they died.
When times when signs in windows said
No irish need apply
So if there is a song for ireland
It was written in the lines upon your face
And on the stone they placed above you
Sally broome 1856-1926
Here’s your piece of ireland
Rest in peace.
3
(this is sung slowly with guitar music backround)
Weve’e seen our valley
Changing sally broome
They’ve come and rearranged us sally broome
They’ve taken all our lives
And turned us round
The day they brought the soldiers to our town
And the lights went out
In the valley
Sally broome
And the lights went out in the valley
Sally broome
4
Our valley is growing dark now sally broome
Your stone is black with gun smoke sally broome
They’ve taken all our lives
And turned us round
That day the bloody soldiers
Burned our town
And the lights went
Out
In the valley sally broome
(song finishes off with a short sad pipe lament)
Sally broome(ashdown/mcps)
Wev’e seen our valley changing sally broome
They’ve come and rearanged us sally broome
They’ve taken all our lives
And turned us round
The day they brought the soldiers to our town
And the lights went out
In the valley sally broome.
2
(long spoken verse follows)
(including background sad pipe music)
When you were young was this valley green
Did the heather grow beneath your toes
And you and some young man
Went running.
Ah, but you were hungry then
And the famine took your men
Your brother and your lover
To America.
They sent for you
When you had enough
But no letter ever came i find
There was just a line from some sad stranger
Who said
A Boston winter took their lives
And desperate cold and alone they died.
When times when signs in windows said
No irish need apply
So if there is a song for ireland
It was written in the lines upon your face
And on the stone they placed above you
Sally broome 1856-1926
Here’s your piece of ireland
Rest in peace.
3
(this is sung slowly with guitar music backround)
Weve’e seen our valley
Changing sally broome
They’ve come and rearranged us sally broome
They’ve taken all our lives
And turned us round
The day they brought the soldiers to our town
And the lights went out
In the valley
Sally broome
And the lights went out in the valley
Sally broome
4
Our valley is growing dark now sally broome
Your stone is black with gun smoke sally broome
They’ve taken all our lives
And turned us round
That day the bloody soldiers
Burned our town
And the lights went
Out
In the valley sally broome
(song finishes off with a short sad pipe lament)
Sally broome(ashdown/mcps)
SHULE AGRA
The Wild Geese who had flown with Patrick Sarsfield formed only the nucleus for the burgeoning Irish Brigade of the French Army. "Recruiting Sergeants" covertly roamed Ireland looking for replacements for these legendary mercenary soldiers. In the Penal Times it was not hard to find recruits. One chaplain for the Brigade was to claim that close to 500,000 Irishmen died in the French service alone in the half-century following Lime- rick. If the figure is difficult to credit-it represents roughly seven per cent of the Irish male population for the period-the fact that such a number could be seriously proffered by a scholar itself demonstrates the pervasive effect of the Brigade's existence on the Irish of the time. The growing legend of the Brigade caught the imagination of the downtrodden Catholics at home; the reality caught more than imagination.
The departure of a young man to the carnage of the Euro- pean battlefield was keenly felt; to many a plaintive lover left behind, it became a kind of inexorable tragedy. This simple but
haunting ballad is from the first half of the eighteenth century when many young men left to join the Wild Geese.
The love song made the journey back-and-forth across the Atlantic as folksongs will, and is often heard in America and Ireland under the title Shule Aroon.
His hair was black, his eye was blue,
His arm was stout, his word was true,
I wish in my heart I was with you,
Go de thu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain:
Shule, sbule, sbule agra,
Only death can ease my woc,
Since the lad from me did go,
Go de thu, mavourneen slaun.
I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
When flax was spun, I sold my wheel
To buy my love a sword of steel,
Go de tbu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain
I watched them sail from Brandon Hill,
Then I sat down and cried my fill,
That every tear would turn a mill,
Go de tbu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain
And so my love has gone to France
To try his fortune to advance,
If e'er he comes back tis but a chance,
Go de tbu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain
I wish brave Jamie would return to reign,
And bring my true love back again,
I wish and wish, but I wish in vain,
Go de tbu. mavourneen slaun.
I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red,
And round the world I'll beg my bread
Till I find my love, alive or dead,
Go de thu, mavourneen slaun.
The Wild Geese who had flown with Patrick Sarsfield formed only the nucleus for the burgeoning Irish Brigade of the French Army. "Recruiting Sergeants" covertly roamed Ireland looking for replacements for these legendary mercenary soldiers. In the Penal Times it was not hard to find recruits. One chaplain for the Brigade was to claim that close to 500,000 Irishmen died in the French service alone in the half-century following Lime- rick. If the figure is difficult to credit-it represents roughly seven per cent of the Irish male population for the period-the fact that such a number could be seriously proffered by a scholar itself demonstrates the pervasive effect of the Brigade's existence on the Irish of the time. The growing legend of the Brigade caught the imagination of the downtrodden Catholics at home; the reality caught more than imagination.
The departure of a young man to the carnage of the Euro- pean battlefield was keenly felt; to many a plaintive lover left behind, it became a kind of inexorable tragedy. This simple but
haunting ballad is from the first half of the eighteenth century when many young men left to join the Wild Geese.
The love song made the journey back-and-forth across the Atlantic as folksongs will, and is often heard in America and Ireland under the title Shule Aroon.
His hair was black, his eye was blue,
His arm was stout, his word was true,
I wish in my heart I was with you,
Go de thu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain:
Shule, sbule, sbule agra,
Only death can ease my woc,
Since the lad from me did go,
Go de thu, mavourneen slaun.
I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
When flax was spun, I sold my wheel
To buy my love a sword of steel,
Go de tbu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain
I watched them sail from Brandon Hill,
Then I sat down and cried my fill,
That every tear would turn a mill,
Go de tbu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain
And so my love has gone to France
To try his fortune to advance,
If e'er he comes back tis but a chance,
Go de tbu, mavourneen slaun.
Refrain
I wish brave Jamie would return to reign,
And bring my true love back again,
I wish and wish, but I wish in vain,
Go de tbu. mavourneen slaun.
I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red,
And round the world I'll beg my bread
Till I find my love, alive or dead,
Go de thu, mavourneen slaun.
Victoria- The Grehan Sisters
1
The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the Crown,
Some usefull Irish Chedder and they both came tumbling down.
At second St. George they parted to,
From St. Stevens Green in town.
But there coming down for you Victoria.
Chorus
Victoria there coming for ye soon
Victoria it’s made around the moon
Its shining on December frost
To crown the flowers of June
But there coming down for you Victoria.
2
A Gas main burst in Belfast on the eve of poppy day
And loyal doors and windows soon flew rapidly away
They came to Dublin Dockland
and in the North or so they say
Sent the message from the Capital to Victoria.
Chorus as above
Victoria there coming for ye soon
Victoria its made around the moon
Its shining on December frost
to crown the flowers of June
But there coming down for you Victoria.
3
Georgie lost his seat
King Billy lost his head
And Wayne lost his Balance
From the Unicorn he fled
As sure as your a humpish
Bumpy Bumpy lump of lead
They’ be coming down for you Victoria
Chorus as above
4
Nelson’s weather eyed is looking out they say for spuds
There nervous in the phoenix park and round old Dublin’s Woods
But since there's ever cheap and useless good
They’ll be double A’s for you Victoria.
2 x Chorus as above at the end
The very last Chorus is sung in a lower voice Level.
DRUMBOE CASTLE Michael McGinley.
Songwriter Michael McGinley from Donegal wrote several more
well known songs that are included here including The Hills of Glenswilly Song
'Twas the eve of St. Patrick's Day by the dawn of the day,
The hills of Tirconnel looked sombre and grey.
When the first dawn of morning illumined the sky
Four brave Irish soldiers were led forth to die.
They left their loved homes in a green Munster vale,
And came to Tirconnell to fight for the Gael.
Instead of true friends they met traitor and foe,
Now uncoffined they lie in the woods of Drumboe.
The church bells rang loud in the cool morning air,
To summon the faithful to penance and prayer.
When a crash from the wild woods struck terror and woe,
'Twas the death knell of Daly shot dead at Drumboe.
Four Republican soldiers were dragged from their cells,
Where for months they had suffered the torments of hell.
No mercy they ask from their pitiless foe,
And no mercy was shown by the thugs of Drumboe.
Let Tirconnel no more boast of honour and fame,
All the waters of Finn could not wash out this shame.
While the Finn and the Swilly continue to flow,
This stain will remain on the thugs of Drumboe.
THE COLLEEN DHOUN
As I roved out one summer's morning,
I met a maiden of beauty rare -
The sweet wild roses, the braes adorning,
Not half so sweet are, nor half so fair.
The brown thrush singing when the sun is sinking,
The blackbird piping when the sun is down,
And the little stars in the sky a-winking,
Sang not so sweetly as my colleen dhoun.
Oh, brown tressed maiden of rarest beauty,.
You've won my heart on this summer day,
To love you always will be my duty,
If you, fair one, won't say me nay.'
`Young man,' she answered, `you are a stranger,
And I will ne'er give my heart and hand,
To any rover or to any ranger,
Who will not fight for his native land.'
`In the fields of France has my father batled,
My brothers, too, 'neath the fleur-de-lis
Where the sables flashed and the cannon rattled,
Struck many a blow to set Ireland free;
And the English flag often sank before them,
But their graves are made in a foreign strand,
And sad and lonely do I deplore them
Who died away from their native land.
`Oh, bright-eyed maiden, the hours I'm counting,
Till the summons comes to the brave and true,
And the green flag flies over plain and mountain
And pikes are flashing, and muskets, too.
And then, Astoreen, when the battle's over
I'll come and ask for your heart and hand
And if I fall forget not the rover
Who died for you and his native land
Goldsmith - John Keegan / Casey Ballad
The calm air rested on the grass
Brown-hued by summer's fading sun,
And far above the vapours dun,
Were clustering in the vapours mass.
From trellised doors low drooped the vine
And sounds of soft Provencal song,
Rose from the happy peasant throng
A-quaffing draughts of fragrant wine.
Far sunward, like a band of gold,
The broad Laire gleamed bright and fair,
And when the stout spears bristling there,
The Norman Rod fis flag unrolled.
His face has not the Gallic hue
Around his lips there plays a smile,
Like one whose breast is free from guile,
To God and nature firm and true.
Here, here is peace, yet not for me,
Let me enjoy it while I may,
I yearn for other scenes away,
In my own land across the sea.
The wanderer sits before the door,
Amid the eager, wandering hand,
The wine cup in his clasped hand,
Before him spread the household store.
He thinks how long he pined and pined,
The world and all it's shades to see,
It's citizen alone to be,
And here is what his hear divined.
Yet there is something wanting still,
The mother's love the father's prayer,
The freshness of his native air,
The ancient home, the rath - crowned hill.
This is the void, but now the rays,
Of moonlight kiss the ripening fruit,
He breathes into his soft tuned flute,
And young eyes fill the while he plays.
The sad old tunes that soothe his breast
Along the air in richness flow,
Frighted with dreams of long ago,
Dreams full of pearls and silken rest.
A change ! a change ! the jovial strain,
Old Ballymahon Town appears,
Bob, Jack and all the wild compeers,
Of awkward, mad brained ''Noll'' again !.
As swiftly round the dancers go,
He thinks he rides on ''Fiddleback'',
The careless poet's sorry hack.
With spirits in congenial flow.
Thus 'neath the smiling moon of France,
He laughs and plays his melodies,
To thoughts and fancies such as these,
That through his brain in madness dance.
So be it, Let the scoffer sneer -
Goldsmith ! thy life is understood,
By all like thee, who love the good,
To whom God's work is always dear.
Thy follies ! we can let them pass,
And make the bright lights ever shine
That sparkle from the soul divine
As clear and pure as crystal glass.
The traveller now, the preacher then,
The post preacher filled with love,
As gentle as the light above,
That woos the rugged hearts of men.
Here in the spot thy feet oft pressed,
A Celtic minstrel tribute pays,
To all those strange ways,
Thy faults, thy virtues, and the rest.
Peace to the clay ! let other men
Chant forth thy fame in golden song;
Where will thy like be found again
Christmas Memories by Leo Casey and published by Robert S. McGee 35 Lower Sackville Steet Dublin beside the General Post Office. Title of book - Wreath Of Shamrocks, Ballads, Songs and Legends.Leo Casey is better known for writing the famous rebel song The Rising Of The Moon .
Oh those Christmas times, Mavourneen are not like times of old.
When the light of love shone softly, and our pulses felt no cold;
When the laughter of the young hearts round the hearth rang merrily;
Now the laughter of the young hearts all are gone ashore, Machree !
Methinks I see our darling Kate, her blue eyes fixed on mine,
And dark haired Patrick resting soft his little hand in mine;
Methinks I hear brave Owen's voice, and Brian's free and gay,
With soft cheeked Eily's mingling in the holy Christmas lay.
Dreams ! dreams ! tonight the ancient hearth no kindly look doth wear,
There is snow upon the threshold stone and chillness everywhere,
No swell of rushing voices pours the holy Christmas lay,
The young hearts, and the merry hearts, Mavoureen, where are they ?
Ah, Blue eyed Kate and Patrick Dhu, long long have found their rest,
Where Shruel's silent Churchyard looks across the Inny's breast;
And Eily, thy young heart lies cold and pulseless 'neath the sea,
Full many and many a Christmas-tide, alanna Bawn Machree.
And Potomac's blood tinged wave brave Owen nobly fell.
My gallant boy ! they say he fought, right gloriously and well;
And Brian's voice is hushed in Death, where Blue Australian streams,
Fill with their youthful melodies the exile's glowing dreams.
Asthore, asthore, beside the light our faces shine alone;
But they are clustered with the stars, before the eternal throne;
With St. Patrick and St. Bridge and the Angles robed in white,
They sing the old remembered strains, their Christmas hymn tonight.
Old love ! old love ! his will be blessed that left e'en you to me.
To keep my heart from bursting with the wild, wild memory.
That soothing glance, Mavoureen speaks of Christmas time to come,
When the scattered hearts shall meet, for aye in God's eternal home
1
The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the Crown,
Some usefull Irish Chedder and they both came tumbling down.
At second St. George they parted to,
From St. Stevens Green in town.
But there coming down for you Victoria.
Chorus
Victoria there coming for ye soon
Victoria it’s made around the moon
Its shining on December frost
To crown the flowers of June
But there coming down for you Victoria.
2
A Gas main burst in Belfast on the eve of poppy day
And loyal doors and windows soon flew rapidly away
They came to Dublin Dockland
and in the North or so they say
Sent the message from the Capital to Victoria.
Chorus as above
Victoria there coming for ye soon
Victoria its made around the moon
Its shining on December frost
to crown the flowers of June
But there coming down for you Victoria.
3
Georgie lost his seat
King Billy lost his head
And Wayne lost his Balance
From the Unicorn he fled
As sure as your a humpish
Bumpy Bumpy lump of lead
They’ be coming down for you Victoria
Chorus as above
4
Nelson’s weather eyed is looking out they say for spuds
There nervous in the phoenix park and round old Dublin’s Woods
But since there's ever cheap and useless good
They’ll be double A’s for you Victoria.
2 x Chorus as above at the end
The very last Chorus is sung in a lower voice Level.
DRUMBOE CASTLE Michael McGinley.
Songwriter Michael McGinley from Donegal wrote several more
well known songs that are included here including The Hills of Glenswilly Song
'Twas the eve of St. Patrick's Day by the dawn of the day,
The hills of Tirconnel looked sombre and grey.
When the first dawn of morning illumined the sky
Four brave Irish soldiers were led forth to die.
They left their loved homes in a green Munster vale,
And came to Tirconnell to fight for the Gael.
Instead of true friends they met traitor and foe,
Now uncoffined they lie in the woods of Drumboe.
The church bells rang loud in the cool morning air,
To summon the faithful to penance and prayer.
When a crash from the wild woods struck terror and woe,
'Twas the death knell of Daly shot dead at Drumboe.
Four Republican soldiers were dragged from their cells,
Where for months they had suffered the torments of hell.
No mercy they ask from their pitiless foe,
And no mercy was shown by the thugs of Drumboe.
Let Tirconnel no more boast of honour and fame,
All the waters of Finn could not wash out this shame.
While the Finn and the Swilly continue to flow,
This stain will remain on the thugs of Drumboe.
THE COLLEEN DHOUN
As I roved out one summer's morning,
I met a maiden of beauty rare -
The sweet wild roses, the braes adorning,
Not half so sweet are, nor half so fair.
The brown thrush singing when the sun is sinking,
The blackbird piping when the sun is down,
And the little stars in the sky a-winking,
Sang not so sweetly as my colleen dhoun.
Oh, brown tressed maiden of rarest beauty,.
You've won my heart on this summer day,
To love you always will be my duty,
If you, fair one, won't say me nay.'
`Young man,' she answered, `you are a stranger,
And I will ne'er give my heart and hand,
To any rover or to any ranger,
Who will not fight for his native land.'
`In the fields of France has my father batled,
My brothers, too, 'neath the fleur-de-lis
Where the sables flashed and the cannon rattled,
Struck many a blow to set Ireland free;
And the English flag often sank before them,
But their graves are made in a foreign strand,
And sad and lonely do I deplore them
Who died away from their native land.
`Oh, bright-eyed maiden, the hours I'm counting,
Till the summons comes to the brave and true,
And the green flag flies over plain and mountain
And pikes are flashing, and muskets, too.
And then, Astoreen, when the battle's over
I'll come and ask for your heart and hand
And if I fall forget not the rover
Who died for you and his native land
Goldsmith - John Keegan / Casey Ballad
The calm air rested on the grass
Brown-hued by summer's fading sun,
And far above the vapours dun,
Were clustering in the vapours mass.
From trellised doors low drooped the vine
And sounds of soft Provencal song,
Rose from the happy peasant throng
A-quaffing draughts of fragrant wine.
Far sunward, like a band of gold,
The broad Laire gleamed bright and fair,
And when the stout spears bristling there,
The Norman Rod fis flag unrolled.
His face has not the Gallic hue
Around his lips there plays a smile,
Like one whose breast is free from guile,
To God and nature firm and true.
Here, here is peace, yet not for me,
Let me enjoy it while I may,
I yearn for other scenes away,
In my own land across the sea.
The wanderer sits before the door,
Amid the eager, wandering hand,
The wine cup in his clasped hand,
Before him spread the household store.
He thinks how long he pined and pined,
The world and all it's shades to see,
It's citizen alone to be,
And here is what his hear divined.
Yet there is something wanting still,
The mother's love the father's prayer,
The freshness of his native air,
The ancient home, the rath - crowned hill.
This is the void, but now the rays,
Of moonlight kiss the ripening fruit,
He breathes into his soft tuned flute,
And young eyes fill the while he plays.
The sad old tunes that soothe his breast
Along the air in richness flow,
Frighted with dreams of long ago,
Dreams full of pearls and silken rest.
A change ! a change ! the jovial strain,
Old Ballymahon Town appears,
Bob, Jack and all the wild compeers,
Of awkward, mad brained ''Noll'' again !.
As swiftly round the dancers go,
He thinks he rides on ''Fiddleback'',
The careless poet's sorry hack.
With spirits in congenial flow.
Thus 'neath the smiling moon of France,
He laughs and plays his melodies,
To thoughts and fancies such as these,
That through his brain in madness dance.
So be it, Let the scoffer sneer -
Goldsmith ! thy life is understood,
By all like thee, who love the good,
To whom God's work is always dear.
Thy follies ! we can let them pass,
And make the bright lights ever shine
That sparkle from the soul divine
As clear and pure as crystal glass.
The traveller now, the preacher then,
The post preacher filled with love,
As gentle as the light above,
That woos the rugged hearts of men.
Here in the spot thy feet oft pressed,
A Celtic minstrel tribute pays,
To all those strange ways,
Thy faults, thy virtues, and the rest.
Peace to the clay ! let other men
Chant forth thy fame in golden song;
Where will thy like be found again
Christmas Memories by Leo Casey and published by Robert S. McGee 35 Lower Sackville Steet Dublin beside the General Post Office. Title of book - Wreath Of Shamrocks, Ballads, Songs and Legends.Leo Casey is better known for writing the famous rebel song The Rising Of The Moon .
Oh those Christmas times, Mavourneen are not like times of old.
When the light of love shone softly, and our pulses felt no cold;
When the laughter of the young hearts round the hearth rang merrily;
Now the laughter of the young hearts all are gone ashore, Machree !
Methinks I see our darling Kate, her blue eyes fixed on mine,
And dark haired Patrick resting soft his little hand in mine;
Methinks I hear brave Owen's voice, and Brian's free and gay,
With soft cheeked Eily's mingling in the holy Christmas lay.
Dreams ! dreams ! tonight the ancient hearth no kindly look doth wear,
There is snow upon the threshold stone and chillness everywhere,
No swell of rushing voices pours the holy Christmas lay,
The young hearts, and the merry hearts, Mavoureen, where are they ?
Ah, Blue eyed Kate and Patrick Dhu, long long have found their rest,
Where Shruel's silent Churchyard looks across the Inny's breast;
And Eily, thy young heart lies cold and pulseless 'neath the sea,
Full many and many a Christmas-tide, alanna Bawn Machree.
And Potomac's blood tinged wave brave Owen nobly fell.
My gallant boy ! they say he fought, right gloriously and well;
And Brian's voice is hushed in Death, where Blue Australian streams,
Fill with their youthful melodies the exile's glowing dreams.
Asthore, asthore, beside the light our faces shine alone;
But they are clustered with the stars, before the eternal throne;
With St. Patrick and St. Bridge and the Angles robed in white,
They sing the old remembered strains, their Christmas hymn tonight.
Old love ! old love ! his will be blessed that left e'en you to me.
