Percy French Song Lyrics
The Irish Cultural Revival of the late 19th and early 20th century was a period of significant change and resurgence in the cultural and artistic identity of Ireland. It was a time of great political and social upheaval, as the country struggled for independence from British rule. At the forefront of this movement was the figure of Percy French, a multi-talented Irish artist who played a crucial role in revitalizing and promoting Irish culture during this period.
Percy French, born in 1854 in County Roscommon, was a man of many talents. He was a renowned painter, songwriter, playwright, poet, and performer, and his work reflected a deep love for his native country and its people. French's artistic career began in the late 1870s, when he moved to Dublin to study law. However, he soon abandoned his legal studies to pursue a career in the arts, and his talents quickly gained recognition in Irish artistic circles.
At the time of French's emergence, Ireland was going through a cultural reawakening. The country had been under British rule for centuries, and its cultural identity had been suppressed and marginalized. However, with the rise of the Irish Literary Revival, which aimed to promote and preserve Irish language, literature, and culture, a new sense of national pride and identity was taking shape. French became an integral part of this movement, using his artistic talents to contribute to the revival of Irish culture.
One of French's most significant contributions to the Irish Cultural Revival was through his music. He was a prolific songwriter, and his songs captured the essence of Irish life and the struggles of its people. His most famous song, 'The Mountains of Mourne,' is a poignant and nostalgic tribute to the Irish countryside and its people. It became an instant hit, and its popularity endures to this day. French's music was not only entertaining, but it also served as a means of preserving and promoting Irish folk traditions and customs.
In addition to his music, French also played a crucial role in the revival of Irish theater. He wrote several plays, including 'The Auction at Cloughjordan,' which was performed by the Irish National Theatre Society, and 'The West of Ireland,' which was one of the first plays to be performed in the Irish language. French's plays were infused with Irish humor and wit, and they often dealt with themes of rural life and the struggles of the Irish people. His plays were hugely popular and helped to establish a distinct Irish theatrical tradition.
French's contribution to the Irish Cultural Revival was not limited to his artistic endeavors; he was also a passionate advocate for the preservation of Irish heritage and traditions. He was a founding member of the Irish Folk Song Society, which aimed to collect and preserve traditional Irish songs and music. He also played a crucial role in the establishment of the Feis Ceoil, an annual festival celebrating Irish music and culture, which continues to this day.
Moreover, French's work as an artist and promoter of Irish culture extended beyond his own country. He toured extensively throughout Ireland and Britain, and his performances were immensely popular among Irish expatriates. He also traveled to the United States, where he performed to large crowds of Irish-Americans and helped to spread Irish culture and traditions abroad.
In conclusion, Percy French was a key figure in the Irish Cultural Revival, using his artistic talents to promote and preserve Irish culture during a time of great political and social change. His music, plays, and advocacy for the preservation of Irish traditions helped to shape the cultural identity of Ireland and contributed to the country's eventual independence from British rule. Today, French's legacy continues to be celebrated, and he remains an important figure in the history of Ireland's cultural revival.
Percy French, born in 1854 in County Roscommon, was a man of many talents. He was a renowned painter, songwriter, playwright, poet, and performer, and his work reflected a deep love for his native country and its people. French's artistic career began in the late 1870s, when he moved to Dublin to study law. However, he soon abandoned his legal studies to pursue a career in the arts, and his talents quickly gained recognition in Irish artistic circles.
At the time of French's emergence, Ireland was going through a cultural reawakening. The country had been under British rule for centuries, and its cultural identity had been suppressed and marginalized. However, with the rise of the Irish Literary Revival, which aimed to promote and preserve Irish language, literature, and culture, a new sense of national pride and identity was taking shape. French became an integral part of this movement, using his artistic talents to contribute to the revival of Irish culture.
One of French's most significant contributions to the Irish Cultural Revival was through his music. He was a prolific songwriter, and his songs captured the essence of Irish life and the struggles of its people. His most famous song, 'The Mountains of Mourne,' is a poignant and nostalgic tribute to the Irish countryside and its people. It became an instant hit, and its popularity endures to this day. French's music was not only entertaining, but it also served as a means of preserving and promoting Irish folk traditions and customs.