To keep my heart from bursting with the wild, wild memory.
That soothing glance, Mavoureen speaks of Christmas time to come,
When the scattered hearts shall meet, for aye in God's eternal home
Joseph Tuck-Tune of ''Bow Wow Wow''
I'am Joseph Tuck, the tailor's son, a poor but honest blade, sirs,
And for these five-and-twenty years, a sorry life I've led, sirs;
And as I want some customers, I'll tell you what my trade is;
I'am barber, blacksmith, lawyer's clerk, and man-midwife to the ladies.
Fol lol lol, ko
I teach the bloods the way to box, and also how to fence, sirs.
I learn the malds the way to conx, and also how to dance, sirs;
I'am skilled in all your Highland reels, polkas, and Trish jigs, sirs,
And I can curl a ladie's hair, or frizlfy a wig, sirs
Fol lol lol, .
My shop is always stocked with toys, guns, wooden swords, and dolls, sirs,
Red herring, blacking, candy balls, sweet gingerbread, and coule, sirs:
I sell all sorts of ladies' ware,rings, parasols, and muffs, sir,
I likewise deal in anges, and other garden stil, lrs.
Fol lol lol, ko
.
I sell all sorts of liquors, too, rum, brundy, ale, and porter;
I light the lamps the whole year through, or take them by the quarter.
I likewise dress all kinds of leather, and linen fine and coarse, sirs
I keep a school for singing palms, and tools for shoeing horses, sirs.
Fol lol lol,
All kinds of sugar I do sell: soap, candles, salt, and spice, sins:
Potatoes, punk, and pickled pigs, and traps for caching mice, sis;
All patent articles I sell, and good fresh cordial roots, sirs
And I also on both make and mend all kinds of shoes and boots, sirs.
Fol lol lol,
I sell all sorts of grocery goods, mustard, tea, and rices,
Paper, pens, and sealing-wax, and cheese cut up in slices;
With crockery, stone or china wire, and kettlos, pans, and pots, sirs;
With boots and shoes, both cheap and dear, and second-handed coats, sirs.
Fol lol lol, .
I sell all sorts of medecines, with blocks for ropes to run in;
I likewise keep a bur-room, too, where tradesmen have their fun in;
With dancing school and ballroom, too, where lads and girls are frisky;
Tobacco, snuff, hot oyster pies, and the best of Irish whiskey,
Fol lol lol, &
Thus I have given you, in full, a statement of my ware, sirs
My rings, my rulls, my dolls, my mull, my leather, and my hair, sir
And not to wear your patience out, I here will make a stop, sirs,
Bid you good night, and go to bed, Whene'er I shut my shop, sirs.
Fol lol lol, &
I'am Joseph Tuck, the tailor's son, a poor but honest blade, sirs,
And for these five-and-twenty years, a sorry life I've led, sirs;
And as I want some customers, I'll tell you what my trade is;
I'am barber, blacksmith, lawyer's clerk, and man-midwife to the ladies.
Fol lol lol, ko
I teach the bloods the way to box, and also how to fence, sirs.
I learn the malds the way to conx, and also how to dance, sirs;
I'am skilled in all your Highland reels, polkas, and Trish jigs, sirs,
And I can curl a ladie's hair, or frizlfy a wig, sirs
Fol lol lol, .
My shop is always stocked with toys, guns, wooden swords, and dolls, sirs,
Red herring, blacking, candy balls, sweet gingerbread, and coule, sirs:
I sell all sorts of ladies' ware,rings, parasols, and muffs, sir,
I likewise deal in anges, and other garden stil, lrs.
Fol lol lol, ko
.
I sell all sorts of liquors, too, rum, brundy, ale, and porter;
I light the lamps the whole year through, or take them by the quarter.
I likewise dress all kinds of leather, and linen fine and coarse, sirs
I keep a school for singing palms, and tools for shoeing horses, sirs.
Fol lol lol,
All kinds of sugar I do sell: soap, candles, salt, and spice, sins:
Potatoes, punk, and pickled pigs, and traps for caching mice, sis;
All patent articles I sell, and good fresh cordial roots, sirs
And I also on both make and mend all kinds of shoes and boots, sirs.
Fol lol lol,
I sell all sorts of grocery goods, mustard, tea, and rices,
Paper, pens, and sealing-wax, and cheese cut up in slices;
With crockery, stone or china wire, and kettlos, pans, and pots, sirs;
With boots and shoes, both cheap and dear, and second-handed coats, sirs.
Fol lol lol, .
I sell all sorts of medecines, with blocks for ropes to run in;
I likewise keep a bur-room, too, where tradesmen have their fun in;
With dancing school and ballroom, too, where lads and girls are frisky;
Tobacco, snuff, hot oyster pies, and the best of Irish whiskey,
Fol lol lol, &
Thus I have given you, in full, a statement of my ware, sirs
My rings, my rulls, my dolls, my mull, my leather, and my hair, sir
And not to wear your patience out, I here will make a stop, sirs,
Bid you good night, and go to bed, Whene'er I shut my shop, sirs.
Fol lol lol, &
I ask you
What did Christ do, as naked on the Cross He hung
Twixt earth and sky, a God-man unknown?
Outraged, despised, neglected by the world
That passed him by and said:
`What did He do?'
Except the faithful few
Seeing beyond the wounds and blood and tears,
What sacrifice hath done for countless years,
Of generations yet unborn;
And still they say, who seeing, will not see,
`What has He done for me?'
Oh Irishmen! by tyrants led,
Your hearts grown cold, your minds corrupt,
What right have you to criticise the dead
That stood for God and Liberty!
Oh ye, who stand and see the Shadows stealing o'er our land,
Who seeing are unmoved, nor lift a hand
to strike a blow for freedom.
What can ye know of spirits such as these,
Or of the powers that move them to great deeds
'gainst frightful odds?
`What did they do?' You say who will not see,
Nor judge their merits further than their gains,
They give their lives --- no more!
What greater sacrifice does God demand
That we may live, and living think,
And, thinking, learn to soar above the fate of slaves?
Oh Blessed Failure! Born of the Cross,
Triumph is Thine,
For Christ has triumphed through eternety
Old Folk Songs From Ireland
What did Christ do, as naked on the Cross He hung
Twixt earth and sky, a God-man unknown?
Outraged, despised, neglected by the world
That passed him by and said:
`What did He do?'
Except the faithful few
Seeing beyond the wounds and blood and tears,
What sacrifice hath done for countless years,
Of generations yet unborn;
And still they say, who seeing, will not see,
`What has He done for me?'
Oh Irishmen! by tyrants led,
Your hearts grown cold, your minds corrupt,
What right have you to criticise the dead
That stood for God and Liberty!
Oh ye, who stand and see the Shadows stealing o'er our land,
Who seeing are unmoved, nor lift a hand
to strike a blow for freedom.
What can ye know of spirits such as these,
Or of the powers that move them to great deeds
'gainst frightful odds?
`What did they do?' You say who will not see,
Nor judge their merits further than their gains,
They give their lives --- no more!
What greater sacrifice does God demand
That we may live, and living think,
And, thinking, learn to soar above the fate of slaves?
Oh Blessed Failure! Born of the Cross,
Triumph is Thine,
For Christ has triumphed through eternety
Old Folk Songs From Ireland
St. Patrick's Day Parade
Saint Patrick was a gentleman,
Sure his name we celebrate,
And on the seventeenth of March
The Irish concentrate :
A bran-new hat on each man's head
And a green nectie that's newly made;
The left foot first, then lightly tread
In the Patrick's day parade;
Then two by two away we go,
Up Broadway, through rain or snow:
We'd face the divil, friend or foe,
In the Patrick's day parade.
We shout hurrah for Erin-go-bragh,
And all the Yankee nation,
Stars and stripes, and shamrock bright arrayed ;
The Irish shout, the girls turn out
To see the celebration :
We march stiff as starch,
In the Patrick's day parade.
You should see the marshal on his horse,
Like Napoleon Bonyparte,
And as he rides along the line,
He'd break each lady's heart,
And if the rain should fall down then,
We hoist our umbrellas high :
For history states that Irishmen
Are always warm and dry
Then two by two away we go,
Up Broadway, through rain or snow;
We'd face the divil friend or foe,
In the Patrick's day parade.
Then here's success to Patrick's day,
Though it comes but once a year,
And though I'm not a drinking man,
On that day I'd drink my beer;
I'll wear the shamrock in my hat,
The green, my boys, 'twill never fade,
And march along with Dan and Pat,
In the Patrick's day parade ;
Then two by two away we go,
Up Brondway, through rain or snow
We'd face the divil, friend or foe
In the Patrick's day parade.
Saint Patrick was a gentleman,
Sure his name we celebrate,
And on the seventeenth of March
The Irish concentrate :
A bran-new hat on each man's head
And a green nectie that's newly made;
The left foot first, then lightly tread
In the Patrick's day parade;
Then two by two away we go,
Up Broadway, through rain or snow:
We'd face the divil, friend or foe,
In the Patrick's day parade.
We shout hurrah for Erin-go-bragh,
And all the Yankee nation,
Stars and stripes, and shamrock bright arrayed ;
The Irish shout, the girls turn out
To see the celebration :
We march stiff as starch,
In the Patrick's day parade.
You should see the marshal on his horse,
Like Napoleon Bonyparte,
And as he rides along the line,
He'd break each lady's heart,
And if the rain should fall down then,
We hoist our umbrellas high :
For history states that Irishmen
Are always warm and dry
Then two by two away we go,
Up Broadway, through rain or snow;
We'd face the divil friend or foe,
In the Patrick's day parade.
Then here's success to Patrick's day,
Though it comes but once a year,
And though I'm not a drinking man,
On that day I'd drink my beer;
I'll wear the shamrock in my hat,
The green, my boys, 'twill never fade,
And march along with Dan and Pat,
In the Patrick's day parade ;
Then two by two away we go,
Up Brondway, through rain or snow
We'd face the divil, friend or foe
In the Patrick's day parade.
Tom The Lover - Tune of ''The Girl I Left Behind Me''.
I'm lonesome since. I crossed the saes,
Me mind is never azy,
No mortal sowl can give relief,
In troth I'm getting crazy.
The burning tears roll down me chakes,
In faith they nearly blind me,
I weep and sigh both night and day
For the Girl I left behind me.
The lovely lass I courted long,
She lives in Tipperary,
Her eyes were like the diamonds bright,
And they called her black eyed Mary.
In summer's night I took delight,
Her beauty so inclined me,
A thousand crowns I'd give to see
The Girl I left behind me.
In foreign lands compelled to roam,
Yet often think of Mary,
The black eyed lass that won me heart
That lives in Tipperary
On distant shores 1 weep and sigh,
Without a friend to mind me,
Bad luck unto the ship that sailed,
And left the Girl behind Be.
If e'er I land on Erin's shore,
I'll haste to Tipperary,
Within me arms I will embrace
Me lovely black eyed Mary.
With her I'll dwell while life shall last,
For she'd roam the world to find me,
From Mary I'll not wander more,
The Girl I left behind me.
I'm lonesome since. I crossed the saes,
Me mind is never azy,
No mortal sowl can give relief,
In troth I'm getting crazy.
The burning tears roll down me chakes,
In faith they nearly blind me,
I weep and sigh both night and day
For the Girl I left behind me.
The lovely lass I courted long,
She lives in Tipperary,
Her eyes were like the diamonds bright,
And they called her black eyed Mary.
In summer's night I took delight,
Her beauty so inclined me,
A thousand crowns I'd give to see
The Girl I left behind me.
In foreign lands compelled to roam,
Yet often think of Mary,
The black eyed lass that won me heart
That lives in Tipperary
On distant shores 1 weep and sigh,
Without a friend to mind me,
Bad luck unto the ship that sailed,
And left the Girl behind Be.
If e'er I land on Erin's shore,
I'll haste to Tipperary,
Within me arms I will embrace
Me lovely black eyed Mary.
With her I'll dwell while life shall last,
For she'd roam the world to find me,
From Mary I'll not wander more,
The Girl I left behind me.
Kitty from Baltimore Lyrics
When i was young
And
Had lots of fun
And been an early blade
I loved to walk
And have a talk
With a handsome comley maid.
2
That was the
Way
From day to day
That i spent my time alone
And i never found
Till i fell in love
With kitty from baltimore
3
It’s her father frank
That i might thank
Still he made me
In this sad state
He said he could
Not me endure
For to court his
Daughter kate
4
I went to kate
For to relate
All my troubles
And my grief
And she answered me
Quite modestly
Kind sir there is no relief
(mouth organmusic is played in between)
5
Not being content away i went
Till i joined the 98
I’m enlisted now she’s broken her vows
Farewell to my love kate
The note she wrote
My heart nearly broke
When i read it all in all
Saying she’d got wed
To a farmers son
Not far from baltimore
6
Now lads that’s young
Take my advice
And adventure to relate
Do not believe
A fair young lass
One word that she might say
She’l tell you lad
She loves you
And she’ll
Swear it
All and all
And she’ll curl her hair
And leave ye there
Like kitty from baltimore.
From the lp irish ballad brew 1968
With the folk group three coins
Trad arranged by (magee, woods)
This is another jaunting song easy to sing
From the three coins on a lp 1968 called irish ballad brew.
This Folk Song Was Sent to site by Patrick Burke
God's Island, Words and music Nick Sharkey
[ The Moonlighters ]
God made an Island and he placed it in the
sea, His fingers traced the river beds to set
the water free,When the rain falls on the hilltops and
the snow melts the spring,
He made the birds and crickets, and he
taught them how to sing.
Chorus
Some say him nay, it happened not that
way,'Twas the wind of the ages, and the sun
upon the clay,But who made the wind,
the earth and the sun ? And who made the ages
but the great and timeless one.
Chorus
Some still say nay, it happened not that way,
The Trinity means nothing more than time and sun and clay,
But who made the wind, the earth and the sun ?
And who made the ages but the great and timeless one.
Sea Captain
Once there lived a captain born out of the
sea,
And before he was married he was sent far
away,
Oh but when he returned, to her father he
did go,
''Is your daughter inside sir, may I see
her once more ?
''For my daughter is not here sir,
She left us here last night,
She is gone into some Nunnery,
Was the old man's reply.
He went unto the Nunnery,
And he knocked at the door,
The Reverend Mother came to him,
And she was all mournful go leor.
Then your love is not here sir,
She left us last night,
She is gone into the Asylum
Where she is fractured in mind.
He went into the Asylum,
Where he got a hard surprise,
And the anser that they gave him,
Oh she died here last night.
Let me in said the captain,
Let me in the captain cried,
Let me in until I see her,
And I'll die by her side.
For he stood at her left side,
And his sharp sword he drew.
When he stood to great attention.
And he pierced his heart through.
Oh sad it was the parting,
And hard it was the doom,
To see two loyal lovers,
Lying dead in that dark room.
Saying green grow the laurels,
And soft it was the dew,
Oh sorry am I true lover,
For ever parting with you.
By The Sea- John Keegan / Casey Ballad
The soft winds sing across the sea,
While here I sit all alone and cold.
Rapt in the rays of memory,
That flash from Golden days of old,
For oh, the oceans murmuring tune,
Speaks to my bosom of a time,
When life was as a harvest moon,
Or warbling of a sylvan rhyme.
An old grey home upon the beach
A gentle face that blessed the door,
Whose eyes like Saint's from sculptured niche,
Look into mine for evermore
Full voices 'mid the garden flowers,
To soothe and sanctify the day,
These once were mine but frozen hours,
Have stolen them all to depts away.
One after one they glided past,
Borne on the stream that mocks at time,
On dusty thorny pathways cast,
'Mid poisoned cares I lived my prime,
But still the breath of early buds
Remained to scent the cross I bore,
To give me strenght to breast the floods,
That break on life's enclouded shore.
Snow chilly snow, fell on my way,
And cast sharp icy thrills around.
But gentle voices day by day,
When hopeful tones my faint heart fond,
Soft stars looked through the dark browned skies,
And poured a pulsing light on my,
I felt they were the radiant eyes,
That lit my youth beside the sea.
Back memory ! close thy faded leaves,
And let me ope the page to come,
''T' is not with thee my soul now grieves;
I pine for rest ; I thirst for home !
I want to see beloved forms,
I want to clasp soft hands again,
To hear no more the roaring storms,
To feel no more the aching pain.
Dear Old Donegal - Old Irish Folk Song
Tho' I may range in foreign lands, beyond a dreary sea,
The home I leave in Ireland shall still be dear to me.
And as the river seeks the sea, my thoughts to it shall flow,
To rest on scenes I dearly loved, in the days of long ago;
For wheresoever my path shall lead and whatsoever shall befall,
I'll never forget the hills and dales of dear old Donegal.
Let Italy boast its myrtle groves, and skies of cloudless blue;
The bogs of dear old Ireland have got their myrtles, too;
And tho' her sky is often dark, her sun is seldom seen,
'Tis the weeping skies of Erin that keep old Ireland green.
The sweetest breath that nature breathes, the sweetest dews that fall,
Fall on the heath that clothes the hills of dear old Donegal.
I hear them praise the glint that lights the Spanish maiden's eyes,
I hear them praise the Saxon maid and laud her loud and high;
But there are girls in Ireland, fair as the flowers of spring,
With eyes as black as Irish sloes and hair like raven's wing.
You'll find them in the rugged glens, where mountain torrents fall,
By moor and lake and fen and brake in dear old Donegal.
Oh, how I loved to listen to Granny's Irish song,
She sang when soinnine at the wheel in her soft Gaelic tongue:
Oh, how I loved to listen to Granny's Irish song,
She sang when spinning at the wheel in her soft Gaelic tongue,
Or when she told some legend of ancient Irish Kings,
Or when the elfs in boisterous mirth, waltzed round the fairy rings,
You offer books, you offer wealth, I fling you back them all,
For the love songs and the legends of dear old Donegal.
Eileen - Traditional Irish Love Song
In a spot by the sea near the castle of Mulveen,
There lived a fair maiden called lovely Eileen.
Her cheeks were as bright as the clear morning dew,
And her love for her young fisher laddie was true.
Each morning he'd said with the sun and the tide,
But he always returned to his promised young bride.
On a rock by the shore they could hear him so plain,
His voice in the wind singing soft this refrain:
Chorus:
Eileen, my Eileen Wait for me, wait, Eileen.
They were to be wed on a Sunday in May,
His heart was overjoyed to see Eileen so gay.
Next morning he sailed with the sun and the tide,
And he never returned to his promised young bride.
Oh, no, never more, their hearts beat as one, ..
Her lover he died -- yes, he died in a storm.
Yet down by the shore she could hear him so plain,
His soft voice in the wind singing soft this refrain:
Chorus
They say that her heart it was broken in two,
For Eileen was so young and so true.
Down by the shore those who loved her the best,
Near the rocks where he waited they laid her to rest.
Many a year has passed since that day,
When maidens they waited for lovers so gay.
Yet down by the shore you can hear it so plain,
His ghost in the wind singing soft this refrain:
Chorus
Other songs about the name Eileen is Where My Eileen Is Waiting For Me Song by folk singer Johnny McEvoy.
The Old Lammas Fair
At the Ould Lammas Fair in Ballycastle long ago,
I met a little colleen, who set my heart a-glow;
She was smiling at her daddy buying lambs from Paddy Roe
At the Ould Lammas Fair in Ballycastle 0?
CHORUS:
At the Ould Lammas Fair, boys, were you ever there.
Were you ever at the fair in Ballycastle 0?
Did you treat your Mary Ann to dulse and yellow man
At the Ould Lammas Fair at Ballycastle 0?
In Flanders fields afar while resting from the war,
We drank Bon-Sante to the Flemish lassies 0;
But the scene that haunts my memory is kissing Mary Ann,
Her pouting lips all sticky from eating yellow man.
As we crossed the silver Morgey and strolled across the strand,
From the Ould Lammas Fair at Ballycastle 0!
There's a neat little cabin on the slopes of ould Knocklaod,
It's lit by love and sunshine where the heather honey's made
By the bees ever humming and our childer's joyous call,
it Resounds across the valley when the shadows fall.
I take my fiddle down and my Mary smiling there
Brings back a happy memory of the Ould Lammas Fair
JOHN HENRY MACAULAY -Old Folk Songs From Ireland
The Dawning Of The Day-Old Version
THE DAWNING OF THE DAY
As I walked forth one morning fair before the break of day,
Across the pleasant fields so gay I carelessly did stray;
I there espied a comely lass, she seemed the Queen of May,
As she lightly tripped o'er the meadows green at the dawning of the day.
Her cheeks were like the roses red, her hair a lovely brown,
And o'er her snow-white bosom fair, her careless locks hung down;
With milking pail all in her hand, as she crossed o'er the lea,
She far outshined Aurora bright at the dawning of the day.
I gently stepped up to her, and this to her did say:
`Good morning to you. pretty maid, pray what brought you this way?
You seem a stranger in these parts; oh, why so lonely stray,
At such an early hour as this, the dawning of the day.'
`I am no stranger o'er these plains,' she courteously replied;
`As yonder is my father's cot, down by the river's side;
The pastures where our cows feed on, they are so far away,
That I must be there each morning fair, by the dawning of the day.'
"Tis time enough, my jewel,' I said, `supposing it was a mile,
Come, sit you down on this primrosy bank, 'till we chat awhile.'
`Oh, no, kind sir, my hurry, I fear, admits of no delay,
Look all round, 'tis morning clear, 'tis the dawning of the day.'
Newer version of The Dawning Of The Day Song Lyrics
_______________________________
Old Folk Songs From Ireland
Songs From Killarney
God Be With You Kerry
O God be with you, Kerry,
When in childhood we were merry!
When we'd hear the fiddler tuning up
and resining the bow.