In addition to his music, French also played a crucial role in the revival of Irish theater. He wrote several plays, including 'The Auction at Cloughjordan,' which was performed by the Irish National Theatre Society, and 'The West of Ireland,' which was one of the first plays to be performed in the Irish language. French's plays were infused with Irish humor and wit, and they often dealt with themes of rural life and the struggles of the Irish people. His plays were hugely popular and helped to establish a distinct Irish theatrical tradition.
French's contribution to the Irish Cultural Revival was not limited to his artistic endeavors; he was also a passionate advocate for the preservation of Irish heritage and traditions. He was a founding member of the Irish Folk Song Society, which aimed to collect and preserve traditional Irish songs and music. He also played a crucial role in the establishment of the Feis Ceoil, an annual festival celebrating Irish music and culture, which continues to this day.
Moreover, French's work as an artist and promoter of Irish culture extended beyond his own country. He toured extensively throughout Ireland and Britain, and his performances were immensely popular among Irish expatriates. He also traveled to the United States, where he performed to large crowds of Irish-Americans and helped to spread Irish culture and traditions abroad.
In conclusion, Percy French was a key figure in the Irish Cultural Revival, using his artistic talents to promote and preserve Irish culture during a time of great political and social change. His music, plays, and advocacy for the preservation of Irish traditions helped to shape the cultural identity of Ireland and contributed to the country's eventual independence from British rule. Today, French's legacy continues to be celebrated, and he remains an important figure in the history of Ireland's cultural revival.
Other Songs With Chords By Percy French That Are Not On This Page.
Are You Right There Michael Are You Right .
Are You Right There Michael Are You Right .
An Irish Mother lyrics by Percy French
A wee slip drawin' water,
The ould man at the plough,
No grown-up son nor daughter,
That's the way we're farmin' now.
"No work and little pleasure"
Was the cry before they wint,
Now they're gettin' both full measure,
So I ought to be contint.
Great wages men is givin'
In the land beyant the say,
But 'tis lonely — lonely livin'
Whin the childher is away.
Och the baby in the cradle,
Blue eyes and curlin' hair,
God knows I'd give a gra'dle
To have little Pether there;
No doubt he'd find it funny
Lyin' here upon me arm,
Him — that's earnin' the good money,
On a Californy farm.
Six pounds it was or sivin
He sint last quarter day,
But 'tis lonely -- - lonely livin'
Whin the childher is away.
God is good — no better,
And the Divil might be worse,
Each month there comes a letther
Bringing something for the purse.
And the ould man's heart rejoices
When I read they're doin' fine,
But it's oh! to hear their voices,
And to feel their hands in mine.
To see the cattle driven'
And the young ones makin' hay,
'Tis a lonely land to live in
When the childher is away.
Whin the shadows do be fallin'
On the ould man there an' me,
'Tis hard to keep from callin'
"Come in, childher, to yer tea!'
I can almost hear them comin'
Mary, Kate and little Con --
Och! but I'm the foolish woman,
Sure they're all grown up an' gone.
That our sins may be forgiven,
An' not wan go asthray, I doubt I'd stay in Heaven
If them childher was away.
Abdulla Bulbul Ameer lyrics
Oh, the sons of the Prophet are hardy and grim And quite unaccustomed to fear;
But none were so reckless of life or of limb
As Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
When they wanted a man to encourage- the van
Or to harrass the foe in the rear,
Or take a redoubt they would always send out
For Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
There are heroes in plenty, and well known to fame
In the ranks that were led by the .Czat;
But the bravest of all was a man by the name
Or Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
He could imitate Toole, play Euchre and Pool
And perform on the Spanish guitar,
In fact quite the cream of th.e Muscovite team Was Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
One morning the Russian had shouldered his gun And assumed his most truculent sneer;
And was walking down town when he happened to run Into Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
"Young man," says Bulbul, Can your life be so dull "That you're anxious to end your career?
"For infidel, know — you have trod on the toe "Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
"Take your ultimate look upon sunshine and brok, "Make your latest remarks on the war;
"Which I mean to imply that you're going to die
"Mr. Count-Cask-O-Whisky Cigar".