At the crossroads we'd be dancing,
And our colleens shyly glancing,
Just like their dads and mothers did
In Kerry long ago.
Now my heart is sad and weary,
Still in dreams I see my Mary,
With her golden tresses flying - on her
checks a rosy glow!
In her joy I hear her singing,
While Bill ? alpin's fiddle ringing
As he played The Stack at Barley,
Down in Kerry long ago.
We'd go down to Mary's dairy,
And our feet so light and airy.
At the churn we'd take our turn,
'till the butter would overflow.
Then to the kitchen we'd retire,
And pick out the biggest liar,
Just to tell us `fairy stories'
of Kerry long ago.
Then we'd stroll home in the moonlight,
And the colleens' waists we'd hug tight,
Just to save them from the fairies in the
Raheen' down below.
Then we'd say 'good-night' and kiss them;
We'd go home and pray; God bless them,
The sweethearts of our boyhood days
in Kerry long ago.
A more popular song regarding Co Kerry would be The Rose Of Tralee Song Lyrics .
Whiskey Row
Well I came to Chicage in 1869
And I took me a place in Connely's patch
Started on the railway working the UP line,
Walking those endless miles of track
Laying down those crossties and banging on the steel
In the cold wind and rain,
From Palmer House, down to Marshall Fields,
Every day was just the same.
Chorus
But at the end of the day,
We'd all wait for the horns to blow,
Then we'd make our own way,
Down to the Bars on Whiskey Row.
Now over at the stockyards the packers are winding down,
They're all waiting for the closing sign,
They'll rush the front gates and storm the town,
And take their seats upon the line,
With their glasses on the counter, their feet upon the rail
A friendly smile and hello
All the laughing getting louder with every passing tale,
Those golden days of Whiskey Row.
Now Palmer House has fallen
Pullman cars are off the track,
And there ain't no more Courthouse Square,
And nothing is left standing over at Connelys Patch
Since that mighty fire tore through there
But some day soon we'll reach up to the sky,
Over the rivers flames and smoke,
And she'll keep a lookout with a mothers eye,
Over her boys on Whiskey Row,
There's more songs about Whiskey than you can shake a stick at and
the most well known of them all is Whistle In The Jar Lyrics by
one of me old favorites Luke Kelly.
What Did They Do ?
By GRACE LORENZA O'MALLEY
What did they do?
Oh Irishmen! Whose souls are dead,
Who claim this blessed land
of our your motherland,
And walk in ways where Saints have led,
Who view the hills and breathe the air
But never see God's image there.
To you I speak:
You ask me: `What did they do?"
Old Irish Folk Songs
Savourneen Deelish Eileen Og
Ah! the moment was sad, when my Love and I parted..
Savourneen deelish Elleen oge!
As I kled off her fears, I was nigh broken-hearted..
Savourneen deelialı Kileon oge
Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder;
Damp was her band, no marble was colder:
I felt that again I should never behold her,
Savoureen declish Eileen oge
When the word of command put our men into motion,
Savon een deelish Edleen oge!
I buckled up my knapsack to cross the wide Ocean,
Savourneen doelich Eileen oge!
Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder,
Pleased with their voyage, impatient for plunder ;
My boom with grief was almost torn asunder,
Savourneen declish Eileen oge
Long I fought for my Country, far, far from my true love,
Savourneen declish Eileen oge!
All my pay and my bounty I hoarded for you, Love,
Savoureen deulish Eileen ogo!
But peace was proclaim'd, I escap'd from the slaughter,
Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her:
But sorrow, alas! to a cold grave had brought her,
Savoureen deellah Elleen oge
She is gone now, alas nnd thus left me forlom,
Savoureen deelish Elleen oge!
I'll take to the desart, for ever I'll mour,
Savoureen deelista Eileen oge!
Not the warbling throng, with the notes so charming,
Never shall soothe my grief or mourning :
But, in silent solitude, Elghing for my darling,
Savoureen declish Eileen ogel
Ah! the moment was sad, when my Love and I parted..
Savourneen deelish Elleen oge!
As I kled off her fears, I was nigh broken-hearted..
Savourneen deelialı Kileon oge
Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder;
Damp was her band, no marble was colder:
I felt that again I should never behold her,
Savoureen declish Eileen oge
When the word of command put our men into motion,
Savon een deelish Edleen oge!
I buckled up my knapsack to cross the wide Ocean,
Savourneen doelich Eileen oge!
Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder,
Pleased with their voyage, impatient for plunder ;
My boom with grief was almost torn asunder,
Savourneen declish Eileen oge
Long I fought for my Country, far, far from my true love,
Savourneen declish Eileen oge!
All my pay and my bounty I hoarded for you, Love,
Savoureen deulish Eileen ogo!
But peace was proclaim'd, I escap'd from the slaughter,
Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her:
But sorrow, alas! to a cold grave had brought her,
Savoureen deellah Elleen oge
She is gone now, alas nnd thus left me forlom,
Savoureen deelish Elleen oge!
I'll take to the desart, for ever I'll mour,
Savoureen deelista Eileen oge!
Not the warbling throng, with the notes so charming,
Never shall soothe my grief or mourning :
But, in silent solitude, Elghing for my darling,
Savoureen declish Eileen ogel
Mike Condon & Pat Garrett - Salute to Ireland
Rise up every man to our beloved Ireland
And salute to the orange white and green
Lets tell our foreign friends about
The land they love to sing about
To Ireland's greatest country ever seen.
We'll start off with a quick old tour
To Clare and The Cliffs Of Moher
In Limerick there is the Treaty Stone
In Cork the stone is Blarney
Our lakes are in Killarney
And in Tipp. The Rock Of Cashil stands alone.
We'll head out west for Sligo
The Shrine Of Knock in Mayo
On to Galway to avail of history
Foxford with it's Wollen Mills
Donegal with those beautiful hills
Then Killybegs where the boys came rolling home.
Rise up every man to our beloved Ireland
And salute to the orange white and green
Lets tell our foreign friends about
The land they love to sing about
To Ireland's greatest country ever seen.
Dublin is our capital where Daniel O'Connell is standing ore'
It's castle and it's famous G.P.O.
Our provinces of Munster, Leinster Connaught and Ulster
Four corners of our land we're proud to know
'''' we must confess of the people North South East and West
Their friendly make you welcome any time
Every where you'll see a smile, the trademark of our '''
In Ireland our hearts will always be.
Rise up every man to our beloved Ireland
And salute to the orange white and green
Lets tell our foreign friends about
The land they love to sing about
To Ireland's greatest country ever seen.
Rise up every man to our beloved Ireland
And salute to the orange white and green
Lets tell our foreign friends about
The land they love to sing about
To Ireland's greatest country ever seen.
We'll start off with a quick old tour
To Clare and The Cliffs Of Moher
In Limerick there is the Treaty Stone
In Cork the stone is Blarney
Our lakes are in Killarney
And in Tipp. The Rock Of Cashil stands alone.
We'll head out west for Sligo
The Shrine Of Knock in Mayo
On to Galway to avail of history
Foxford with it's Wollen Mills
Donegal with those beautiful hills
Then Killybegs where the boys came rolling home.
Rise up every man to our beloved Ireland
And salute to the orange white and green
Lets tell our foreign friends about
The land they love to sing about
To Ireland's greatest country ever seen.
Dublin is our capital where Daniel O'Connell is standing ore'
It's castle and it's famous G.P.O.
Our provinces of Munster, Leinster Connaught and Ulster
Four corners of our land we're proud to know
'''' we must confess of the people North South East and West
Their friendly make you welcome any time
Every where you'll see a smile, the trademark of our '''
In Ireland our hearts will always be.
Rise up every man to our beloved Ireland
And salute to the orange white and green
Lets tell our foreign friends about
The land they love to sing about
To Ireland's greatest country ever seen.
LOVE'S WISHES.
Would I were Erin's apple-blossom o'er you,
Or Erin's rose in all its beauty blown,
To drop my richest petals down before you,
Within the garden where you walk alone
;
In hope you'd turn and pluck a little posy,
With loving fingers through my foliage pressed,
And kiss it close and set it blushing rosy
To sigh out all its sweetness on your breast.
Would I might take the pigeon's flight towards you,
And perch beside your window-pane above,
And murmur how my heart of hearts it hoards you,
O hundred thousand treasures of my love
;
In hope you'd stretch your slender hand and take me,
And smooth my wildly-fluttering wings to rest,
And lift me to your loving lips and make me
My bower of blisses in your loving breast
I ONCE LOVED A BOY.
I once loved a boy, and a bold Irish boy,
Far away in the hills of the West
;
Ah ! the love of that boy was my jewel of joy,
And I built him a bower in my breast,
In my breast
;
And I built him a bower in my breast.
I once loved a boy, and I trusted him true,
And I built him a bower in my breast
;
But away, wirrasthrue ! the rover he flew,
And robbed my poor heart of its rest, Of its rest
;
And robbed my poor heart of its rest.
The spring-time returns, and the sweet
speckled thrush Murmurs soft to his mate on her nest,
But for ever there's fallen a sorrowful hush
O'er the bower that I built in my breast,
In my breast
;
O'er the desolate bower in my breast
THE BANKS OF THE DAISIES LYRICS
When first I saw young Molly
Stretched beneath the holly,
Fast asleep, forenint her sheep,
one dreamy summer's day,
With daisies laughing round her,
Hand and foot I bound her,
Then kissed her on her blooming cheek, and softly stole away.
But, as with blushes burning
Tip-toe I was turning,
From sleep she starts,
and on me darts a dreadful lightning ray;
My foolish flowery fetters
Scornfully she scatters,
And like a winter sunbeam she coldly sweeps away.
But Love, young Love, comes stooping
O'er my daisies drooping,
And oh ! each flower with fairy power the rosy boy renews
;
Then twines each charming cluster
In links of starry lustre,
And with the chain enchanting
my colleen proud pursues.
And soon I met young Molly
Musing melancholy,
With downcast eyes and starting sighs,
along the meadow bank;
And oh ! her swelling bosom
Was wreathed with daisy blossom,
Like stars in summer heaven, as in my arms she sank
HERRING IS KING LYRICS
Let all the fish that swim the sea,
Salmon and turbot, cod and ling,
Bow down the head, and bend the knee
To herring, their king ! to herring, their king !
Sing, Hugamarfein an sowralin
'Tis we have brought the summer in.
The sun sank down so round and red Upon the bay, upon the bay
;
The sails shook idle overhead,
Becalmed we lay, becalmed we lay
;
Sing, Hugamarfein an sowra tin',
'Tis we have brought the summer in.
Till Shawn the eagle dropped on deck
The bright-eyed boy, the bright-eyed boy
;
'Tis he has spied your silver track,
Herring, our joy, herring, our joy
;
Sing, Hugamarfein an sowra lin',
'Tis we have brought the summer in.
It was in with the sails and away to shore,
With the rise and swing, the rise and swing
Of two stout lads at each smoking oar,
After herring, our king, herring, our king
;
Sing, Hugamarfein an sowra lin',
'Tis we have brought the summer in.
The Manx and the Cornish raised the shout,
And joined the chase and joined the chase ;
But their fleets they fouled as they went about,
And we won the race, we won the race ;
Sing, Hugamarfein an sowra lin',
'Tis we have brought the summer in.
For we turned and faced you full to land,
Down the gdleen long, the gdleen long,
And, after you, slipped from strand to
strand Our nets so strong, our nets so strong ;
Sing, Hugamarfein an sowra lin',
'Tis we have brought the summer in.
Then we called to our sweethearts and our wives,
" Come welcome us home, welcome us home,"
Till they ran to meet us ,for their lives
Into the foam, into the foam
Sing, Hugamarfiin an sowra lin\'Tis we have brought the su??imer in.
O the kissing of hands and waving of caps
From girl and boy, from girl and boy,
While you leapt by scores in the lasses' laps,
Herring, our joy, herring, our joy
;
Sing, Hugamarfein an sowra liri,
'Tis we have brought the summer in.
HUSH SONG LYRICS
I would hush my lovely laddo,
In the green arbutus' shadow,
O'er the fragrant, flowering meadow,
In the smiling spring-time.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo !
I'd hush my boy beside the fountain,
By the soothing, silvery fountain,
On the pleasant, purple mountain,
In the sultry summer.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo !
I would smooth my darling's pillow,
By the blue Atlantic billow,
On the shores of Parknasilla,
In the golden autumn.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo
I would soothe my child to slumber,
By the rosy, rustling ember,
Through the days of dark December,
In the stormy winter.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo I
May no cruel fairy charm thee !
May no dread banshee alarm thee !
Flood, nor fire,
nor sickness harm thee !
Winter, spring, and summer,
Summer, autumn, winter,
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo
THE FOGGY DEW LYRICS
Oh ! a wan cloud was drawn
O'er the dim, weeping dawn,
As to Shannon's side I returned at last
;
And the heart in my breast
For the girl I loved best Was beating—ah beating, how loud and fast
!
While the doubts and the fears Of the long, aching years
Seemed mingling their voices with the moaning flood ;
Till full in my path,
Like a wild water-wraith,
My true love's shadow lamenting stood.
But the sudden sun kissed The cold, cruel mist
Into dancing showers of diamond dew
;
The dark flowing stream
Laughed back to his beam,
And the lark soared singing aloft in the blue
While no phantom of night,
But a form of delight
Ran with arms outspread to her darling boy
:
And the girl I love best On my wild, throbbing breast
Hid her thousand treasures, with a cry of joy.
Other version of The Foggy Dew Lyrics
THE CONFESSION LYRICS
A lovely lass with modest mien
Stole out one morning early
;
The dew-drops glancing o'er the green Made all her pathway pearly.
Young Lawrence struck with Cupid's dart,
Cupid's dart distressing,
As through the fields he saw her start,
Sighed, " She's gone confessing
!
O vo ! 'twould ease my heart To earn the father's blessing."
The Father, with a twinkling eye, He watched my boyo cunning,
Unnoticed by his colleen's eye Behind the bushes running.
" How well," he laughed, "young Lawrence there,
After all my pressing,
With his sweetheart, I declare,
Comes at last confessing.
Oho ! I'll just take care To give the lad a lesson."
The pleasant priest unbarred the door,
As solemn as a shadow,
" How slow,'' cried he, " you've come before,
How hot-foot now, my laddo. The serious steal with looks sedate,
Seeking to be shriven,
But you, you're in no fitting state Now to be forgiven,
So go within and wait
With all your thoughts on heaven."
The fair one following in a while Made out her faults with meekness
;
The priest then asked her with a smile Had she no other weakness,
And led with that young Lawrence in
;
Her cheeks were now confessing.
" Well, since 'tis after all a sin
Easy of redressing,
Here, dear, I'd best begin
To give you both my blessing."
THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME LYRICS
The route has come, we march away,
Our colours dance before us,
But sorrow's cloud made dark the day
That from our sweethearts tore us
;
My own dear lass she sobbed " adieu,"
Her loving arms entwined me,
And oft she prayed me to be true
To the girl I left behind me.
Yes ! I'll be true ;
when steel to steel
The ranks of war are rolling,
And round us every cannon peal
A funeral knell is tolling
;
Then if from out the battle flame
A fatal ball should find me,
My dying lips shall bless the name
Of the girl I left behind me.
But, if in triumph I return To tell
a soldier's story, Though proudly
on my breast should burn
The golden cross of glory,
No other maid with magic art
Shall break the links that bind me
For ever to the faithful heart
Of the girl I left behind me.
Other version of The Girl I Left Behind Me Lyrics
I would hush my lovely laddo,
In the green arbutus' shadow,
O'er the fragrant, flowering meadow,
In the smiling spring-time.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo !
I'd hush my boy beside the fountain,
By the soothing, silvery fountain,
On the pleasant, purple mountain,
In the sultry summer.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo !
I would smooth my darling's pillow,
By the blue Atlantic billow,
On the shores of Parknasilla,
In the golden autumn.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo
I would soothe my child to slumber,
By the rosy, rustling ember,
Through the days of dark December,
In the stormy winter.
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo I
May no cruel fairy charm thee !
May no dread banshee alarm thee !
Flood, nor fire,
nor sickness harm thee !
Winter, spring, and summer,
Summer, autumn, winter,
Shoheen sho lo,
Shoheen hoo lo
THE FOGGY DEW LYRICS
Oh ! a wan cloud was drawn
O'er the dim, weeping dawn,
As to Shannon's side I returned at last
;
And the heart in my breast
For the girl I loved best Was beating—ah beating, how loud and fast
!
While the doubts and the fears Of the long, aching years
Seemed mingling their voices with the moaning flood ;
Till full in my path,
Like a wild water-wraith,
My true love's shadow lamenting stood.
But the sudden sun kissed The cold, cruel mist
Into dancing showers of diamond dew
;
The dark flowing stream
Laughed back to his beam,
And the lark soared singing aloft in the blue
While no phantom of night,
But a form of delight
Ran with arms outspread to her darling boy
:
And the girl I love best On my wild, throbbing breast
Hid her thousand treasures, with a cry of joy.
Other version of The Foggy Dew Lyrics
THE CONFESSION LYRICS
A lovely lass with modest mien
Stole out one morning early
;
The dew-drops glancing o'er the green Made all her pathway pearly.
Young Lawrence struck with Cupid's dart,
Cupid's dart distressing,
As through the fields he saw her start,
Sighed, " She's gone confessing
!
O vo ! 'twould ease my heart To earn the father's blessing."
The Father, with a twinkling eye, He watched my boyo cunning,
Unnoticed by his colleen's eye Behind the bushes running.
" How well," he laughed, "young Lawrence there,
After all my pressing,
With his sweetheart, I declare,
Comes at last confessing.
Oho ! I'll just take care To give the lad a lesson."
The pleasant priest unbarred the door,
As solemn as a shadow,
" How slow,'' cried he, " you've come before,
How hot-foot now, my laddo. The serious steal with looks sedate,
Seeking to be shriven,
But you, you're in no fitting state Now to be forgiven,
So go within and wait
With all your thoughts on heaven."
The fair one following in a while Made out her faults with meekness
;
The priest then asked her with a smile Had she no other weakness,
And led with that young Lawrence in
;
Her cheeks were now confessing.
" Well, since 'tis after all a sin
Easy of redressing,
Here, dear, I'd best begin
To give you both my blessing."
THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME LYRICS
The route has come, we march away,
Our colours dance before us,
But sorrow's cloud made dark the day
That from our sweethearts tore us
;
My own dear lass she sobbed " adieu,"
Her loving arms entwined me,
And oft she prayed me to be true
To the girl I left behind me.
Yes ! I'll be true ;
when steel to steel
The ranks of war are rolling,
And round us every cannon peal
A funeral knell is tolling
;
Then if from out the battle flame
A fatal ball should find me,
My dying lips shall bless the name
Of the girl I left behind me.
But, if in triumph I return To tell
a soldier's story, Though proudly
on my breast should burn
The golden cross of glory,
No other maid with magic art
Shall break the links that bind me
For ever to the faithful heart
Of the girl I left behind me.
Other version of The Girl I Left Behind Me Lyrics
EVA TUOHILL LYRICS
Who's not heard of Eva Tuohill,
Munster's purest, proudest jewel
Queen of Limerick's lovely maidens,
Cork's colleens, and Galway girls
With her slender shape that's swimmin'
Like a swan among the women,
With her voice of silver cadence,
And her crown of clustering curls ?
O ! the eyes of Eva Tuohill
!
Now, why wouldn't Cromwell cruel,
Just have called two centuries later
With his cannon at Tervoe ?
For, one flash of angry azure Through that silky black embrasure,
And away old Noll should scatter With his army out of view.
Is't describe you Eva Tuohill With the dozenth rapier duel,
Fought to fix her sweet complexion
And the colour of her hair ?
Is it picture you her figure,
That's compelled so many a trigger
Take the deadliest direction
Through the early morning air ?
Well, no wonder, Eva Tuohill
!
Since you're just one glorious jewel
Lit with lovely flying flushes
From delightful lip to brow
;
Now in dreams your eyes they darkle,
Now with joy they dance and sparkle
;
Now your cheek is bathed in blushes,
Drowned in dimpled laughter now.
But your beauty, Eva Tuohill,
Is no opal false and cruel
;
Nor the meteor star deceiving,
Flashing ruin from above. No !
but some divinest splendour,
Out of angels' tear-drops tender
Crystalled, in one Iris weaving
Faith and Hope and Virgin Love.
'TIS I CAN WEAVE WOOLLENAND LINEN. LYRICS
Tis I can weave woollen and linen,
The finest folk wear on their backs ;
So, girls, come give over your spinnin',
And wind off your wool and your flax
!
Five year at my woollen and linen
I've woven from mornin' to night,
With a heart that beat heavy beginnin',
But is leapin' for ever more light.
For with guineas full up is the stockin',
Sewed safe in the tick of my bed,
And 'tis soon that I'll rest without rockin',
Since at Shrove with my Willy I'll wed.
MAUREEN, MAUREEN! LYRICS
Oh ! Maureen, Maureen, have you forgotten
The fond confession that you made to me,
While round us fluttered the white bog cotton,
And o'er us waved the wild arbutus tree ?
Like bits of sky bo-peeping through the bower,
No sooner were your blue eyes sought than flown,
Till white and fluttering as the cotton flower
Your slender hand it slipped into my own.
Oh ! Maureen, Maureen, do you remember
The faithful promise that you pledged to me
The night we parted in black December
Beneath the tempest-tossed arbutus tree,
When faster than the drops from heaven flowing
Your heavy tears they showered with ceaseless start,
And wilder than the storm-wind round us blowing
Your bitter sobs they smote upon my heart
Oh ! Maureen, Maureen, for your love only
I left my father and mother dear
;
Within the churchyard they're lying lonely,
Tis from their tombstone I've travelled here.