Said the Russian, "My friend, my remarks in the end
"Would avail you but little, I fear,
"For you'll never survive to repeat them alive
"Mr. Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
Then the bold Mamelukedrew his trusty chiboque And shouted "Il Allah Akbar"
And being intent upon slaughter, he went
For Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
But just as his knife had abstracted his life (In fact he was shouting "'Huzza ! ")
He felt himself struck by that subtle Calmuck Count Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
The Consul drove up in a red-crested fly
To give the survivor a cheer,
He arrived just in time to exchange a goodbye With Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
And Skobelef, , Gourko and Gorschekoff too. Drove up in the Emperor's car
But all they could do was cry "och-whilliloo" With Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
There's a grave where the waves of the Blue Danube roll, And on it in characters clear
Is: "Stranger, remember to pray for the soul
Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
A Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep
By the light of the true lover's star
And the name that she murmurs so sadly in sleep Is Ivan Spotschjinski Skidar.
Donegan's Daughter
When Donegan came from the States,
Himself and his daughter were seen
Parading the principal streets
Of beautiful Ballyporeen.
Her cheeks were as red as a rose,
Her hair was a beautiful brown;
And the lads I suppose,
Were as thick now as crows,
All tied to the heel of her gown.
CHORUS:
There were short men and long men,
And weak men and strong men,
And right men and wrong men
Were all to be seen.
But Donegan's daughter
From over the water
She gave them no quarter
In Ballyporeen.
She sang the most beautiful songs,
Of the words we had never a hint,
For her fingers went hammer and tongs
In a running accompaniment.
Like a dog running after a rat,
Such scrimmaging never was heard
Then down went her claws,
like a murdering cat
When it leps on the back of a bird.
CHORUS:
At every party
She sang them all forte,
From "Ah Che la morte"
To "Wearin' the Green" [ lyrics ].
Oh! Donegan's daughter
From over the water,
'Twas little they taught her
In Ballyporeen.
The Geraghtys gave a grand ball,
The girls were all ribbons and tape.
But Miss Donegan bested them all
With her perfectly wonderful shape;
And when she was taking the floor
With a high-stepping bachelor boy,
The rest of us scowled
In the doorway and growled
That 'twas him we would surely destroy.
CHORUS:
There was kissing and squeezing,
And coaxing and teasing;
And sure there's no reason
Such things should be seen.
But Donegan's daughter
From over the water,
'Twas she made the slaughter
In Ballyporeen.
Coming home we were crossing a stream,
I thought to beleaguer the belle, ..
A struggle, a kiss, and a scream
And into the water we fell.
To me that can swim like a .
trout It was only a trifling reverse,
But when she came out,
'Faith there wasn't, much doubt
She waschanged very much for the worse.
CHORUS:
She'd hair like a nigger,
She'd no sort of figure;
Her waist and her wig were
No more to be seen.
Oh! Donegan's daughter
From under the water,
Two pins would have bought her
In Ballyporeen.
A wee slip drawin' water,
The ould man at the plough,
No grown-up son nor daughter,
That's the way we're farmin' now.
"No work and little pleasure"
Was the cry before they wint,
Now they're gettin' both full measure,
So I ought to be contint.
Great wages men is givin'
In the land beyant the say,
But 'tis lonely — lonely livin'
Whin the childher is away.
Och the baby in the cradle,
Blue eyes and curlin' hair,
God knows I'd give a gra'dle
To have little Pether there;
No doubt he'd find it funny
Lyin' here upon me arm,
Him — that's earnin' the good money,
On a Californy farm.
Six pounds it was or sivin
He sint last quarter day,
But 'tis lonely -- - lonely livin'
Whin the childher is away.
God is good — no better,
And the Divil might be worse,
Each month there comes a letther
Bringing something for the purse.
And the ould man's heart rejoices
When I read they're doin' fine,
But it's oh! to hear their voices,
And to feel their hands in mine.
To see the cattle driven'
And the young ones makin' hay,
'Tis a lonely land to live in
When the childher is away.
Whin the shadows do be fallin'
On the ould man there an' me,
'Tis hard to keep from callin'
"Come in, childher, to yer tea!'
I can almost hear them comin'
Mary, Kate and little Con --
Och! but I'm the foolish woman,
Sure they're all grown up an' gone.
That our sins may be forgiven,
An' not wan go asthray, I doubt I'd stay in Heaven
If them childher was away.