Their only son, you sent me o'er the billow,
Ochone ! though kneeling they implored me stay
;
They sickened with no child to smooth their pillow
;
They died Are you as dead to me as they ?
Oh ! Maureen, must then the love I bore you
Seven lonesome summers of longing trust
Turn like the fortune I've gathered for .you,
Like treacherous fairy treasure, into dust ?
But Maureen bawn asthore, your proud lips quiver ;
Into your scornful eyes the tears they start
;
Your rebel hand returns to mine for ever
;
Oh ! Maureen, Maureen, never more we'll part.
WHEN I ROSE IN THE MORNING.
When I rose in the morning,
My heart full of woe,
I implored all the song birds
Why their mates on the bough
To their pleading gave heeding,
While Kate still said " No ;"
But they made no kind answer
To a heart full of woe.
Till the wood-quest at noon,
From the forest below,
He taught me his secret
So tender and low
Of stealing fond feeling
With sweet notes of woe,
Coo-cooing so soft
Through the green leafy row.
The long shadows fell,
And the sun he sank low,
And again I was pleading
In the mild evening glow
:
"Ah! Kitty, have pity!"
Then how could she say " No."
So for ever I'm free
From a heart full of woe.
THE MILL SONG.
Corn is a-sowing
Over the hill,
The stream is a-flowing,
Round goes the mill.
Winding and grinding,
Round goes the mill
;
Winding and grinding
Should never stand still.
The hands that are strongest
Are welcome here,
And those that work longest
Earn the best cheer.
The green corn is hinting
Over the hill,
Lasses tormenting
The lads to their fill.
Winding and grinding, 6rc.
The gold corn is glinting
Over the hill;
Lasses consenting,
Lads have their will.
Winding and grinding, &*/:.
Corn is a-carrying
Into the mill, Young folk are marrying
Over the hill.
Winding and grinding, &°c.
From the hands of the shaker
Again goes the corn,
The old to God's acre
Gently are borne.
Winding and grinding, 6rc.
The green corn is glistening
Once more with the spring
;
Children are christening,
Glad mothers sing.
Winding andgrinding, &>c.
Thus our life runs around,
Like the mill with its corn,
Young folk are marrying,
Old folk are burying,
Young folk are born.
Winding and grinding,
Round goes the mill
;
Winding and grinding
Should never stand still.
The hands that are strongest
Are welcome here, And they that work longest
Earn the best cheer.
TIS A PITY I CAN'T SEE MY LOVE LYRICS
On his flute of gold the blackbird bold
Love's tale to his melting mate has told,
And now the thieves have started ;
And o'er the ground, in fluttering round,
Enamoured fly, whilst you and I
In lonesome pain are parted.
But when hearts beat true through the night of sorrow,
They're blest the more when the magic morrow
Its rosy ray has darted.
Fortune may wave her wings and fly,
But she'll flutter back again by and by,
And crown the constant-hearted.
These birds that pair in the April air
Forget their faith on the branches bare,
By autumn blasts affrighted,
And to fresh loves sing with the start of spring
;
When you and I with a golden ring
In joy shall be united.
For when hearts beat true through the night of sorrow,
They're blest the most when the marriage morrow
Its lamp of love has lighted.
Fortune may wave her wings and fly,
But she'll flutter back to us by and by,
And crown the troth we've plighted.
WITH THE NORTH LYRICS
With lip contemptuous curling,
She cried, " Is freedom's flag above
Fold on fold unfurling,
And Patrick pleading love ? Oh ! yes,
when patriots hand in hand
Unite to free their foster-land
From slavery's accursed band,
What true man woos a woman?
Then with my bitter scorning
Go, live dishonoured, die a slave,
Or march to-morrow morning
To battle with the brave."
" We'll steal a march on sorrow,''
Our Captain sighed, a soldier grey,
" Sound the drum to-morrow
Before the dawn of day."
But ere the drum's first muffled beat
The women crowded down the street,
How many never more to meet
Their death-devoted heroes.
Then as I passed her dwelling,
My proud one o'er her casement frame,
The sobs her bosom swelling,
Leant forth and sighed my name.
Oh ! have you seen Atlantic
Advance his green, resistless line
Against the cliffs gigantic,
And bury them in brine ?
Thus on our stubborn foe we fell,
Death's lightning darting from our steel,
Whilst round us every cannon peal
A hero's requiem thundered !
And still with forward faces
Went down in death our dauntless men,
And still into their places
As gallant hearts stepped in.
Till to a sunburst glorious,
That all the field of battle fired,
Before our van victorious The sullen South retired.
Then peace returned, and from the war
Our banner bright with many a star
'Twas mine to flutter from afar
In triumph to our city
;
Till I at last could wreathe it
Around my true love's throbbing heart,
And we two kissed beneath it,
Oh ! never more to part
NANCY, THE PRIDE OF THE WEST LYRICS
We have dark lovely looks on the shores where the Spanish
From their gay ships came gallantly forth,
And the sweet shrinking violets sooner will vanish
Than modest blue eyes from our north
;
But oh ! if the fairest of fair-daughtered Erin
Gathered round at her golden request,
There's not one of them all that she'd think worth comparing
With Nancy, the pride of the west.
You'd suspect her the statue the Greek fell in love with,
If you chanced on her musing alone,
Or some goddess great Jove was offended above with,
And chilled to a sculpture of stone
;
But you'd think her no colourless, classical statue,
When she turned from her pensive repose,
With her glowing grey eyes glancing timidly at you,
And the blush of a beautiful rose.
Have you heard Nancy sigh ?
then you've caught the sad echo
From the wind harp enchantingly borne.
Have you heard the girl laugh ?
then you've heard the first
cuckoo
Carol summer's delightful return.
And the songs that poor ignorant country folk fancy
The lark's liquid raptures on high,
Are just old Irish airs from the sweet lips of Nancy,
Flowing up and refreshing the sky.
And though her foot dances so soft
from the heather To the dew-twinkling tussocks of grass,
It but warns the bright drops to slip closer together
To image the exquisite lass
;
We've no men left among us, so lost to emotion,
Or scornful, or cold to her sex,
Who'd resist her, if Nancy once took up the notion
To set that soft foot on their necks.
Yet, for all that the bee flies for honey-dew fragrant
To the half-opened flower of her lips,
And the butterfly pauses, the purple-eyed vagrant,
To play with her pink finger-tips
;
From all human lovers she locks up the treasure
A thousand are starving to taste,
And the fairies alone know the magical
measure Of the ravishing round of her waist
JENNY, I'M NOT JESTING LYRICS
" Ah, Jenny, I'm not jesting,
Believe what I'm protesting,
And yield what I'm requesting
These seven years through."
" Ah, Lawrence, I may grieve you
;
Yet, if I can't relieve you,
Sure, why should I deceive you
With words untrue-.
But, since you must be courtin',
There's Rosy and her fortune,
'Tis rumoured your consortir/
With her of late.
Or there's your cousin Kitty,
So charming and so witty,
She'd wed you out of pity,
Kind Kate."
" Fie ! Jenny, since I knew you,
Of all the lads that woo you,
None's been so faithful to you,
If truth were told ; Even when yourself
was dartin' Fond looks at fickle Martin,
Till off the thief went startin'
For Sheela's gold."
" And, if you've known me longest,
Why should your love be strongest,
And his that's now the youngest,
For that be worst?" " Fire, Jenny, quickest kindled
Is always soonest dwindled,
And thread the swiftest spindled
Snaps first."
" If that's your wisdom, Larry,
The longer I can tarry, The luckier I shall marry
At long, long last."
" I've known of girls amusing,
Their minds, the men refusing,
Till none were left for choosing
At long, long last."
" Well, since it seems that marriage
Is still the safest carriage,
And all the world disparage
The spinster lone
;
Since you might still forsake me,
I think I'll let you take me.
Yes ! Larry, you may make me
Your own ! "
THE HOUR WE PARTED LYRICS
The hour we parted,
When broken-hearted You clung around me,
Maureen, aroo,
I swore I'd treasure,
Thro' pain and pleasure,
Thro' health and sickness,
My love for you.
And still that jewel,
Thro' changes cruel Of fickle Fortune
I'll jealous guard ;
Still let her vary, The jade contrary,
If but my Mary
Be my reward.
Yes ! scorn and anger,
Distress and languor,
They're welcome willing,
The long day thro',
Could I feel certain
That ev'ning's curtain
But clos'd us nearer,
Maureen, aroo
!
The dreamy shadows
Along the meadows
Go softly stealing,
And falls the dew
;
And o'er the billows,
Like faithful swallows,
All, all my thoughts, dear,
Fly home to you.
With touches silken,
I see you milkin' The crossest Kerry
In Adragole
;
And like a fairy,
You're singing, Mary,
Till every keeler
Is foaming full.
The night is falling, And you are calling
The cattle homeward,
With coaxing tone
;
In God's own keeping,
Awake or sleeping,
'Tis now I leave you,
Maureen, mavrone !
THE SMITH'S SONG LYRICS
" Ding dong, didilium ! the big sledge is swinging,
Ding dong, didilium ! the little hammer's ringing,
Ding^ dong, didilium ! set the bellows snoring : Ding dong,
didilium ! the red fire is roaring.''
" Hush, boys, and hark, boys, I hear a pair eloping,
Hush, boys, and hark, boys, they'll go free, I'm hoping,
Ding dong, didilium ! I hear a shoe clinking,
Ding dong, didilium ! there's need of nails, I'm thinking.''
" For Heaven's sake, a shoe, smith ! " " Your honor, here 'tis
ready
;
Woa, mare, and so, mare, and steady, girl, steady !
Ding dong, didilium ! off goes the carriage,
Ding dong, didilium ! good luck be with the marriage."
" Hush, boys, and hark, boys, I hear the kettle-drumming,
' Drimin dhu, drimin dhu,' King James's horse are coming ;
Up, on the thatch, where my pretty pikes are hidden,
And have them all handy and bright when you're bidden."
" For Heaven's sake, the pikes, smith ! " " They're here
for your picking,
Long pikes and strong pikes, and pikes for Dutchmensticking !
Ding dong, didilium ! cursing in their cruppers,
Here jog the Mynherrs, 'tis time for our suppers."
MO MOIREEN DHU LYRICS
When I sailed away
To win wealth for you
O'er the stormy sea, O mo moireen dhu !
On the western wave A black pirate knave
Bore me off his slave From mo moireen dhu !
And I should work
For the tyrant Turk,
In cruel chains, beneath the scorching sun,
And never hear, when the dreadful week was done,
Bells for Christian prayer
Calling through the air.
Till a Moslem maid,
For the love of me,
With her artful aid,
Stole and set me free.
But no soft collogue
With that charming rogue, Mo moireen oge,
Turned my heart from thee,
And I'm home at last
O'er the ocean vast, My good red gold,
in gaily glittering store,
Into mo moireen's modest lap to pour
;
While with magic swell Wakes our marriage bell
On his flute of gold the blackbird bold
Love's tale to his melting mate has told,
And now the thieves have started ;
And o'er the ground, in fluttering round,
Enamoured fly, whilst you and I
In lonesome pain are parted.
But when hearts beat true through the night of sorrow,
They're blest the more when the magic morrow
Its rosy ray has darted.
Fortune may wave her wings and fly,
But she'll flutter back again by and by,
And crown the constant-hearted.
These birds that pair in the April air
Forget their faith on the branches bare,
By autumn blasts affrighted,
And to fresh loves sing with the start of spring
;
When you and I with a golden ring
In joy shall be united.
For when hearts beat true through the night of sorrow,
They're blest the most when the marriage morrow
Its lamp of love has lighted.
Fortune may wave her wings and fly,
But she'll flutter back to us by and by,
And crown the troth we've plighted.
WITH THE NORTH LYRICS
With lip contemptuous curling,
She cried, " Is freedom's flag above
Fold on fold unfurling,
And Patrick pleading love ? Oh ! yes,
when patriots hand in hand
Unite to free their foster-land
From slavery's accursed band,
What true man woos a woman?
Then with my bitter scorning
Go, live dishonoured, die a slave,
Or march to-morrow morning
To battle with the brave."
" We'll steal a march on sorrow,''
Our Captain sighed, a soldier grey,
" Sound the drum to-morrow
Before the dawn of day."
But ere the drum's first muffled beat
The women crowded down the street,
How many never more to meet
Their death-devoted heroes.
Then as I passed her dwelling,
My proud one o'er her casement frame,
The sobs her bosom swelling,
Leant forth and sighed my name.
Oh ! have you seen Atlantic
Advance his green, resistless line
Against the cliffs gigantic,
And bury them in brine ?
Thus on our stubborn foe we fell,
Death's lightning darting from our steel,
Whilst round us every cannon peal
A hero's requiem thundered !
And still with forward faces
Went down in death our dauntless men,
And still into their places
As gallant hearts stepped in.
Till to a sunburst glorious,
That all the field of battle fired,
Before our van victorious The sullen South retired.
Then peace returned, and from the war
Our banner bright with many a star
'Twas mine to flutter from afar
In triumph to our city
;
Till I at last could wreathe it
Around my true love's throbbing heart,
And we two kissed beneath it,
Oh ! never more to part
NANCY, THE PRIDE OF THE WEST LYRICS
We have dark lovely looks on the shores where the Spanish
From their gay ships came gallantly forth,
And the sweet shrinking violets sooner will vanish
Than modest blue eyes from our north
;
But oh ! if the fairest of fair-daughtered Erin
Gathered round at her golden request,
There's not one of them all that she'd think worth comparing
With Nancy, the pride of the west.
You'd suspect her the statue the Greek fell in love with,
If you chanced on her musing alone,
Or some goddess great Jove was offended above with,
And chilled to a sculpture of stone
;
But you'd think her no colourless, classical statue,
When she turned from her pensive repose,
With her glowing grey eyes glancing timidly at you,
And the blush of a beautiful rose.
Have you heard Nancy sigh ?
then you've caught the sad echo
From the wind harp enchantingly borne.
Have you heard the girl laugh ?
then you've heard the first
cuckoo
Carol summer's delightful return.
And the songs that poor ignorant country folk fancy
The lark's liquid raptures on high,
Are just old Irish airs from the sweet lips of Nancy,
Flowing up and refreshing the sky.
And though her foot dances so soft
from the heather To the dew-twinkling tussocks of grass,
It but warns the bright drops to slip closer together
To image the exquisite lass
;
We've no men left among us, so lost to emotion,
Or scornful, or cold to her sex,
Who'd resist her, if Nancy once took up the notion
To set that soft foot on their necks.
Yet, for all that the bee flies for honey-dew fragrant
To the half-opened flower of her lips,
And the butterfly pauses, the purple-eyed vagrant,
To play with her pink finger-tips
;
From all human lovers she locks up the treasure
A thousand are starving to taste,
And the fairies alone know the magical
measure Of the ravishing round of her waist
JENNY, I'M NOT JESTING LYRICS
" Ah, Jenny, I'm not jesting,
Believe what I'm protesting,
And yield what I'm requesting
These seven years through."
" Ah, Lawrence, I may grieve you
;
Yet, if I can't relieve you,
Sure, why should I deceive you
With words untrue-.
But, since you must be courtin',
There's Rosy and her fortune,
'Tis rumoured your consortir/
With her of late.
Or there's your cousin Kitty,
So charming and so witty,
She'd wed you out of pity,
Kind Kate."
" Fie ! Jenny, since I knew you,
Of all the lads that woo you,
None's been so faithful to you,
If truth were told ; Even when yourself
was dartin' Fond looks at fickle Martin,
Till off the thief went startin'
For Sheela's gold."
" And, if you've known me longest,
Why should your love be strongest,
And his that's now the youngest,
For that be worst?" " Fire, Jenny, quickest kindled
Is always soonest dwindled,
And thread the swiftest spindled
Snaps first."
" If that's your wisdom, Larry,
The longer I can tarry, The luckier I shall marry
At long, long last."
" I've known of girls amusing,
Their minds, the men refusing,
Till none were left for choosing
At long, long last."
" Well, since it seems that marriage
Is still the safest carriage,
And all the world disparage
The spinster lone
;
Since you might still forsake me,
I think I'll let you take me.
Yes ! Larry, you may make me
Your own ! "
THE HOUR WE PARTED LYRICS
The hour we parted,
When broken-hearted You clung around me,
Maureen, aroo,
I swore I'd treasure,
Thro' pain and pleasure,
Thro' health and sickness,
My love for you.
And still that jewel,
Thro' changes cruel Of fickle Fortune
I'll jealous guard ;
Still let her vary, The jade contrary,
If but my Mary
Be my reward.
Yes ! scorn and anger,
Distress and languor,
They're welcome willing,
The long day thro',
Could I feel certain
That ev'ning's curtain
But clos'd us nearer,
Maureen, aroo
!
The dreamy shadows
Along the meadows
Go softly stealing,
And falls the dew
;
And o'er the billows,
Like faithful swallows,
All, all my thoughts, dear,
Fly home to you.
With touches silken,
I see you milkin' The crossest Kerry
In Adragole
;
And like a fairy,
You're singing, Mary,
Till every keeler
Is foaming full.
The night is falling, And you are calling
The cattle homeward,
With coaxing tone
;
In God's own keeping,
Awake or sleeping,
'Tis now I leave you,
Maureen, mavrone !
THE SMITH'S SONG LYRICS
" Ding dong, didilium ! the big sledge is swinging,
Ding dong, didilium ! the little hammer's ringing,
Ding^ dong, didilium ! set the bellows snoring : Ding dong,
didilium ! the red fire is roaring.''
" Hush, boys, and hark, boys, I hear a pair eloping,
Hush, boys, and hark, boys, they'll go free, I'm hoping,
Ding dong, didilium ! I hear a shoe clinking,
Ding dong, didilium ! there's need of nails, I'm thinking.''
" For Heaven's sake, a shoe, smith ! " " Your honor, here 'tis
ready
;
Woa, mare, and so, mare, and steady, girl, steady !
Ding dong, didilium ! off goes the carriage,
Ding dong, didilium ! good luck be with the marriage."
" Hush, boys, and hark, boys, I hear the kettle-drumming,
' Drimin dhu, drimin dhu,' King James's horse are coming ;
Up, on the thatch, where my pretty pikes are hidden,
And have them all handy and bright when you're bidden."
" For Heaven's sake, the pikes, smith ! " " They're here
for your picking,
Long pikes and strong pikes, and pikes for Dutchmensticking !
Ding dong, didilium ! cursing in their cruppers,
Here jog the Mynherrs, 'tis time for our suppers."
MO MOIREEN DHU LYRICS
When I sailed away
To win wealth for you
O'er the stormy sea, O mo moireen dhu !
On the western wave A black pirate knave
Bore me off his slave From mo moireen dhu !
And I should work
For the tyrant Turk,
In cruel chains, beneath the scorching sun,
And never hear, when the dreadful week was done,
Bells for Christian prayer
Calling through the air.
Till a Moslem maid,
For the love of me,
With her artful aid,
Stole and set me free.
But no soft collogue
With that charming rogue, Mo moireen oge,
Turned my heart from thee,
And I'm home at last
O'er the ocean vast, My good red gold,
in gaily glittering store,
Into mo moireen's modest lap to pour
;
While with magic swell Wakes our marriage bell
SONGS OF OUR LAND.
Songs of our land, ye are with us for ever :
The power and the splendour of thrones pass away :
But yours is the might of some far-flowing river,
Through summer's bright roses,
or autumn's decay. Ye treasure each voice of the swift-passing ages,
And truth, which time writeth on leaves or on sand j
Ye bring us the bright thoughts of poets and sages,
And keep them among us, old songs of our land !
The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers ;
The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave ;
But far in the future the power of their numbers
Shall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave.
It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely,
Like voices of reeds by the summer breeze fanned ;
It will call up a spirit of freedom, when only
Her breathings are heard in the songs of our land.
THE CELTIC TONGUE.
Tis fading, O 'tis fading ! like leaves upon the trees !
In murmuring tone 'tis dying, like a wail upon the breeze !
'Tis swiftly disappearing, as footprints on the shore.
Where the Barrow, and the Erne, and Loch Swilly's waters
roar — Where the parting sunbeam kisses Loch Corrib in the West,
And Ocean, like a mother, clasps the Shannon to her
breast !
The language of old Erin, of her history and name --
Of her monarchs and her heroes — her glory and her fame --
The sacred shrine where rested, through sunshine and
through gloom,
The spirit of her martyrs, as their bodies in the tomb.
The time-wrought shell, where murmured, 'mid centuries of wrong,
The secret voice of Freedom in annal and in song — ■
Is slowly, surely sinking, into silent death at last,
To live but in the memories of those who love the Past.
The olden tongue is sinking like a patriarch to rest,
Whose youth beheld the Tynan on our Irish coasts a guest ;
Ere the Roman or the Saxon, the Norman or the Dane,
Had first set foot in Britain, over trampled heaps of slain ;
Whose manhood saw the Druid rite at forest-tree and rock,
And savage tribes of Britain round the shrines of Zerne- bock ;
And for generations witnessed all the glories of the Gael,
Since our Celtic sires sung war-songs round the sacred fires of Baal ;
The tongues that saw its infancy are ranked among the dead,
And from their graves have risen those now spoken in theii stead.
The glories of old Erin, with their liberty have gone,
Yet their halo lingered round her, while the Gaelic speech
lived on ;
For 'mid the desert of her woe, a monument more vast
Than all her pillar-towers, it stood — that old Tongue of the Past !