Abdulla Bulbul Ameer lyrics
Oh, the sons of the Prophet are hardy and grim And quite unaccustomed to fear;
But none were so reckless of life or of limb
As Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
When they wanted a man to encourage- the van
Or to harrass the foe in the rear,
Or take a redoubt they would always send out
For Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
There are heroes in plenty, and well known to fame
In the ranks that were led by the .Czat;
But the bravest of all was a man by the name
Or Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
He could imitate Toole, play Euchre and Pool
And perform on the Spanish guitar,
In fact quite the cream of th.e Muscovite team Was Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
One morning the Russian had shouldered his gun And assumed his most truculent sneer;
And was walking down town when he happened to run Into Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
"Young man," says Bulbul, Can your life be so dull "That you're anxious to end your career?
"For infidel, know — you have trod on the toe "Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
"Take your ultimate look upon sunshine and brok, "Make your latest remarks on the war;
"Which I mean to imply that you're going to die
"Mr. Count-Cask-O-Whisky Cigar".
Said the Russian, "My friend, my remarks in the end
"Would avail you but little, I fear,
"For you'll never survive to repeat them alive
"Mr. Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
Then the bold Mamelukedrew his trusty chiboque And shouted "Il Allah Akbar"
And being intent upon slaughter, he went
For Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
But just as his knife had abstracted his life (In fact he was shouting "'Huzza ! ")
He felt himself struck by that subtle Calmuck Count Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
The Consul drove up in a red-crested fly
To give the survivor a cheer,
He arrived just in time to exchange a goodbye With Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
And Skobelef, , Gourko and Gorschekoff too. Drove up in the Emperor's car
But all they could do was cry "och-whilliloo" With Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
There's a grave where the waves of the Blue Danube roll, And on it in characters clear
Is: "Stranger, remember to pray for the soul
Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
A Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep
By the light of the true lover's star
And the name that she murmurs so sadly in sleep Is Ivan Spotschjinski Skidar.
Donegan's Daughter
When Donegan came from the States,
Himself and his daughter were seen
Parading the principal streets
Of beautiful Ballyporeen.
Her cheeks were as red as a rose,
Her hair was a beautiful brown;
And the lads I suppose,
Were as thick now as crows,
All tied to the heel of her gown.
CHORUS:
There were short men and long men,
And weak men and strong men,
And right men and wrong men
Were all to be seen.
But Donegan's daughter
From over the water
She gave them no quarter
In Ballyporeen.
She sang the most beautiful songs,
Of the words we had never a hint,
For her fingers went hammer and tongs
In a running accompaniment.
Like a dog running after a rat,
Such scrimmaging never was heard
Then down went her claws,
like a murdering cat
When it leps on the back of a bird.
CHORUS:
At every party
She sang them all forte,
From "Ah Che la morte"
To "Wearin' the Green" [ lyrics ].
Oh! Donegan's daughter
From over the water,
'Twas little they taught her
In Ballyporeen.
The Geraghtys gave a grand ball,
The girls were all ribbons and tape.
But Miss Donegan bested them all
With her perfectly wonderful shape;
And when she was taking the floor
With a high-stepping bachelor boy,
The rest of us scowled
In the doorway and growled
That 'twas him we would surely destroy.
CHORUS:
There was kissing and squeezing,
And coaxing and teasing;
And sure there's no reason
Such things should be seen.
But Donegan's daughter
From over the water,
'Twas she made the slaughter
In Ballyporeen.
Coming home we were crossing a stream,
I thought to beleaguer the belle, ..
A struggle, a kiss, and a scream
And into the water we fell.
To me that can swim like a .
trout It was only a trifling reverse,
But when she came out,
'Faith there wasn't, much doubt
She waschanged very much for the worse.
CHORUS:
She'd hair like a nigger,
She'd no sort of figure;
Her waist and her wig were
No more to be seen.
Oh! Donegan's daughter
From under the water,
Two pins would have bought her
In Ballyporeen.
Percy French Lyrics
Shlatherys Mounted Fut lyrics
You've heard o' Julius Caesar, an' the great Napoleon too,
An' how the Cork Militia beat the Turks at Waterloo;
But there's a page of glory that, as yet, remains uncut,
An' that's the Martial story o' the Shlathery's Mounted Fut.
This gallant corps was organised by Shlathery's eldest son,
A single-minded poacher, with a double-breasted gun;
An' many a head was opened, aye, an' many an eye was shut,
Whin practisin' manoeuvres in the Shlathery's Mounted Fut.