'Tis leaving, and for ever, the soil that gave it birth ;
Soon — very soon, its moving tones shall ne'er be heard on earth ;
O'er the island dimly fading, as a circle o'er the wave,
Receding, as its people lisp the language of the slave,
And with it too seem fading, as sunset into night,
The scattered rays of liberty that lingered in its light,
For ah ! though long, with filial love, it clung to motherland,
And Irishmen were Irish still, in language, heart, and hand ;
To instal its Saxon Rival, proscribed it soon became,
And Irishmen are Irish now in nothing but in name ;
The Saxon chain our rights and tongues alike doth hold in thrall,
Save where amid the Connaught wilds and hills of Donegal --
And by the shores of Munster, like the broad Atlantic blast,
The olden language lingers yet, and binds us to the Past.
Through cold neglect 'tis dying now ; a stranger on our shore !
No Tara's hall re-echoes to its music as of yore --
No Lawrence* fires the Celtic clans round leaguered
Athacleef --
No Shannon wafts from Limerick's towers their war-song to the sea.
Ah ! magic Tongue, that round us wove its spells so soft and dear !
Ah ! pleasant Tongue, whose murmurs were as music to the
ear!
Ah ! glorious Tongue, whose accents could each Celtic heart enthral !
Ah ! rushing Tongue, that sounded like the swollen torrent's fall!
The tongue that in the Senate was lightning flashing
bright — Whose echo in the battle was the thunder in its might !
That Tongue, which once in chieftain's hall poured loud the minstrel lay,
As chieftain, serf, or minstrel old is silent there to-day !
That Tongue whose shout dismayed the foe at Kong and
Mullaghmast4
Like those who nobly perished there, is numbered with the Past!
* St Lawrence O'Toole, Archbishop of Dublin,
succeeded in organising the Irish chieftains under Roderick O'Connor,
King of Connaught, against the first band of adventurers under Strongbow.
t Athaclee, the Irish name of Dublin. Baile-atha-Cliaih literally
means the Town of the ford of hurdles.
% " Nothing so affrighted the enemy at the raid of Mullaghmast as
the unintelligible password in the Irish tongue, with which the Irish
troops burst upon the foe." — Green Bock.
Other song lyrics for St Laurance O'Toole
Songs of our land, ye are with us for ever :
The power and the splendour of thrones pass away :
But yours is the might of some far-flowing river,
Through summer's bright roses,
or autumn's decay. Ye treasure each voice of the swift-passing ages,
And truth, which time writeth on leaves or on sand j
Ye bring us the bright thoughts of poets and sages,
And keep them among us, old songs of our land !
The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers ;
The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave ;
But far in the future the power of their numbers
Shall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave.
It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely,
Like voices of reeds by the summer breeze fanned ;
It will call up a spirit of freedom, when only
Her breathings are heard in the songs of our land.
THE CELTIC TONGUE.
Tis fading, O 'tis fading ! like leaves upon the trees !
In murmuring tone 'tis dying, like a wail upon the breeze !
'Tis swiftly disappearing, as footprints on the shore.
Where the Barrow, and the Erne, and Loch Swilly's waters
roar — Where the parting sunbeam kisses Loch Corrib in the West,
And Ocean, like a mother, clasps the Shannon to her
breast !
The language of old Erin, of her history and name --
Of her monarchs and her heroes — her glory and her fame --
The sacred shrine where rested, through sunshine and
through gloom,
The spirit of her martyrs, as their bodies in the tomb.
The time-wrought shell, where murmured, 'mid centuries of wrong,
The secret voice of Freedom in annal and in song — ■
Is slowly, surely sinking, into silent death at last,
To live but in the memories of those who love the Past.
The olden tongue is sinking like a patriarch to rest,
Whose youth beheld the Tynan on our Irish coasts a guest ;
Ere the Roman or the Saxon, the Norman or the Dane,
Had first set foot in Britain, over trampled heaps of slain ;
Whose manhood saw the Druid rite at forest-tree and rock,
And savage tribes of Britain round the shrines of Zerne- bock ;
And for generations witnessed all the glories of the Gael,
Since our Celtic sires sung war-songs round the sacred fires of Baal ;
The tongues that saw its infancy are ranked among the dead,
And from their graves have risen those now spoken in theii stead.
The glories of old Erin, with their liberty have gone,
Yet their halo lingered round her, while the Gaelic speech
lived on ;
For 'mid the desert of her woe, a monument more vast
Than all her pillar-towers, it stood — that old Tongue of the Past !
'Tis leaving, and for ever, the soil that gave it birth ;
Soon — very soon, its moving tones shall ne'er be heard on earth ;
O'er the island dimly fading, as a circle o'er the wave,
Receding, as its people lisp the language of the slave,
And with it too seem fading, as sunset into night,
The scattered rays of liberty that lingered in its light,
For ah ! though long, with filial love, it clung to motherland,
And Irishmen were Irish still, in language, heart, and hand ;
To instal its Saxon Rival, proscribed it soon became,
And Irishmen are Irish now in nothing but in name ;
The Saxon chain our rights and tongues alike doth hold in thrall,
Save where amid the Connaught wilds and hills of Donegal --
And by the shores of Munster, like the broad Atlantic blast,
The olden language lingers yet, and binds us to the Past.
Through cold neglect 'tis dying now ; a stranger on our shore !
No Tara's hall re-echoes to its music as of yore --
No Lawrence* fires the Celtic clans round leaguered
Athacleef --
No Shannon wafts from Limerick's towers their war-song to the sea.
Ah ! magic Tongue, that round us wove its spells so soft and dear !
Ah ! pleasant Tongue, whose murmurs were as music to the
ear!
Ah ! glorious Tongue, whose accents could each Celtic heart enthral !
Ah ! rushing Tongue, that sounded like the swollen torrent's fall!
The tongue that in the Senate was lightning flashing
bright — Whose echo in the battle was the thunder in its might !
That Tongue, which once in chieftain's hall poured loud the minstrel lay,
As chieftain, serf, or minstrel old is silent there to-day !
That Tongue whose shout dismayed the foe at Kong and
Mullaghmast4
Like those who nobly perished there, is numbered with the Past!
* St Lawrence O'Toole, Archbishop of Dublin,
succeeded in organising the Irish chieftains under Roderick O'Connor,
King of Connaught, against the first band of adventurers under Strongbow.
t Athaclee, the Irish name of Dublin. Baile-atha-Cliaih literally
means the Town of the ford of hurdles.
% " Nothing so affrighted the enemy at the raid of Mullaghmast as
the unintelligible password in the Irish tongue, with which the Irish
troops burst upon the foe." — Green Bock.
Other song lyrics for St Laurance O'Toole
GREEN UPON THE CAPE LYRICS
I'm a lad that's forced an exile
From my own native land ;
For an oath that's passed against me
In this country I can't stand :
But while I'm at my liberty
I will make my escape ;
I'm a poor distressed Croppy
For the Green on my cape !
For the Green on my cape !
For the Green on my cape !
I'm distressed, but not disheartened,
For the Green on my cape !
But I'll go down to Belfast,
To see that seaport gay,
And tell my aged parents
In this country I can't stay:
O 'tis dark will be their sorrow,
But no truer hearts I've seen ;
And they'd rather see me dying
Than a traitor to the Green !
O the wearing the Green !
O the wearing the Green !
May the curse of Cromwell darken
Each traitor to the Green !
When I went down to Belfast,
And saw that seaport grand,
My aged parents blessed me,
And blessed poor Ireland,
THE SHAN VAN VOCHT* LYRICS
O the French are on the sea,
Says the shan van vocht ;
The French are on the sea,
Says the shan van vocht ;
O the French are in the bay,
They'll be here without delay,
And the Orange will decay,
Says the shan van vocht.
Chorus.
O the French are in the bay,
They'll be here by break of day,
And the Orange will decay,
Says the shan van vocht.
And their camp it shall be where?
Says the shan van vocht :
Their camp it shall be where ?
Says the shan van vocht ;
On the Currach of Kildare,
The boys they will be there,
With their pikes in good repair,
Says the shan van vocht.
* An t-sean bean bochd —
"The poor old woman,"' another name for Ireland.
The versions of this song are numberless ; but that here
given is considered the best. The date of its composition is 1797, the
period at which the French fleet arrived in Bantry Bay.
I'm a lad that's forced an exile
From my own native land ;
For an oath that's passed against me
In this country I can't stand :
But while I'm at my liberty
I will make my escape ;
I'm a poor distressed Croppy
For the Green on my cape !
For the Green on my cape !
For the Green on my cape !
I'm distressed, but not disheartened,
For the Green on my cape !
But I'll go down to Belfast,
To see that seaport gay,
And tell my aged parents
In this country I can't stay:
O 'tis dark will be their sorrow,
But no truer hearts I've seen ;
And they'd rather see me dying
Than a traitor to the Green !
O the wearing the Green !
O the wearing the Green !
May the curse of Cromwell darken
Each traitor to the Green !
When I went down to Belfast,
And saw that seaport grand,
My aged parents blessed me,
And blessed poor Ireland,
THE SHAN VAN VOCHT* LYRICS
O the French are on the sea,
Says the shan van vocht ;
The French are on the sea,
Says the shan van vocht ;
O the French are in the bay,
They'll be here without delay,
And the Orange will decay,
Says the shan van vocht.
Chorus.
O the French are in the bay,
They'll be here by break of day,
And the Orange will decay,
Says the shan van vocht.
And their camp it shall be where?
Says the shan van vocht :
Their camp it shall be where ?
Says the shan van vocht ;
On the Currach of Kildare,
The boys they will be there,
With their pikes in good repair,
Says the shan van vocht.
* An t-sean bean bochd —
"The poor old woman,"' another name for Ireland.
The versions of this song are numberless ; but that here
given is considered the best. The date of its composition is 1797, the
period at which the French fleet arrived in Bantry Bay.
To the Currach of Kildare
The boys they will repair,
And Lord Edward will be there,
Says the shan van vocht.
Then what will the yeomen do ?
Says the shan van vocht ;
What will the yeomen do ?
Says the shan van vocht ;
What should the yeomen do
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they'll be true To the shan van vocht 2
What should the yeomen do
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they'll be true To the shan van vocht?
And what colour will they wear?
Says the shan van vocht ;
What colour will they wear ?
Says the shan van vocht ; What colour should be seen
Where our fathers' homes have been, But our own immortal Green ?
Says the shan van vocht.
What colour should be seen
"Where our fathers' homes have been, But our own immortal Green?
Says the shan van vocht.
MY GOOD-LOOKING MAN.
Come, all you pretty maids, of courage brave and true,
I will teach you how to happy live, and avoid all troubles,
too; Aud if you live a wedded life, now plainly understand,
And don't you ever fall in love with all good-looking men.
When I was sixteen years of age, a damsel in my prime,
I daily thought on wedded life, and how I'd be at the time;
I daily thought on wedded life, its pleasures I did scan,
And I sighed and sobbed, both night and day, to get a nice young
man. My wish, it seems, too soon I got, for one Sunday afternoon,
As home from church I gaily tripped, I met a fair gossoon;
He looked so tine about the face, to win him I made a plan,
And that very day I set my cap for that good-looking man.
Again, by chance, as out I stepped to take a pleasant roam,
I met this handsome gentleman, who wished to see me home;
I'd fain say no, but it was no use, to go with me was his plan,
So to my home I walked along with my good-looking man. He said to me, as on we walked: My dear and only love,
If with me you'll consent to wed, I will ever constant prove;
I'll ever be a husband kind and do the best I can,
So my heart and hand I then did give to my good-looking man.
That night was fixed for us to wed—he bid me have all cheer
He pressed me to his breast, saying: Oh, my Mary dear!
He gently pressed me to his breast, saying:
" Oh, my Mary dear! And there I tied that
dreadful knot with that good-looking man.
It was scarce a week, when married I was, one Sunday afternoon,
The day went by, the night came on, off went the honeymoon;
My gent walked out—so did I—for to watch him was my plan,
When soon a ilashy girl I saw with my good-looking man.
At once a thought came in my head to entrap my faithless swain,
So quickly I did gain on him, and followed on his train;
It was then and there I heard him swear his love for her outran,
The closest ties for any maid—" Oh, what a nice young man ! "
They kissed and toyed, and tales of love to her he then did tell,
Thinks I to myself, now is the time to serve you outright well; •
He did not me at all espy, so to my home I ran,
And there sat down to anxiously wait for my good-looking man.
The clock was just striking ten, when my gentleman he walked in,
I gently said: My William, dear, where hast thou so long been?
I have been to church, my love, said he—Oh ! this I could not
stand, So the rolling pin I did let fly at my good-looking man.
I blacked his eyes, I tore his hair, in ribbons I tore his clothes,
I then took up the poker and laid it across his nose; He just looked like a chimney-sweep,
as out the door he ran, And never a lady loved again with my good-looking man.
Now, you married folks, take my advice, high and low degree,
When a rakish husband you do get, pitch into him like me;
When I found out I was deceived, it was my only plan
To disfigure the handsome countenance of my good-looking man.
A CUP 0' TAY LYRICS
Och! prate about your wine,
Or poteen, mighty foine,
There's no such draught as mine,
From Ireland to Bombay!
And whether black or green,
Or divil a shade between,
There's nothing I have seen
Wid a gintale cup o' tay!
Whist! hear the kettle sing,
Like birds in early spring;
A sup for any king
Is the darlint in th< thray.
Ould cronies dhroppin' in,
The fat ones and the thin,
Shure all their hearts I win
Wid a gintale cup o' tay!
Wid whiskey punch galore
How many heads grow sore?
Shalalahs, too, a score
Most beautifully play.
Wid all their hathin ways,
Good luck to thim Chinaise,
Who sind us o'er the says
Such a gintale cup o' tay!
OH! THE MARRIAGE LYRICS.
Oh ! the marriage—the marriage,
With love and mo buachail for me,
The ladies that ride in a carriage
Might envy my marriage to me;
For Owen is straight as a tower,
And tender and loving and true,
He told me more love in an hour
Than the squires of the county could do.
Then, oh ! the marriage, etc.
His hair is a shower of soft gold,
His eye is as clear as the day,
His conscience and vote were unsold
When others were carried away
;
His word is as good as an oath,
And freely 'twas given to me; Oh ! sure
'twill be happy for both The day of the
marriage to see. Then, oh ! the marriage, etc.
His kinsmen are honest and kind,
The neighbors think much of his skill,
And Owen's the lad to my mind,
Though he owns neither castle nor mill.
But he has a tilloch of land,
A horse, and a stocking of coin,
A foot for the dance, and a hand
In the cause of his country to join. Then,
oh! the marriage, etc.
The boys they will repair,
And Lord Edward will be there,
Says the shan van vocht.
Then what will the yeomen do ?
Says the shan van vocht ;
What will the yeomen do ?
Says the shan van vocht ;
What should the yeomen do
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they'll be true To the shan van vocht 2
What should the yeomen do
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they'll be true To the shan van vocht?
And what colour will they wear?
Says the shan van vocht ;
What colour will they wear ?
Says the shan van vocht ; What colour should be seen
Where our fathers' homes have been, But our own immortal Green ?
Says the shan van vocht.
What colour should be seen
"Where our fathers' homes have been, But our own immortal Green?
Says the shan van vocht.
MY GOOD-LOOKING MAN.
Come, all you pretty maids, of courage brave and true,
I will teach you how to happy live, and avoid all troubles,
too; Aud if you live a wedded life, now plainly understand,
And don't you ever fall in love with all good-looking men.
When I was sixteen years of age, a damsel in my prime,
I daily thought on wedded life, and how I'd be at the time;
I daily thought on wedded life, its pleasures I did scan,
And I sighed and sobbed, both night and day, to get a nice young
man. My wish, it seems, too soon I got, for one Sunday afternoon,
As home from church I gaily tripped, I met a fair gossoon;
He looked so tine about the face, to win him I made a plan,
And that very day I set my cap for that good-looking man.
Again, by chance, as out I stepped to take a pleasant roam,
I met this handsome gentleman, who wished to see me home;
I'd fain say no, but it was no use, to go with me was his plan,
So to my home I walked along with my good-looking man. He said to me, as on we walked: My dear and only love,
If with me you'll consent to wed, I will ever constant prove;
I'll ever be a husband kind and do the best I can,
So my heart and hand I then did give to my good-looking man.
That night was fixed for us to wed—he bid me have all cheer
He pressed me to his breast, saying: Oh, my Mary dear!
He gently pressed me to his breast, saying:
" Oh, my Mary dear! And there I tied that
dreadful knot with that good-looking man.
It was scarce a week, when married I was, one Sunday afternoon,
The day went by, the night came on, off went the honeymoon;
My gent walked out—so did I—for to watch him was my plan,
When soon a ilashy girl I saw with my good-looking man.
At once a thought came in my head to entrap my faithless swain,
So quickly I did gain on him, and followed on his train;
It was then and there I heard him swear his love for her outran,
The closest ties for any maid—" Oh, what a nice young man ! "
They kissed and toyed, and tales of love to her he then did tell,
Thinks I to myself, now is the time to serve you outright well; •
He did not me at all espy, so to my home I ran,
And there sat down to anxiously wait for my good-looking man.
The clock was just striking ten, when my gentleman he walked in,
I gently said: My William, dear, where hast thou so long been?
I have been to church, my love, said he—Oh ! this I could not
stand, So the rolling pin I did let fly at my good-looking man.
I blacked his eyes, I tore his hair, in ribbons I tore his clothes,
I then took up the poker and laid it across his nose; He just looked like a chimney-sweep,
as out the door he ran, And never a lady loved again with my good-looking man.
Now, you married folks, take my advice, high and low degree,
When a rakish husband you do get, pitch into him like me;
When I found out I was deceived, it was my only plan
To disfigure the handsome countenance of my good-looking man.
A CUP 0' TAY LYRICS
Och! prate about your wine,
Or poteen, mighty foine,
There's no such draught as mine,
From Ireland to Bombay!
And whether black or green,
Or divil a shade between,
There's nothing I have seen
Wid a gintale cup o' tay!
Whist! hear the kettle sing,
Like birds in early spring;
A sup for any king
Is the darlint in th< thray.
Ould cronies dhroppin' in,
The fat ones and the thin,
Shure all their hearts I win
Wid a gintale cup o' tay!
Wid whiskey punch galore
How many heads grow sore?
Shalalahs, too, a score
Most beautifully play.
Wid all their hathin ways,
Good luck to thim Chinaise,
Who sind us o'er the says
Such a gintale cup o' tay!
OH! THE MARRIAGE LYRICS.
Oh ! the marriage—the marriage,
With love and mo buachail for me,
The ladies that ride in a carriage
Might envy my marriage to me;
For Owen is straight as a tower,
And tender and loving and true,
He told me more love in an hour
Than the squires of the county could do.
Then, oh ! the marriage, etc.
His hair is a shower of soft gold,
His eye is as clear as the day,
His conscience and vote were unsold
When others were carried away
;
His word is as good as an oath,
And freely 'twas given to me; Oh ! sure
'twill be happy for both The day of the
marriage to see. Then, oh ! the marriage, etc.
His kinsmen are honest and kind,
The neighbors think much of his skill,
And Owen's the lad to my mind,
Though he owns neither castle nor mill.
But he has a tilloch of land,
A horse, and a stocking of coin,
A foot for the dance, and a hand
In the cause of his country to join. Then,
oh! the marriage, etc.
HARPSTR1NGS SONG LYRICS
Irish eyes of honest blue
With their ways of playful tease.
Heart and hand, so warm and true,
Praise,—whose lips ne'er failed to please.
Irish smile, so free of guile
Angels, tempting but to bless;
Like their bright and verdant isle
Half a dream, and half caress.
Irish hearts—so b'.ess'd with love
And such tenderness—to feel
All but saints in heaven above,
For such bliss would fondly kneel.
Irish welcome, sweet to share;
Strays the stranger to the Land
Lone, and lost in deep despair
He will grasp a greeting hand.
Irish wit, beyond compare
Lifts and leaves the bumper kind,
When its sparkle, rich and rare,
Fills the eye, and Hoods the mind.
Irish grief, so weird and wild.
When its soul of music breaks
Then the giant is the child As his sob,
dread discord wakes.
Irish homes—ye gems of grace,
Where the light of mirth and prayer,
Fitful, gleam from each pure face,
Hound its parent fond and fair.
Irish curses, long and loud.
Fright the tyrant on his throne,
Blind the cruel and the proud,
Blight the traitor all disown.
Irish hope, though gray with years.
Wears a look almost divine.
Not in vain those priestly tears
God for thee hath set a sign.
Irish heroes fought and bled.
Shamed that I hey could give no more
r Erin—and so they tied
'.ill pleading to heaven's bright shore.
Irish faith, shines undefined,
Fervor- blessing every clime;
ist iu dying on thee smiled,
And its halo hallows time. Irishmen,
Cod bless you all, -land together hand in hand;
Hate's misrule must surely fall, And God bless old Ireland.
FATHER TOM O'NEIL SONG LYRICS.
THERE was a woman lived in this place, she had three charming
sons, Their father died and left them, when very young ;
A long time she endeavored to maintain her darling sons,
Until the youngest one became a man at the age of twenty-one.
One night he discoursed with his mother, these words to her did
say :
•• 1 think it will fall on one of us to go far away:
Your land is too small to support us all, and if you would agree,
1 am fully bent and well content a clergyman to be.
His mother being glad to hear such a thought come in his mind,
She says: " 1 will do all I can to help my darling child.'
She spoke unto his brothers, and they did soon agree,
They'd send him of to college, a clergyman to be.
He was not long in college when the Rev. Bishop Brown
Came to examine the collegians and viewed them all around.
He saw this clever young man, marked him above them all
He was the first he did discourse when on them he did call.
He says: "Young man, where are you from? come, tell me your name."
" I am from the County Armagh, they call me Tom O'Neil;
My mother she is a widow of a low degree;
She has done her best endeavors to make a priest of me."
"As Thomas O'Neil, then, is your name," the Bishop he did say;
" Go, study hard, both night and day
;
I will have you soon ordained, to help your mother that did so
well for thee;
I will send you home a credit, your country boys to see.
" When this young man came home ordained, the neighbors were
glad to hear,
And all that came to welcome him, came in twos and threes
:
Particularly his own dear friends to welcome him they ran,
And you never saw such welcome as was for the widow's son.
There was a man lived in this place, he was as rich as a duke or knight
;
He had an only daughter, she was a beauty bright.
She says unto her father: " I will go this young man to sic.
For before he went to college, he was a schoolboy along with me."
She was brought into a parlor, where she drank ale and wine
;
She mi) -: " You are a clever young man. I would have you resign.
What made you be a clergyman? you know- you are astray,
For a clergyman must rise by night, and travel hard by day.
"'Come take some noble lady whose fortune will be grand;
You will have men to wait on you, and be a gentleman.
Come, take myself now, as I stand; you know my fortune is great ;
1 have ten thousand pounds a year, and. at a death, a whole
estate." He Bays: " My noble lady, do not explain your mind.
For if you oiler ten times more, 1 would not resign;
For in this holy station I mean to lead my life;
So say no more, my dearest dear,
I will never take a wife."
It was when he did deny her. this villain, she came home,
And in eigh! weeks after, her secret she let know;
She swore before the magistrate, that he did her beguile;
And for four long weeks before she went to him, she was with
child.
The morning of his trial, it grieved our heart full sore
To see his tender mother;
it grieved her ten times more
To see her son, a clergyman, his age about twenty-three,
To be cut down, in his prime, by cruel perjury.
Now, Tom, what is the reason you don't marry this fair?
i think she is a companion for a duke, I declare;
What are you but a widow's son, that is both poor and mean?
iou might think it a great honor such a lady to obtain.
Then Father Tom stood up and said: I have no witness here,
i call on the Almighty, and lie will make the clear;
! never said I would marry her, or make her my wife,
Iter 1 never knew a female from a man in all my life.
Now, Tom, as you won't many her, 1 will give you to understand,
Seven long years' transportation into Van Dieinen's Land;
That is bad, but it might be worse. Then Father Tom did say
:
Our Saviour suffered more than that, when He died on Calvary.
These words were hardly spoken, when a horse came as swift as wind,
And on him came a rider, saying: I was not here in time;
I call that trial over again, I am here that can reply;
She wants two fathers for her child—that's Father Tom and I.
I can tell the very moment, likewise the very spot,
She gave me ten thousand pounds the night the child was got.
She said she would give me a thousand more—if I would not let on;
She wants to make a husband of the Right Reverend Father Tom.
Then Father Tom put on his hat, and then began to smile;
He says unto his mother: You see how God assists your child;
They looked on one another, when they found her perjury;
The villain was found guilty, and his reverence came home free.
PAT OF MULLINGAR LYRICS.
Tih:y may talk of Flying Childers, and the speed of Uarkaway,
Till the fancy it bewilders, as you list to what thej say;
But for real bone and beauty, though to travel far and near,
The fastest mare you'll find belongs to Pat of Mullingar.
She can trot along, jog along, drag a jaunting car,
No day's so long, when set along with Pat of Mullingar.
She was bred in Connemara, and brought up at Castlemaine,
She won cups at the Curragh, the finest haste on all the plain;
All countries and conveyances she has been buckled to,
She lost an eye at Limerick and an ear at Waterloo.
Chorus.
If a friend you wish to find, sir, I'll go wherever you want,
I'll drive you out of your mind, sir, or a little way beyont
;
Like an arrow through the air if you 11 step upon the car,
You'll ride behind the little mare of Pat of Mullingar.
Chobus.To Dallymount or Kingston, if the place you wish to see,
I'll drive you to the strawberry beds, it's all the same to me;
To Donnybrook, whose ancient air is famed for love or war,
Or, if you have the time to spare, we'll go to Mullingar.
Chobus.When on the road we're going, the other carmen try
(Without the darling knowing), to pass her on the sly;
Her one ear points up to the sky, she tucks her haunches in,
Then shows the lads how she can fly as I sit still and grin.
t'HORUS.
Then should yez want a ear, sirs, I hope you'll not forget
Poor Pat of Mullingar, sirs, and his darlin' little pet;
She's gentle as the dove, sirs, her speed you can't deny,
And there's no blind side about her, tho' she hasn't got an eye
KITTY TYRRELL SONG LYRICS
You RE looking as fresh as the morn, darling,
you're looking as bright as the day;
But while on your charm.-, I'm dilating. You're stealing
my poor heart away. But keep it and welcome, maourncen,
Its loss I'm not going to mourn;
Yet one heart's enough for a body,
So, pray, give me yours in return;
Mavourneen, mavourneen,
O, pray, give me yours in return.
I've built me a neat little cot, darling,
['ve pigs and potatoes in store;
I've twenty good pounds in the bank, love,
And may be a pound or two more.
It's all very wr'l to have riches.
Hut I'm such a covetous elf,
1 can't help still sighing for something,
And. darling, that something's yourself;
Mavourneen, mavourneen, And that something,
vou know, is yourself. You're smiling, and
that's a good sign, darling, Say "yes," and you'll never repent;
Or if you would rather be silent Your silence
I'll take for consent. Thai good-natured dimple's a tell-tale,
Now all that I have is your own;
This week you may be Kitty Tyrrell, Next week
you'll be Mistress Malone;
Mavourneen, mavoumi
You'll be my own Mistress Malone.
ST. PATRICK'S MARTYRS LYRICS.
I WONDKU what the mischief was in her. for the mistress was
nivcr countrairy, But this same is just what she said to me, just as sure as me
name it is Mary
:
" Mary," says she, all a-smiling and swate-like,
" the young ladies are coming from France,
And we'll give them a welcome next Monday,
with an illegant supper and dance."
"Is it Monday ye're maning?" says I; "ma'am, why, thin I'm
sorry to stand in yer way, But it's little of work
I'll do Monday, seeing that Monday's St. Patrick's Day;
And sure it's himself that promised to go wid Cousin Kitty
Malone's brother Dan,
And bad luck to Mary Magee," says I, '
if she disappoints such a swate young man! "
"Me children hev been away four years"—and she spoke in a
very unfeelin' way
Ve (.in. it expect I shall disappoint them either for you or St. Patrick's Day;
1 know nothing about St. Patrick." "That's true for vc. ma'am,
more's the pity." says T.
I it's niver the likes of Ve has the luck to be born under tile Irish sky."
Ye see, I was gitting past jokin'—and she sitting there, so aisy
and proud,
And me thinking of the Third Avenue, and the procession and
music and crowd;
And it crossed me mind that minit consarning Thady Mulligans
supper and dance;
Says I,
'• It's not Mary Magee, ma'am, that can stay tor the
ladies coming from France."
" Mary," says she, " two afternoons each week—ivery Wednesday
and ivery Monday
Ye've always had, besides yer early Mass, and yer Vispers ivery
other Sundav,
And yer friends have visited at me house, two or three ot than
ivery night."
" Indade thin," says I. " That was nothin' at all but ivery dacent
girl's right ! "
" Very well, thin," says she, " ye can lave the house and be sure to take wid ye yer ' right '
;
And if Michael and Nora think just as ye do, ye can all of ye
lave to-night." So just for St. Patrick's glory we wint; and, as sure as Mary
Magee is me name.
It's a house full of nagurs she's got now, which the same is a sin and a shame.
Bad luck to them all ! A poor body, I think, had need of a comferable glass
;
It's a miserable time in Ameriky for a dacent Irish-born lass.
If she sarves the saints,, and is kind to her friends,
then she loses her home and her pay, And there's
thousands of innocent martyrs like me on ivery St, Patrick's Day.
Irish eyes of honest blue
With their ways of playful tease.
Heart and hand, so warm and true,
Praise,—whose lips ne'er failed to please.
Irish smile, so free of guile
Angels, tempting but to bless;
Like their bright and verdant isle
Half a dream, and half caress.
Irish hearts—so b'.ess'd with love
And such tenderness—to feel
All but saints in heaven above,
For such bliss would fondly kneel.
Irish welcome, sweet to share;
Strays the stranger to the Land
Lone, and lost in deep despair
He will grasp a greeting hand.
Irish wit, beyond compare
Lifts and leaves the bumper kind,
When its sparkle, rich and rare,
Fills the eye, and Hoods the mind.
Irish grief, so weird and wild.
When its soul of music breaks
Then the giant is the child As his sob,
dread discord wakes.
Irish homes—ye gems of grace,
Where the light of mirth and prayer,
Fitful, gleam from each pure face,
Hound its parent fond and fair.
Irish curses, long and loud.
Fright the tyrant on his throne,
Blind the cruel and the proud,
Blight the traitor all disown.
Irish hope, though gray with years.
Wears a look almost divine.
Not in vain those priestly tears
God for thee hath set a sign.
Irish heroes fought and bled.
Shamed that I hey could give no more
r Erin—and so they tied
'.ill pleading to heaven's bright shore.
Irish faith, shines undefined,
Fervor- blessing every clime;
ist iu dying on thee smiled,
And its halo hallows time. Irishmen,
Cod bless you all, -land together hand in hand;
Hate's misrule must surely fall, And God bless old Ireland.
FATHER TOM O'NEIL SONG LYRICS.
THERE was a woman lived in this place, she had three charming
sons, Their father died and left them, when very young ;
A long time she endeavored to maintain her darling sons,
Until the youngest one became a man at the age of twenty-one.
One night he discoursed with his mother, these words to her did
say :
•• 1 think it will fall on one of us to go far away:
Your land is too small to support us all, and if you would agree,
1 am fully bent and well content a clergyman to be.
His mother being glad to hear such a thought come in his mind,
She says: " 1 will do all I can to help my darling child.'
She spoke unto his brothers, and they did soon agree,
They'd send him of to college, a clergyman to be.
He was not long in college when the Rev. Bishop Brown
Came to examine the collegians and viewed them all around.
He saw this clever young man, marked him above them all
He was the first he did discourse when on them he did call.
He says: "Young man, where are you from? come, tell me your name."
" I am from the County Armagh, they call me Tom O'Neil;
My mother she is a widow of a low degree;
She has done her best endeavors to make a priest of me."
"As Thomas O'Neil, then, is your name," the Bishop he did say;
" Go, study hard, both night and day
;
I will have you soon ordained, to help your mother that did so
well for thee;
I will send you home a credit, your country boys to see.
" When this young man came home ordained, the neighbors were
glad to hear,
And all that came to welcome him, came in twos and threes
:
Particularly his own dear friends to welcome him they ran,
And you never saw such welcome as was for the widow's son.
There was a man lived in this place, he was as rich as a duke or knight
;
He had an only daughter, she was a beauty bright.
She says unto her father: " I will go this young man to sic.
For before he went to college, he was a schoolboy along with me."
She was brought into a parlor, where she drank ale and wine
;
She mi) -: " You are a clever young man. I would have you resign.
What made you be a clergyman? you know- you are astray,
For a clergyman must rise by night, and travel hard by day.
"'Come take some noble lady whose fortune will be grand;
You will have men to wait on you, and be a gentleman.
Come, take myself now, as I stand; you know my fortune is great ;
1 have ten thousand pounds a year, and. at a death, a whole
estate." He Bays: " My noble lady, do not explain your mind.
For if you oiler ten times more, 1 would not resign;
For in this holy station I mean to lead my life;
So say no more, my dearest dear,
I will never take a wife."
It was when he did deny her. this villain, she came home,
And in eigh! weeks after, her secret she let know;
She swore before the magistrate, that he did her beguile;
And for four long weeks before she went to him, she was with
child.
The morning of his trial, it grieved our heart full sore
To see his tender mother;
it grieved her ten times more
To see her son, a clergyman, his age about twenty-three,
To be cut down, in his prime, by cruel perjury.
Now, Tom, what is the reason you don't marry this fair?
i think she is a companion for a duke, I declare;
What are you but a widow's son, that is both poor and mean?
iou might think it a great honor such a lady to obtain.
Then Father Tom stood up and said: I have no witness here,
i call on the Almighty, and lie will make the clear;
! never said I would marry her, or make her my wife,
Iter 1 never knew a female from a man in all my life.
Now, Tom, as you won't many her, 1 will give you to understand,
Seven long years' transportation into Van Dieinen's Land;
That is bad, but it might be worse. Then Father Tom did say
:
Our Saviour suffered more than that, when He died on Calvary.
These words were hardly spoken, when a horse came as swift as wind,
And on him came a rider, saying: I was not here in time;
I call that trial over again, I am here that can reply;
She wants two fathers for her child—that's Father Tom and I.
I can tell the very moment, likewise the very spot,
She gave me ten thousand pounds the night the child was got.
She said she would give me a thousand more—if I would not let on;
She wants to make a husband of the Right Reverend Father Tom.
Then Father Tom put on his hat, and then began to smile;
He says unto his mother: You see how God assists your child;
They looked on one another, when they found her perjury;
The villain was found guilty, and his reverence came home free.
PAT OF MULLINGAR LYRICS.
Tih:y may talk of Flying Childers, and the speed of Uarkaway,
Till the fancy it bewilders, as you list to what thej say;
But for real bone and beauty, though to travel far and near,
The fastest mare you'll find belongs to Pat of Mullingar.
She can trot along, jog along, drag a jaunting car,
No day's so long, when set along with Pat of Mullingar.
She was bred in Connemara, and brought up at Castlemaine,
She won cups at the Curragh, the finest haste on all the plain;
All countries and conveyances she has been buckled to,
She lost an eye at Limerick and an ear at Waterloo.
Chorus.
If a friend you wish to find, sir, I'll go wherever you want,
I'll drive you out of your mind, sir, or a little way beyont
;
Like an arrow through the air if you 11 step upon the car,
You'll ride behind the little mare of Pat of Mullingar.
Chobus.To Dallymount or Kingston, if the place you wish to see,
I'll drive you to the strawberry beds, it's all the same to me;
To Donnybrook, whose ancient air is famed for love or war,
Or, if you have the time to spare, we'll go to Mullingar.
Chobus.When on the road we're going, the other carmen try
(Without the darling knowing), to pass her on the sly;
Her one ear points up to the sky, she tucks her haunches in,
Then shows the lads how she can fly as I sit still and grin.
t'HORUS.
Then should yez want a ear, sirs, I hope you'll not forget
Poor Pat of Mullingar, sirs, and his darlin' little pet;
She's gentle as the dove, sirs, her speed you can't deny,
And there's no blind side about her, tho' she hasn't got an eye
KITTY TYRRELL SONG LYRICS
You RE looking as fresh as the morn, darling,
you're looking as bright as the day;
But while on your charm.-, I'm dilating. You're stealing
my poor heart away. But keep it and welcome, maourncen,
Its loss I'm not going to mourn;
Yet one heart's enough for a body,
So, pray, give me yours in return;
Mavourneen, mavourneen,
O, pray, give me yours in return.
I've built me a neat little cot, darling,
['ve pigs and potatoes in store;
I've twenty good pounds in the bank, love,
And may be a pound or two more.
It's all very wr'l to have riches.
Hut I'm such a covetous elf,
1 can't help still sighing for something,
And. darling, that something's yourself;
Mavourneen, mavourneen, And that something,
vou know, is yourself. You're smiling, and
that's a good sign, darling, Say "yes," and you'll never repent;
Or if you would rather be silent Your silence
I'll take for consent. Thai good-natured dimple's a tell-tale,
Now all that I have is your own;
This week you may be Kitty Tyrrell, Next week
you'll be Mistress Malone;
Mavourneen, mavoumi
You'll be my own Mistress Malone.
ST. PATRICK'S MARTYRS LYRICS.
I WONDKU what the mischief was in her. for the mistress was
nivcr countrairy, But this same is just what she said to me, just as sure as me
name it is Mary
:
" Mary," says she, all a-smiling and swate-like,
" the young ladies are coming from France,
And we'll give them a welcome next Monday,
with an illegant supper and dance."
"Is it Monday ye're maning?" says I; "ma'am, why, thin I'm
sorry to stand in yer way, But it's little of work
I'll do Monday, seeing that Monday's St. Patrick's Day;
And sure it's himself that promised to go wid Cousin Kitty
Malone's brother Dan,
And bad luck to Mary Magee," says I, '
if she disappoints such a swate young man! "
"Me children hev been away four years"—and she spoke in a
very unfeelin' way
Ve (.in. it expect I shall disappoint them either for you or St. Patrick's Day;
1 know nothing about St. Patrick." "That's true for vc. ma'am,
more's the pity." says T.
I it's niver the likes of Ve has the luck to be born under tile Irish sky."
Ye see, I was gitting past jokin'—and she sitting there, so aisy
and proud,
And me thinking of the Third Avenue, and the procession and
music and crowd;
And it crossed me mind that minit consarning Thady Mulligans
supper and dance;
Says I,
'• It's not Mary Magee, ma'am, that can stay tor the
ladies coming from France."
" Mary," says she, " two afternoons each week—ivery Wednesday
and ivery Monday
Ye've always had, besides yer early Mass, and yer Vispers ivery
other Sundav,
And yer friends have visited at me house, two or three ot than
ivery night."
" Indade thin," says I. " That was nothin' at all but ivery dacent
girl's right ! "
" Very well, thin," says she, " ye can lave the house and be sure to take wid ye yer ' right '
;
And if Michael and Nora think just as ye do, ye can all of ye
lave to-night." So just for St. Patrick's glory we wint; and, as sure as Mary
Magee is me name.
It's a house full of nagurs she's got now, which the same is a sin and a shame.
Bad luck to them all ! A poor body, I think, had need of a comferable glass
;
It's a miserable time in Ameriky for a dacent Irish-born lass.
If she sarves the saints,, and is kind to her friends,
then she loses her home and her pay, And there's
thousands of innocent martyrs like me on ivery St, Patrick's Day.
'
Irish folk songs lyrics by Alfred Graves
Most of the Songs and Ballads in this volume if not actually composed to the music of old Irish airs, owe to them their prime impulse and complete character, I speak in the main of airs in Buntings collection, which have been left untouched by Moore, and of others in Petrie's and Hoffmans collections, published after the last of the poet's Irish melodies, which will therefore be fresh to all but specialists in Irish music Whenever the Celtic or Anglo -Irish words to these airs or fragments of them remained, I have not for a moment scrupled to press into my service whatever appeared to me poetical in the original ; though in such cases I have taken care in the notes at the end of this volume to give my readers an opportunity of comparing my version with these older forms.
Under this head will be found such songs of occupation as the Smith's Song, the Mill Song, and Spinning and Weaving Songs; Fishing, Hunting, and Farming Ballads ; Convivial Songs to the Jig and Planxty, and a Festal Chorus ; the Loobeen, or Irish Amcebcean ; Love Songs and Love Ballads, Lullabies and Lamentations, In order that the reader may be able to realize the character of the more remarkable Irish airs to which my songs are written, seven and twenty of them are printed in a musical appendix to this volume.
Some half-dozen of these, arranged as songs by Mr, Joseph Robinson, have been published separately by Messrs, Cramer, Wood, and Co.^ of Westmorland Street, Dublin, and it is probable that others will see the light shortly.
With regard to the poems of an Idyllic character in my book, I cannot do more than say that they are the outcome of an affectionate study of Irish peasant-life among the mountains of Kerry,
A few Bardic Lyrics are presented in verse closely translated from the Celtic, and a long poem, ^^ The Fairy Branch,^' based upon a somewhat homely prose original, a reference to which will be found in the notes, is put forward as an experiment in the poetical treatment of early Irish tales.
I desire here to acknowledge my deep indebtedness to Dr. P. W. Joyce, the author of " Old Celtic Romances'' and ^^ Irish Names of Places," for the invaluable aid which, as a Celtic scholar, a literary critic, and a leading authority in Irish music and song, he has rendered me throughout the course of this work.
Under this head will be found such songs of occupation as the Smith's Song, the Mill Song, and Spinning and Weaving Songs; Fishing, Hunting, and Farming Ballads ; Convivial Songs to the Jig and Planxty, and a Festal Chorus ; the Loobeen, or Irish Amcebcean ; Love Songs and Love Ballads, Lullabies and Lamentations, In order that the reader may be able to realize the character of the more remarkable Irish airs to which my songs are written, seven and twenty of them are printed in a musical appendix to this volume.
Some half-dozen of these, arranged as songs by Mr, Joseph Robinson, have been published separately by Messrs, Cramer, Wood, and Co.^ of Westmorland Street, Dublin, and it is probable that others will see the light shortly.
With regard to the poems of an Idyllic character in my book, I cannot do more than say that they are the outcome of an affectionate study of Irish peasant-life among the mountains of Kerry,
A few Bardic Lyrics are presented in verse closely translated from the Celtic, and a long poem, ^^ The Fairy Branch,^' based upon a somewhat homely prose original, a reference to which will be found in the notes, is put forward as an experiment in the poetical treatment of early Irish tales.
I desire here to acknowledge my deep indebtedness to Dr. P. W. Joyce, the author of " Old Celtic Romances'' and ^^ Irish Names of Places," for the invaluable aid which, as a Celtic scholar, a literary critic, and a leading authority in Irish music and song, he has rendered me throughout the course of this work.
THE SILVER ANVILS
THERE was a rath I used to love,
in Ireland long ago,
An ancient dun in which they dwelt-
the Fairy Folk, you know.
All belted round with hawthorn
was this Rath of Closharink,
And one could hear, when straying near,
their silver anvils clink!
O, clink, clank, clink-hear the fairy hammers go;
Clink, clank, clink, in their caves of
gold below! What were they a-forging in the dun of
Closharink Upon their silver anvils
tapping-clink, clank, clink?
When all the thorn was blossomed white,
and yellow was the furze,
You'd hear them in the noonday
hush when ne'er a linnet stirs;
You'd hear them in the evening
when the sun began to sink,
And purple glory flushed the
hills that smiled on Closharink.