CHORUS:
An' down from the mountains came the squadrons an' platoons, Four-an'-twinty fightin' min, an' a couple o' sthout gossoons,
An' whin we marched behind the band to patriotic tunes,
We felt that fame would gild the name o' Shlathery's Light Dhragoons.
Well, first we reconnoithered round o' O'Sullivan's Shebeen -
It used to be "The Shop House," but we call it "The Canteen :
" But there we saw a notice which the bravest heart unnerved --
"All liquor must be settled for before the dhrink is served."
So on we marched, but soon again each warrior's heart grew pale, For risin' high in front o' us we saw the County Jail;
An' whin the army faced about, 'twas just in time to find
A couple o' policemin had surrounded us behind.
CHORUS:
Still, from the mountains came the squadrons and platoons,
Four-an'-twinty fightin' min, an' a couple o' sthout gossoons,
Says Shlattery, `We must circumvent those bludgeonin' bosthoons,
Or else it sames they'll take the names o' Shlathery's Light Dhragoons.
"We'll cross the ditch," our leader cried, "an' take the foe in flank," But yells of consthernation here arose from every rank,
For posted high upon a tree we very plainly saw,
"Threspassers prosecuted, in accordance wid' the law."
"We're foiled!" exclaimed bowld Shlathery, "here ends our grand campaign,
'Tis merely throwin' life away to face that mearin' dhrain, I'm not as bold as lions, but I'm braver nor a hin,
An' he that fights and runs away will live. to fight again
CHORUS:
An' back to the mountains went the squadrons and platoons,
Four-an'-twinty fightin' min an' a couple o' sthout gossoons;
The band was playing cautiously their patriotic tunes,
To sing the fame, if rather lame, o' Shlathery's Light Dhragoons.
We reached the Mountains safely, though stiff and sore with cramp; Each took a wet of whiskey neat, to dissipate the damp.
And when we'd loaded all our pipes, bould Shlathery up and said, "To-day's immortal fight will be remembered by the dead !
"I never shall forget," says he, "while this poor heart shall beat
"The eager way ye followed when I headed the retreat.
"Ye preferred the soldier's maxim when desisting from the strife "Best be a coward for five minutes than a dead man all your life."
Chorus
So there in Ihti mountains lay the squadrons and platoons
Dour and twenty fightin' men an' a couple of sthout gossoons
'They'll nevernn rc go marching out to patriotic tunes,
Iiul till the ,slime, they sing the fame of Shlattery's Light Dhragoon
THAT'S WHY WE'RE BURYING HIM
It was Carrie said to Harry you will find that when we marry
I can cook the Sunday dinner when the maid's away
Oh no dear, he entreated but his efforts were defeated
And poor Harry had to eat it on the fatal day
CHORUS
That's why we're burying him, that's why the poor man's dead
That's why we're hurrying him off to his last long bed
One chew at the Irish Stew and the patient's spirit fled
Mmm humm mmm humm hmm hmm
That's why the poor man's dead
Mick McGuire joined the choir and the height of his desire
Was to sing a Tenor solo in the Concert Hall
He practiced Pagliacci as he heard the airs were catchy
The piano gave a prélude and he gave one bawl
CHORUS
That's why we're burying him, that's why the poor man's dead
That's why we're hurrying him off to his last long bed
One yelp, then cries for help as the eggs flew round his head
Mmm humm mmm humm hmm hmm
That's why the poor man's dead
'Frisco Fossey stole a hoss and 'ere they strung him up the boss said
That if any girl would marry him the man goes free
Then up came Widow Twanky she was lean and she was lanky
And says she kind Sir I'll t'ank 'ee, hand him down to me
CHORUS
That's why we're burying him, that's why the poor man's dead
That's why we're hurrying him off to his last long bed
One glance at his only chance then sthring me up he said
Mmm humm mmm humm hmm hmm
That's why the poor man's dead
When Erin Awakes lyrics by Percy French
Let newer nations fill the stage,
And vaunt them to the sky:
The Gael has still a heritage
That gold can never buy;
The mountains may be bleak and bare,
Forlorn the country side,
But great Cuchulainn battled there
And "Red Branch" heroes died.
And as of old, our headlands bold
Still front the raging sea,
So may our band united stand,
As fearless and as free.