O, clink, clank, clink, hear
the fairy hammers sound-
Clink, clank, clink, in their forges underground;
What were they a-pattering, the Sidhe of CIo-
sharink With all their silver anvils sounding —
clink, clank, clink?
What were they a-fashioning — a crown for great
Queen Mave; A helmet for Cuchulain, or a shield for Lugh the
Brave; — A scabbard for the Sword of Light that flames
on danger's brink, A jeweled torque for
Angus who is king at Closharink ?
Clink, clank, clink, like a harp note,
sweet and low. Clink, clank, clink,
and a big moon climbing slow!
Though youth is far from me to-night, and far is
Closharink, My senses thrill to hear
it still, that clink, clank,clink!
THE FAIRY HARPERS SONG LYRICS
As I walked the heights of Meelin on a tranquil
autumn day. The fairy host came stealing o'er
the distant moorland gray^ I heard like sweet
bells ringing, Or a grove of linnets singing.
And the haunting, wailful music that the Fairy Harpers play!
Like thunder of deep waters when vast-heaving
billows break, Like soughing of the forest
when ten thousand branches shake. Like moaning
of the wind. When the night falls bleak and blind.
So wild and weird the melodies the fairy minstrels make.
The sunbeams flecked the valley, and the cloudshades
ranged the hill. The thistle-down scarce drifted
in the air so calm and still. But along the slopes
of Meelin, Came the ghostly music pealing. With sad
and fitful cadences that set my soul a-thrill
Then wan and wistful grew the sky o*er Meelin's summit lone.
And weeping for the days gone by, my heart grew cold as stone,
For I heard loved voices calling
Beyond the sunlight falling On Meelin's mournful
mountain where the magic Harps make moan !
Burned and seared my inmost soul
(When shall sorrow depart from me?)
Black-winged terror upon me stole,
Blindly gaping, I turned to flee!
Back by the grove and haunted mound,
O'er the lone road I know not how.
Hearkened afar my baying hound Home
at last by the low hill's brow!
Lone the cottage — the door flung wide.
Four lights burned — oh, sight of dread !
Breathing a prayer, I rushed inside,
"Mercy, God!" 'twas my mother dead!
Dead and white as the fallen leaf,
Kneeling, my sister prayed near by.
Wild as I wrestled with my grief.
Far and faint came the Banshee's cry!
THE PASSING OF THE SIDHE LYRICS
HERE is weeping on Cnoc-Aulin, and on hoary
Slievenamon, There's a weary wind careering
over haggard Knock-naree, By the broken
Mound of Almhin Sad as death the voices calling,
Calling ever, wailing ever, for the passing of the Sidhe.
Where the hunting-call of Ossian waked the woods
of Glen-na-mar; Where the Fianna's hoarse cheering
silenced noisy Assaroe; Like the homing swallows meeting
Like a beaten host retreating — Hear them sobbing
as they hurry from the hills they used to know.
There's a haunted hazel standing on a grim and
gloomy scaur. Tossing ceaselessly its branches,
like a keener o'er the dead; Deep around it press
the masses Of the Sluagh-Sidhe that passes
To the moan of fairy-music timing well their muffled tread.
* Pronounced Slua Shee— the Fairy Army.
Came a wail of mortal anguish o'er the nightenshrouded sea,
Sudden death overtook the aged, while the infant cried in fear,
And the dreamers on their pillows Heard the beat of bursting billows,
And the rumble and the rhythm of an army passing near!
They have left the unbelieving — past and gone
their gentle sway, Lonely now the rath enchanted,
eerie glen, and wild crannoge. But the sad winds
unforgetting Call them back with poignant fretting,
Snatching songs of elfin sorrow from the streams of Tir-na-n'og
THE HAUNTED HAZEL LYRICS
ADOWN a quiet glen where the gowan-berries
glisten And the linnet, shyest bird of all, his wild note
warbles free; Where the scented woodbine-blossoms, o'er the
brooklet, bend to listen. There stands upon a mossy bank,
a white-hazel tree.
Oh! fair it is to view, when the zephyr rustles
lightly. And warm sunlight glances back from polished
bole and branch; For then like wavelets on a rill the pendent leaves
flash brightly. And daisies nod in concert, round the column
straight and staunch.
But when the day is ended, and the solemn moon is shining;
And shadows grim and ghostly, fall on grove and glen and lea,
Then godless elves their fairy paths with glowworm lamps are lining.
And potent spells of magic bind this white-hazel tree!
For from their gorgeous palaces the fairy bands come stealing,
To dance in sportive circles on the never bending moss;
And the velvet-soft caressing of their finger touches healing,
Brings to the sere white-hazel bark again its youthful gloss.
And round and round they skip and glide, in
strange fantastic measure, To weird,
unhallowed melodies of fairy minstrelsy.
Yet mortal ear may never hear those sounds of elfin pleasure.
And no whisper of its secrets gives the white-hazel tree!
But should the peasant wander nigh that baleful bower, unthinking.
And sudden feel the chilling of the haunted hazel's shade,
A nameless horror seizes on his spirit, bowed and shrinking,
And making oft the Holy Sign, he hurries home dismayed.
For maid that treads the path of doom beneath
the hazel's shadow, Shall be the bride of Death,
they say, before a month has flown;
And laughing swain, in pride of strength, who
crossed at eve the meadow, Shall moulder
'neath the matted moss, e'er yet that mead is mown!
So, in the solemn hours of night the fairies dance
unharmed. Till thro* gray dawn the haggard moon her waning
span doth dree. Then from the blessed sunbeam flies the evil
power that charmed. And fairy spell is lifted from the white-hazel tree!
THERE was a rath I used to love,
in Ireland long ago,
An ancient dun in which they dwelt-
the Fairy Folk, you know.
All belted round with hawthorn
was this Rath of Closharink,
And one could hear, when straying near,
their silver anvils clink!
O, clink, clank, clink-hear the fairy hammers go;
Clink, clank, clink, in their caves of
gold below! What were they a-forging in the dun of
Closharink Upon their silver anvils
tapping-clink, clank, clink?
When all the thorn was blossomed white,
and yellow was the furze,
You'd hear them in the noonday
hush when ne'er a linnet stirs;
You'd hear them in the evening
when the sun began to sink,
And purple glory flushed the
hills that smiled on Closharink.
O, clink, clank, clink, hear
the fairy hammers sound-
Clink, clank, clink, in their forges underground;
What were they a-pattering, the Sidhe of CIo-
sharink With all their silver anvils sounding —
clink, clank, clink?
What were they a-fashioning — a crown for great
Queen Mave; A helmet for Cuchulain, or a shield for Lugh the
Brave; — A scabbard for the Sword of Light that flames
on danger's brink, A jeweled torque for
Angus who is king at Closharink ?
Clink, clank, clink, like a harp note,
sweet and low. Clink, clank, clink,
and a big moon climbing slow!
Though youth is far from me to-night, and far is
Closharink, My senses thrill to hear
it still, that clink, clank,clink!
THE FAIRY HARPERS SONG LYRICS
As I walked the heights of Meelin on a tranquil
autumn day. The fairy host came stealing o'er
the distant moorland gray^ I heard like sweet
bells ringing, Or a grove of linnets singing.
And the haunting, wailful music that the Fairy Harpers play!
Like thunder of deep waters when vast-heaving
billows break, Like soughing of the forest
when ten thousand branches shake. Like moaning
of the wind. When the night falls bleak and blind.
So wild and weird the melodies the fairy minstrels make.
The sunbeams flecked the valley, and the cloudshades
ranged the hill. The thistle-down scarce drifted
in the air so calm and still. But along the slopes
of Meelin, Came the ghostly music pealing. With sad
and fitful cadences that set my soul a-thrill
Then wan and wistful grew the sky o*er Meelin's summit lone.
And weeping for the days gone by, my heart grew cold as stone,
For I heard loved voices calling
Beyond the sunlight falling On Meelin's mournful
mountain where the magic Harps make moan !
Burned and seared my inmost soul
(When shall sorrow depart from me?)
Black-winged terror upon me stole,
Blindly gaping, I turned to flee!
Back by the grove and haunted mound,
O'er the lone road I know not how.
Hearkened afar my baying hound Home
at last by the low hill's brow!
Lone the cottage — the door flung wide.
Four lights burned — oh, sight of dread !
Breathing a prayer, I rushed inside,
"Mercy, God!" 'twas my mother dead!
Dead and white as the fallen leaf,
Kneeling, my sister prayed near by.
Wild as I wrestled with my grief.
Far and faint came the Banshee's cry!
THE PASSING OF THE SIDHE LYRICS
HERE is weeping on Cnoc-Aulin, and on hoary
Slievenamon, There's a weary wind careering
over haggard Knock-naree, By the broken
Mound of Almhin Sad as death the voices calling,
Calling ever, wailing ever, for the passing of the Sidhe.
Where the hunting-call of Ossian waked the woods
of Glen-na-mar; Where the Fianna's hoarse cheering
silenced noisy Assaroe; Like the homing swallows meeting
Like a beaten host retreating — Hear them sobbing
as they hurry from the hills they used to know.
There's a haunted hazel standing on a grim and
gloomy scaur. Tossing ceaselessly its branches,
like a keener o'er the dead; Deep around it press
the masses Of the Sluagh-Sidhe that passes
To the moan of fairy-music timing well their muffled tread.
* Pronounced Slua Shee— the Fairy Army.
Came a wail of mortal anguish o'er the nightenshrouded sea,
Sudden death overtook the aged, while the infant cried in fear,
And the dreamers on their pillows Heard the beat of bursting billows,
And the rumble and the rhythm of an army passing near!
They have left the unbelieving — past and gone
their gentle sway, Lonely now the rath enchanted,
eerie glen, and wild crannoge. But the sad winds
unforgetting Call them back with poignant fretting,
Snatching songs of elfin sorrow from the streams of Tir-na-n'og
THE HAUNTED HAZEL LYRICS
ADOWN a quiet glen where the gowan-berries
glisten And the linnet, shyest bird of all, his wild note
warbles free; Where the scented woodbine-blossoms, o'er the
brooklet, bend to listen. There stands upon a mossy bank,
a white-hazel tree.
Oh! fair it is to view, when the zephyr rustles
lightly. And warm sunlight glances back from polished
bole and branch; For then like wavelets on a rill the pendent leaves
flash brightly. And daisies nod in concert, round the column
straight and staunch.
But when the day is ended, and the solemn moon is shining;
And shadows grim and ghostly, fall on grove and glen and lea,
Then godless elves their fairy paths with glowworm lamps are lining.
And potent spells of magic bind this white-hazel tree!
For from their gorgeous palaces the fairy bands come stealing,
To dance in sportive circles on the never bending moss;
And the velvet-soft caressing of their finger touches healing,
Brings to the sere white-hazel bark again its youthful gloss.
And round and round they skip and glide, in
strange fantastic measure, To weird,
unhallowed melodies of fairy minstrelsy.
Yet mortal ear may never hear those sounds of elfin pleasure.
And no whisper of its secrets gives the white-hazel tree!
But should the peasant wander nigh that baleful bower, unthinking.
And sudden feel the chilling of the haunted hazel's shade,
A nameless horror seizes on his spirit, bowed and shrinking,
And making oft the Holy Sign, he hurries home dismayed.
For maid that treads the path of doom beneath
the hazel's shadow, Shall be the bride of Death,
they say, before a month has flown;
And laughing swain, in pride of strength, who
crossed at eve the meadow, Shall moulder
'neath the matted moss, e'er yet that mead is mown!
So, in the solemn hours of night the fairies dance
unharmed. Till thro* gray dawn the haggard moon her waning
span doth dree. Then from the blessed sunbeam flies the evil
power that charmed. And fairy spell is lifted from the white-hazel tree!
MEELIN MOUNTAIN
IN the slopes of Meelin Mountain 'tis as lonesome as can be,
Up among the whins and heather where our little cottage stands
And all night I hear the wailing Of the homeless curlews sailing
And the ever-haunting rhythm of the marching Fairy bands.
They are marching down from Meelin to the darkling vales below,
Like an army off to battle — massed in squadron and platoon --
I can see their lances gleaming And their rustling banners streaming,
While ten thousand silvern helmets shame the lustre of the moon.
They are passing down from Meelin to the Rath of Glen-na-shee
Down the lonely mountain roadway by the Ridge of Moonamoe;
And their Harpers all are playing Fairy tunes that set you swaying.
Fairy strains that thrill the spirit with the spells of long ago
Who is brave enough to follow where the solemn
night-winds call? Who will join them down from
Meelin in the moonbeams falling white ?
All his earthly woes shall leave him, Human sorrows never grieve him,
And the Fairy Harps shall lull him evermore with strange delight I
They are marching down from Meelin, stepping
fast before the dawn. Fainter grows the Fairy Music,
dying plaintive on the blast, And I ponder by the embers
While my tristful soul remembers All the magic of lost visions —
all the dreams of youth long-passed
THE FAIRY PIPER LYRICS
ONE evening as I wandered by the Rath of Ross-na-Ree
I met a fairy piper and he quaintly winked at me; Said he,
"You love our people and you sing their
praise so fine That just by way of a reward you'll listen now to mine."
His coat was red, and amber-barred,
his pantaloons were blue. His eyes were black as ripened sloes,
and they were dancing too. His pipes were gold and ivory, his chanter jewelled
strange. And when the first wee note he struck, the world
began to change!
For all the birds in Ossory they gathered round us there.
And every songster joined with him in chorus sweet and rare.
Till my poor heart revived anew and lost its burden sad.
And once again came rapture true, like when I was a lad.
A rose-red flush lit up the skies and tinged the dappled green,
And seated on a sapphire throne I saw the Fairy Queen;
And all the Red Branch heroes clad in armor dazzling bright
Lined up around the fairy mound; it was a splendid sight 1
Then suddenly an elfin door oped wide in Ross-na Ree,
A spell of gladness held the earth, and swayed each flower and tree,
And out there trooped the Fairy Folk, ten thousand strong if one.
All dancing in the sunshine, round about their haunted dun!
The hours flew by like moments, and the daylight
faded soon. Yet still went on that wondrous dance beneath
a mystic moon; My eyes grew dim with happiness, but when I
gazed once more. The vision all had vanished and the fairy spell
was o'er! Yet often since, in gladsome dream, I hear that
piper play, And feel again the rapture of that blissful summer
day, And often, too, I wander by the Rath of Ross-na-Ree,
Though now I know its magic door will ope no more to me!
AT DEAD O' THE NIGHT, ALANNA
At dead o' the night, alanna,
I wake and see you
there, Your little head on the pillow,
with tossed and tangled hair;
I am your mother, acushla, and you are my heart's
own boy, And wealth o' the world Fd barter to shield you
from annoy.
At dead o' the night, alanna, the heart o* the world
is still. But sobbing o' fairy music comes down the haunted
hill; The march o' the fairy armies troubles the peace
o' the air. Blest angels, shelter my darling for power of a mother's pray'r!
At dead o' the night, alanna, the sleepless Banshee moans.
Wailing for sin and sorrow, by the Cairn's crumbling stones.
At dead o' the night, alanna, I ask of our God above.
To shield you from sin and sorrow, and cherish you in His love.
At dead o' the night, alanna, I wonder o'er and
o'er, Shall you part from our holy Ireland, to die on a
stranger shore ? You'll break my heart in the leaving like many a
mother I know — Just God, look down upon
Erin and lift her at last from woe !
At dead o' the night, alanna, I see you in future years.
Grand in your strength, and noble, facing the wide
world fears; Though down in the mossy churchyard my bones
be under the sod, My spirit shall watch you, darling, till you come
to your rest in God
BY LIGHT O' THE MOON
BY light o' the moon at the gray cairn-stone
A wondrous sight you'll see; By light o'
the moon when the Banshee's croon
Faint comes o'er moor and lea!
Weird cloud-shades hurry athwart the sky,
The drowsy glens are still,
And the march you'll see, of the Sluag-Sidhe
By light o' the moon on the hill
By light o' the moon you'll hearken soon.
Strange music throbbing sweet,
The harp-notes bold of the Bards of old
Your tranced ear shall greet! For theirs
are the plans of the mystic ranns
By the fairies filched away,
And they echo still on the moonlit hill
Where the elfin minstrels play.
By the light o' the moon, as the reed-pipes croon.
The fairy hosts are seen; And gallant and gay is their proud array
With glint of shield and skian ! They wage once more, in mimic war,
Fierce fights of the days long o'er. When the Finian sword by Erna's ford,
The "ridge of battle" up-bore!
By light o* the moon at the gray cairn-stone
The fairy minstrels weep, And the melting tone of their sorrows' moan
The winds of Erin keep. They weep her Harpers dead and gone,
Whose strains would haunt and thrill,
They mourn and wail o*er the doom of the Gael,
By the light o' the moon on the hill
CNOC-AULINN
LEAVE my parents in Kilmacowen,
My loving cousins in Ard-na-Grange,
For o'er the mountains I must be goin'.
Where fairy voices all bid me range!
Beyond those hill-tops fair visions shimmer,
Bright with the sun, an' the water fallin'.
Good-bye, Moondharrig! each moment dimmer,
I fly forever to far Cnoc-Aulinn.
Weary am I o' the wordy clatter.
The busy tongue an' the sordid mind.
The worLd which seemed a mighty matter
Fades as I leave it far behind;
I leave my plough in the grassy furrow.
My patient horse in the headland stallin'.
Good-bye, Gurthlawhan; for ere to-morrow
I'll walk with Oscar on old Cnoc-Aulinn I
There shall I listen to drowsy waters.
And magic tones o' the Keol-Sidhe —
Hear Bardic rannin' of ancient slaughters
And Finn's Dord-Fiann o'er Knoc-na-righ.
With kings of old I shall be reclinin'.
In pleasant dreamin' fond scenes recallin'.
While shamrocks there at my feet entwinin'.
Shall bless my slumbers on gray Cnoc-Aulinn.
SONG OF THE LITTLE IRISH VILLAGES
THE pleasant little villages that grace the Irish
glynns Down among the wheat-fields — up amid the
whins, The little white-walled villages crowding close together.
Clinging to the Old Sod in spite of wind and weather:
Ballytarsney, Ballymore, Ballyboden, Boyle, Ballingarry,
Ballymagorry by the Banks of
Foyle, Ballylaneen, Ballyporeen, Bansha,
Ballysadare, Ballybrack, Ballinalack, Bama, Ballyclare.
The cosy little villages that shelter from the mist.
Where the great West Walls by ocean-spray are kissed;
The happy little villages that cuddle in the sun
When blackberries ripen and the harvest work is done.
Corrymeela, Croaghnakeela, Clogher, Cahirci-
veen, Cappaharoe, Carrigaloe, Cashel and Coosheen,
Castlefinn and Carrigtohill, Crumlin, Clara,
Clane, Carrigaholt, Carrigaline, CloghJordan and Coolrain.
The dreamy little villages, where by the fire at night,
Old Shanachies with ghostly tale the boldest
hearts affright; The crooning of the wind-blast is the wailing
Banshee's cry, And when the silver hazels stir they say the fairies sigh.
Kilfenora, Kilfinnane, Kinnity, Killylea, Kilmoganny, Kiltamagh,
Kilronan and Kilrea, Killashandra, Kilmacow, Killiney, Killashee,
Killenaule, Killmyshall, Killorglin and Killeagh.
Leave the little villages, o'er the black seas go,
Learn the stranger's welcome, learn the exile's woe,
Leave the little villages, but think not to forget;
Afar they'll rise before your eyes to rack your bosoms yet.
Moneymore, Moneygall, Monivea and Moyne,
Mullinahone> MuUinavatt, MuUagh and Mooncoin,
Shanagolden, Shanballymore, Stranorlar and Slane,
Toberaheena, Toomyvara, Tempo and Strabane.
On the Southern Llanos, — north where strange
light gleams. Many a yearning exile sees them in his dreams;
Dying voices murmur (passed all pain and care),
''Lo the little villages, God has heard our prayer."
Lisdoonvarna, Lissadil, Lisdargan, Lisnaskea, Portglenone,
Portarlington, Portumna, Portmagee, Clondalkin and Clongowan, Cloondara and
Clonae, God bless the little villages and guard them night and day!
BALLAGH GAP
BALLAGH GAP, and the spring sun shining
On Leinster's valleys far down below;
Ballagh Gap, and the hedges lining The roadways,
blossomed like sifted snow!
Tis there I'd be with Youth's comrades playing,
In gladness maying through sweet lost days.
The gold-eyed primrose green banks arraying.
And daisies spangled in faerie maze.
Again Fd hear, as the wind came sighing
Across Mount Leinster and brown Creev-roe,
The plovers fluting when day was dying
And all the west was a magic glow.
*Tis there I'd be when the sun, new-risen.
Brought vales Elysian to raptured eyes.
And the spirit saw, from its clayey prison,
God's hand bedizen the seas and skies.
Too soon, alas, from these fair scenes banished,
The friends of Boyhood all passed away.
And Youth's fond hoping too quickly vanished
In grief and groping when skies were gray.
Yet I still have visions that flash and quiver —
Dark gloom can never my soul enwrap --
For I see God's sunshine pour down forever
A golden river o'er Ballagh Gap!
ON ARRAN SHORE
BESIDE a white-walled cabin on the cliff
She stands, and gazes on the cruel wave;
Her hands are rough; her old face lined with grief;
The sons she loved so well Lie drowned
beneath the plangent ocean swell --
How dark and cold a grave!
The curraghs straggle in across the bar,
And many a happy mother hails them there.
The fisher lads home-coming from afar;
But now none comes to greet
The lonely widow who with dragging feet
Steals to her cabin bare!
There is a Mother in the Heavens high
Who comforts the bereft and broken heart;
And when at night the wind goes whimpering by,
And sobs the pitying rain;
When voices of the dead are heard again,
Mary doth peace impart!
RIDERS TO THE SEA
ACROSS the bleak, wind-weary Erris plain
Low trailing mists their ghostly banners fly;
Like Druid hosts the legions of the rain
Sweep to the spectral sea,
Whose ashen billows thunder mournfully
Beneath a lowering sky!
Blue turf-smoke rises from a cabin there
Close by the shore where falls the salty spray;
An aged mother, and two sisters fair
Are "caoining" for their dead!
Three brothers strong who fought the sea for bread
Have met their doom to-day!
And thus the anguished mother maketh wail:
"Now all my sons lie in the waters drowned --
Tis now I shall have rest and peace!
The gale Will not my soul affright!
While wind and wave are battling all the night
Deep will I sleep, and sound!"
IRELAND'S MISTY HILLS
LET travelers prate of the Rockies great
Or the AUeghanies blue,
Or sights recall of the Andes tall
That sentinel Peru;
Of the Urals gray or the Himalay
Where God's white daylight spills —
My fancy flies to the sea-warm skies
And Irelands misty hills!
With Druid cloud-belt girded on
They lift their shoulders brown —
The Galtees, Toomies, Slieve-na-mon,
Slieve Donard, Kiioc-Mel-Dhown;
And Kerry's Reek with tow'ring peak
The homing exile thrills,
When high and brave above the wave
Rise Ireland's misty hills
The gorse is gold where heroes bold
Of old were wont to stray;
Where Finn and Ossian through the wold
Went hunting day by day;
Where Fergus and Cuhoolin trod
Beside the wandering rills,
And good St. Patrick blessed the sod
On Ireland's misty hills !
No coward slaves have made their graves
Upon these heathery heights.
Where king and kerne in battle stem
Have bled for Erin's rights!
The wind that through her ancient tow'rs
In mournful accent shrills,
Shouts ranns of pride for the brave who died
On Ireland's misty hills!
May combats cease; and love and peace
In that fair Island dwell;
Each race and creed, in the country's need
Her patriot anthems swell!
May North and South together band
To banish age-long ills.
And all her clans undaunted stand
For Ireland's misty hills!
MAURYA BAWN SONG LYRICS
Wake up, wake up, alanna, Maurya Bawn,
Maurya Bawn! (Hush! do not weep, mo
creevitij in the dawn!) Your father
must be goin' from the place he called his own,
For the landlord wants the holdin,' Maurya Bawn!
Rise up, rise up, alanna, Maurya Bawn,
Maurya Bawn, (Now do not weep, mo
veelishy in the dawn!) We must hurry —
no denyin' — from the little cabin flyin'
For they're comin* to evict us, Maurya Bawn!
Your mother's dead an' buried,
Maurya Bawn, Maurya Bawn!
(Ah! Do not weep, mo colleerij in the dawn!)
God's Holy Hand is in it — sure the
Home she has this minnit
Ne'er a landlord can be stealin', Maurya Bawn !
*Tis well she's now in Heaven, Maurya Bawn,
Maurya Bawn! {Acushla! Such wild sobbin', in the dawn!)
Tis she would grieve to view us —
Och! wid tears o' blood she'd rue us.
Driven forth to beg the world, Maurya Bawn!
The hearth is cowld an' dreary, Maurya Bawn,
Maury a Bawn! (Astboreetij like our hearts are, in the dawn!)
*Tis you an* me to-morrow on the stony roads o* sorrow —
Come and kiss me in my throuble, Maurya Bawnl
Rise up, rise up, alanna, Maurya Bawn, Maurya Bawnl
(Rise up, an' laive the ould home, in the dawn!)
The way is dark an' wairy, an' the hearts o' men
contrairy. But we'll trust to God an' Mary, Maurya Bawn!
Rise up, rise up, alanna, Maurya Bawn, Maurya Bawn!
{Mavourneen dry those tear drops — 'tis the dawn!)
Brush back the shiny hair from your little forehead
— there ! An' we'll face the world together, Maurya Bawn!
IN the slopes of Meelin Mountain 'tis as lonesome as can be,
Up among the whins and heather where our little cottage stands
And all night I hear the wailing Of the homeless curlews sailing
And the ever-haunting rhythm of the marching Fairy bands.
They are marching down from Meelin to the darkling vales below,
Like an army off to battle — massed in squadron and platoon --
I can see their lances gleaming And their rustling banners streaming,
While ten thousand silvern helmets shame the lustre of the moon.
They are passing down from Meelin to the Rath of Glen-na-shee
Down the lonely mountain roadway by the Ridge of Moonamoe;
And their Harpers all are playing Fairy tunes that set you swaying.
Fairy strains that thrill the spirit with the spells of long ago
Who is brave enough to follow where the solemn
night-winds call? Who will join them down from
Meelin in the moonbeams falling white ?
All his earthly woes shall leave him, Human sorrows never grieve him,
And the Fairy Harps shall lull him evermore with strange delight I
They are marching down from Meelin, stepping
fast before the dawn. Fainter grows the Fairy Music,
dying plaintive on the blast, And I ponder by the embers
While my tristful soul remembers All the magic of lost visions —
all the dreams of youth long-passed
THE FAIRY PIPER LYRICS
ONE evening as I wandered by the Rath of Ross-na-Ree
I met a fairy piper and he quaintly winked at me; Said he,
"You love our people and you sing their
praise so fine That just by way of a reward you'll listen now to mine."
His coat was red, and amber-barred,
his pantaloons were blue. His eyes were black as ripened sloes,
and they were dancing too. His pipes were gold and ivory, his chanter jewelled
strange. And when the first wee note he struck, the world
began to change!
For all the birds in Ossory they gathered round us there.
And every songster joined with him in chorus sweet and rare.
Till my poor heart revived anew and lost its burden sad.
And once again came rapture true, like when I was a lad.
A rose-red flush lit up the skies and tinged the dappled green,
And seated on a sapphire throne I saw the Fairy Queen;
And all the Red Branch heroes clad in armor dazzling bright
Lined up around the fairy mound; it was a splendid sight 1
Then suddenly an elfin door oped wide in Ross-na Ree,
A spell of gladness held the earth, and swayed each flower and tree,
And out there trooped the Fairy Folk, ten thousand strong if one.
All dancing in the sunshine, round about their haunted dun!
The hours flew by like moments, and the daylight
faded soon. Yet still went on that wondrous dance beneath
a mystic moon; My eyes grew dim with happiness, but when I
gazed once more. The vision all had vanished and the fairy spell
was o'er! Yet often since, in gladsome dream, I hear that
piper play, And feel again the rapture of that blissful summer
day, And often, too, I wander by the Rath of Ross-na-Ree,
Though now I know its magic door will ope no more to me!
AT DEAD O' THE NIGHT, ALANNA
At dead o' the night, alanna,
I wake and see you
there, Your little head on the pillow,
with tossed and tangled hair;
I am your mother, acushla, and you are my heart's
own boy, And wealth o' the world Fd barter to shield you
from annoy.
At dead o' the night, alanna, the heart o* the world
is still. But sobbing o' fairy music comes down the haunted
hill; The march o' the fairy armies troubles the peace
o' the air. Blest angels, shelter my darling for power of a mother's pray'r!
At dead o' the night, alanna, the sleepless Banshee moans.
Wailing for sin and sorrow, by the Cairn's crumbling stones.
At dead o' the night, alanna, I ask of our God above.
To shield you from sin and sorrow, and cherish you in His love.
At dead o' the night, alanna, I wonder o'er and
o'er, Shall you part from our holy Ireland, to die on a
stranger shore ? You'll break my heart in the leaving like many a
mother I know — Just God, look down upon
Erin and lift her at last from woe !
At dead o' the night, alanna, I see you in future years.
Grand in your strength, and noble, facing the wide
world fears; Though down in the mossy churchyard my bones
be under the sod, My spirit shall watch you, darling, till you come
to your rest in God
BY LIGHT O' THE MOON
BY light o' the moon at the gray cairn-stone
A wondrous sight you'll see; By light o'
the moon when the Banshee's croon
Faint comes o'er moor and lea!
Weird cloud-shades hurry athwart the sky,
The drowsy glens are still,
And the march you'll see, of the Sluag-Sidhe
By light o' the moon on the hill
By light o' the moon you'll hearken soon.
Strange music throbbing sweet,
The harp-notes bold of the Bards of old
Your tranced ear shall greet! For theirs
are the plans of the mystic ranns
By the fairies filched away,
And they echo still on the moonlit hill
Where the elfin minstrels play.
By the light o' the moon, as the reed-pipes croon.
The fairy hosts are seen; And gallant and gay is their proud array
With glint of shield and skian ! They wage once more, in mimic war,
Fierce fights of the days long o'er. When the Finian sword by Erna's ford,
The "ridge of battle" up-bore!
By light o* the moon at the gray cairn-stone
The fairy minstrels weep, And the melting tone of their sorrows' moan
The winds of Erin keep. They weep her Harpers dead and gone,
Whose strains would haunt and thrill,
They mourn and wail o*er the doom of the Gael,
By the light o' the moon on the hill
CNOC-AULINN
LEAVE my parents in Kilmacowen,
My loving cousins in Ard-na-Grange,
For o'er the mountains I must be goin'.
Where fairy voices all bid me range!
Beyond those hill-tops fair visions shimmer,
Bright with the sun, an' the water fallin'.
Good-bye, Moondharrig! each moment dimmer,
I fly forever to far Cnoc-Aulinn.
Weary am I o' the wordy clatter.
The busy tongue an' the sordid mind.
The worLd which seemed a mighty matter
Fades as I leave it far behind;
I leave my plough in the grassy furrow.
My patient horse in the headland stallin'.
Good-bye, Gurthlawhan; for ere to-morrow
I'll walk with Oscar on old Cnoc-Aulinn I
There shall I listen to drowsy waters.
And magic tones o' the Keol-Sidhe —
Hear Bardic rannin' of ancient slaughters
And Finn's Dord-Fiann o'er Knoc-na-righ.
With kings of old I shall be reclinin'.
In pleasant dreamin' fond scenes recallin'.
While shamrocks there at my feet entwinin'.
Shall bless my slumbers on gray Cnoc-Aulinn.
SONG OF THE LITTLE IRISH VILLAGES
THE pleasant little villages that grace the Irish
glynns Down among the wheat-fields — up amid the
whins, The little white-walled villages crowding close together.
Clinging to the Old Sod in spite of wind and weather:
Ballytarsney, Ballymore, Ballyboden, Boyle, Ballingarry,
Ballymagorry by the Banks of
Foyle, Ballylaneen, Ballyporeen, Bansha,
Ballysadare, Ballybrack, Ballinalack, Bama, Ballyclare.
The cosy little villages that shelter from the mist.
Where the great West Walls by ocean-spray are kissed;
The happy little villages that cuddle in the sun
When blackberries ripen and the harvest work is done.
Corrymeela, Croaghnakeela, Clogher, Cahirci-
veen, Cappaharoe, Carrigaloe, Cashel and Coosheen,
Castlefinn and Carrigtohill, Crumlin, Clara,
Clane, Carrigaholt, Carrigaline, CloghJordan and Coolrain.
The dreamy little villages, where by the fire at night,
Old Shanachies with ghostly tale the boldest
hearts affright; The crooning of the wind-blast is the wailing
Banshee's cry, And when the silver hazels stir they say the fairies sigh.
Kilfenora, Kilfinnane, Kinnity, Killylea, Kilmoganny, Kiltamagh,
Kilronan and Kilrea, Killashandra, Kilmacow, Killiney, Killashee,
Killenaule, Killmyshall, Killorglin and Killeagh.
Leave the little villages, o'er the black seas go,
Learn the stranger's welcome, learn the exile's woe,
Leave the little villages, but think not to forget;
Afar they'll rise before your eyes to rack your bosoms yet.
Moneymore, Moneygall, Monivea and Moyne,
Mullinahone> MuUinavatt, MuUagh and Mooncoin,
Shanagolden, Shanballymore, Stranorlar and Slane,
Toberaheena, Toomyvara, Tempo and Strabane.
On the Southern Llanos, — north where strange
light gleams. Many a yearning exile sees them in his dreams;
Dying voices murmur (passed all pain and care),
''Lo the little villages, God has heard our prayer."
Lisdoonvarna, Lissadil, Lisdargan, Lisnaskea, Portglenone,
Portarlington, Portumna, Portmagee, Clondalkin and Clongowan, Cloondara and
Clonae, God bless the little villages and guard them night and day!
BALLAGH GAP
BALLAGH GAP, and the spring sun shining
On Leinster's valleys far down below;
Ballagh Gap, and the hedges lining The roadways,
blossomed like sifted snow!
Tis there I'd be with Youth's comrades playing,
In gladness maying through sweet lost days.
The gold-eyed primrose green banks arraying.
And daisies spangled in faerie maze.
Again Fd hear, as the wind came sighing
Across Mount Leinster and brown Creev-roe,
The plovers fluting when day was dying
And all the west was a magic glow.
*Tis there I'd be when the sun, new-risen.
Brought vales Elysian to raptured eyes.
And the spirit saw, from its clayey prison,
God's hand bedizen the seas and skies.
Too soon, alas, from these fair scenes banished,
The friends of Boyhood all passed away.
And Youth's fond hoping too quickly vanished
In grief and groping when skies were gray.
Yet I still have visions that flash and quiver —
Dark gloom can never my soul enwrap --
For I see God's sunshine pour down forever
A golden river o'er Ballagh Gap!
ON ARRAN SHORE
BESIDE a white-walled cabin on the cliff
She stands, and gazes on the cruel wave;
Her hands are rough; her old face lined with grief;
The sons she loved so well Lie drowned
beneath the plangent ocean swell --
How dark and cold a grave!
The curraghs straggle in across the bar,
And many a happy mother hails them there.
The fisher lads home-coming from afar;
But now none comes to greet
The lonely widow who with dragging feet
Steals to her cabin bare!
There is a Mother in the Heavens high
Who comforts the bereft and broken heart;
And when at night the wind goes whimpering by,
And sobs the pitying rain;
When voices of the dead are heard again,
Mary doth peace impart!
RIDERS TO THE SEA
ACROSS the bleak, wind-weary Erris plain
Low trailing mists their ghostly banners fly;
Like Druid hosts the legions of the rain
Sweep to the spectral sea,
Whose ashen billows thunder mournfully
Beneath a lowering sky!
Blue turf-smoke rises from a cabin there
Close by the shore where falls the salty spray;
An aged mother, and two sisters fair
Are "caoining" for their dead!
Three brothers strong who fought the sea for bread
Have met their doom to-day!
And thus the anguished mother maketh wail:
"Now all my sons lie in the waters drowned --
Tis now I shall have rest and peace!
The gale Will not my soul affright!
While wind and wave are battling all the night
Deep will I sleep, and sound!"
IRELAND'S MISTY HILLS
LET travelers prate of the Rockies great
Or the AUeghanies blue,
Or sights recall of the Andes tall
That sentinel Peru;
Of the Urals gray or the Himalay
Where God's white daylight spills —
My fancy flies to the sea-warm skies
And Irelands misty hills!
With Druid cloud-belt girded on
They lift their shoulders brown —
The Galtees, Toomies, Slieve-na-mon,
Slieve Donard, Kiioc-Mel-Dhown;
And Kerry's Reek with tow'ring peak
The homing exile thrills,
When high and brave above the wave
Rise Ireland's misty hills
The gorse is gold where heroes bold
Of old were wont to stray;
Where Finn and Ossian through the wold
Went hunting day by day;
Where Fergus and Cuhoolin trod
Beside the wandering rills,
And good St. Patrick blessed the sod
On Ireland's misty hills !
No coward slaves have made their graves
Upon these heathery heights.
Where king and kerne in battle stem
Have bled for Erin's rights!
The wind that through her ancient tow'rs
In mournful accent shrills,
Shouts ranns of pride for the brave who died
On Ireland's misty hills!
May combats cease; and love and peace
In that fair Island dwell;
Each race and creed, in the country's need
Her patriot anthems swell!
May North and South together band
To banish age-long ills.
And all her clans undaunted stand
For Ireland's misty hills!
MAURYA BAWN SONG LYRICS
Wake up, wake up, alanna, Maurya Bawn,
Maurya Bawn! (Hush! do not weep, mo
creevitij in the dawn!) Your father
must be goin' from the place he called his own,
For the landlord wants the holdin,' Maurya Bawn!
Rise up, rise up, alanna, Maurya Bawn,
Maurya Bawn, (Now do not weep, mo
veelishy in the dawn!) We must hurry —
no denyin' — from the little cabin flyin'
For they're comin* to evict us, Maurya Bawn!
Your mother's dead an' buried,
Maurya Bawn, Maurya Bawn!
(Ah! Do not weep, mo colleerij in the dawn!)
God's Holy Hand is in it — sure the
Home she has this minnit
Ne'er a landlord can be stealin', Maurya Bawn !
*Tis well she's now in Heaven, Maurya Bawn,
Maurya Bawn! {Acushla! Such wild sobbin', in the dawn!)
Tis she would grieve to view us —
Och! wid tears o' blood she'd rue us.
Driven forth to beg the world, Maurya Bawn!
The hearth is cowld an' dreary, Maurya Bawn,
Maury a Bawn! (Astboreetij like our hearts are, in the dawn!)
*Tis you an* me to-morrow on the stony roads o* sorrow —
Come and kiss me in my throuble, Maurya Bawnl
Rise up, rise up, alanna, Maurya Bawn, Maurya Bawnl
(Rise up, an' laive the ould home, in the dawn!)
The way is dark an' wairy, an' the hearts o' men
contrairy. But we'll trust to God an' Mary, Maurya Bawn!
Rise up, rise up, alanna, Maurya Bawn, Maurya Bawn!
{Mavourneen dry those tear drops — 'tis the dawn!)
Brush back the shiny hair from your little forehead
— there ! An' we'll face the world together, Maurya Bawn!
Full List of songs From Alfred Graves Songbook
The Little Red Lark
Love's Wishes
I Once Loved a Boy
The Banks of the Daisies
Herring is King
Hush Song
The Foggy Dew
The Confession
The Girl I left behind me
Eva Tuohill
'Tis I can weave Woollen and Linen
Maureen, Maureen
When I rose in the Morning
The Mill Song 27
Tis a pity I can't sec my love
With the North 32
Nancy, the Pride of the West
Jenny, I'm not Jesting
The Hour we Parted
The Smith's Song
Mo Muimin Dhu
Pleraca 47
Song of the Ghost
Colleen Oge Asthore
The Flight of the Earls
Kitty Bhan
The White Blossom 's off the Bog
With Fluttering Joy
A Sailor loved a Farmer's Daughter
The Reaper's Revenge
The Blue, Blue Smoke
Rustic Poems
Father O'Flynn
Mooleen Oge 74
Two Irish Idylls
FanFitzgerl y^
Bat of the Bridge
The Light in the Snow
What is Life without a Wife
The Wreck of the Aideen
The Handsome Witch
Saving the Turf
Loobeen
Anglo-Irish Ballads:--
Shoile Agra
Gragahnachree
was pretty to be in Ballinderry
My Bonny Cuckoo
The Willow Tree 1x6
Jack the Jolly Ploughboy
The Fox Hunt
From the Celtic:--
The Fairy Branch
Beltane
Patrick and Oisin
Cucullain's Lament over Ferdtah
The Song of the Fairy King
O'Cuman's Song
Caoine
Songs and Sketches :--
From the Red Rose O Branch of Fragrant Blossom
One Loving Smile
Snow Drift
Shamrock Leaves
Snow Stains
A Song of the Seasons
Spring's Secrets
The Rejected Lover
The Beautiful Bay
Ambrose and Una
Orpheus to Pluto
Song:To E. P
Songs and Sketches
Choosing a Profession
Love's Surprise
The Little Red Lark
Love's Wishes
I Once Loved a Boy
The Banks of the Daisies
Herring is King
Hush Song
The Foggy Dew
The Confession
The Girl I left behind me
Eva Tuohill
'Tis I can weave Woollen and Linen
Maureen, Maureen
When I rose in the Morning
The Mill Song 27
Tis a pity I can't sec my love
With the North 32
Nancy, the Pride of the West
Jenny, I'm not Jesting
The Hour we Parted
The Smith's Song
Mo Muimin Dhu
Pleraca 47
Song of the Ghost
Colleen Oge Asthore
The Flight of the Earls
Kitty Bhan
The White Blossom 's off the Bog
With Fluttering Joy
A Sailor loved a Farmer's Daughter
The Reaper's Revenge
The Blue, Blue Smoke
Rustic Poems
Father O'Flynn
Mooleen Oge 74
Two Irish Idylls
FanFitzgerl y^
Bat of the Bridge
The Light in the Snow
What is Life without a Wife
The Wreck of the Aideen
The Handsome Witch
Saving the Turf
Loobeen
Anglo-Irish Ballads:--
Shoile Agra
Gragahnachree
was pretty to be in Ballinderry
My Bonny Cuckoo
The Willow Tree 1x6
Jack the Jolly Ploughboy
The Fox Hunt
From the Celtic:--
The Fairy Branch
Beltane
Patrick and Oisin
Cucullain's Lament over Ferdtah
The Song of the Fairy King
O'Cuman's Song
Caoine
Songs and Sketches :--
From the Red Rose O Branch of Fragrant Blossom
One Loving Smile
Snow Drift
Shamrock Leaves
Snow Stains
A Song of the Seasons
Spring's Secrets
The Rejected Lover
The Beautiful Bay
Ambrose and Una
Orpheus to Pluto
Song:To E. P
Songs and Sketches
Choosing a Profession
Love's Surprise