I hear the lays of other days
In martial numbers flow,
King Death's the only sword that stays
The march of Owen Roe.
At Fontenoy the breezes bore
The war cry of the Gael,
And Saxon standards fled before
The sons of Innisfail.
And as of old our headlands bold
Still front the raging sea,
Beneath the rath the heroes sleep.
Their steeds beside them stand.
Each falchion from its sheath shall leap
To guard old Ireland:
The legend we may yet fulfil
And play the heroes part,
For Sarsfield's spirit slumbers still
In many an Irish heart.
And as of old our headlands bold
Still front the raging sea,
So may our band united stand
As fearless and as free.
John Keogh Tribute To Brendan O'Dowda
A TRIBUTE TO GREATNESS.
What a shame that Brendan O’Dowda is gone,
He had a great voice, sure ‘twas second to none.
The style of his singin’ for sure it was grand,
When he told the stories of Erin’s fair land.
In praise of his talents, let’s say it out loud,
The songs of Percy French, sure, he did them proud.
With a laugh in his voice he sang the humorous ones,
But with tenderness, he sang of Erin’s lost sons.
Of poor ould Irish mothers, whose childer are gone,
Their beautiful daughters and fine manly sons.
Some who’d emigrated to lands o’er the foam,
And some who died for freedom, ne’er to come home.
So let’s keep the mem’ries of Ireland alive,
As we struggle along in this world to survive.
For many years now sure, people will talk,
Of this fine Irish tenor, your man from Dundalk.
John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann, 15th May 2011
Larry Mick McGarry lyrics by Percy French
Oh Larry Mick McGarry,
was a torment in the town,
A lad, a woman glad o'
Rut a man would like to drown;
With a smile he would beguile away
A girl from her boy,
An' before he got a mile away
He tired of his toy.
CHORUS:-
Titheryah the doodle ah
No marryin' for me!
Titheryah the doodle ah
As far as I can see.
Bright by the candle light
An' pourin' out the tea;
But yer glad ye lidn't ax her
in the mornin'.
Oh, Larry played , old Harry;
With the girls about the place.
At the dancin' they'd be glancin'
At the features: of his face.
But he never would endeavor
To be lover-like until --.,
Mary Carey, she's a fairy,
Had him going like a mill.
CHORUS:
Titheryah the 'doodle ah .
He met her in the street,
Titheryah the doodle ah
Sez he, "Yer lookin' sweet, .:.
A walk an' .:a talk wid ye'
I think would be a treat.
But all he got from Mary was
"Good Morning".
_
The dancin' down at Clancy's
Brought in all the neighborhood,
Though the roof wasn't waterproof,
The floor was fairly good,
An' Larry Mick McGarry
He could handle well the leg,
But Mary light and airy,
Oh, she took him down. a peg.
CHORUS:
Titheryah the, doodle ah
She footed it with Flynn
Titheryah the doodle ah
An'all the other min. ..;
But Larry Mick McGarry
Oh! he hadn't a look in
Faith he had to go and find her .'
In the morning.
Oh, she taught him till she brought
Up to where she had designed.
Sez Larry, "Will ye marry me!"
Siz she, "I wouldn't mind".
He kissed her an' carrissed her
Which is quite the proper .thing
Then together,: hell for leather,
They were off to buy a ring.
CHORUS:
Titheryah the doodle ah
"No marrin" sez you.
Titheryah the doodle ah
Ye may escape the 'flu.
Wait till you meet yer mate
An' all there is to do
Is to go an' buy the licence In the morning.
Later On lyrics by Percy French
When we're children at our lessons, it is beautiful to think
Of the good time that i's coming later on;
When we've done with silly copybooks "and 'horrid pens and ink,
What a.. lovely time is coming later on!
The rivers of New Zealand, the mountains of Peru,
The watersheds of Europe, and the tribes of Timbuctoo,
All the facts without the fancies, all the tiresome and true,
Will be nowhere in that lovely later on..
We'll forget the foolish fables that were written by Fontaine, In the pleasant time that's coming later on;
At those twelve times twenty 'tables we will never look again, In the lazy time that's coming later on;
The date of Magna Carta, the plot they called "the Rye,"
The counties that are bounded by the Humber and the Wye,
We may not quite forget them, but we mean to have a try
In the lazy time that's coming later on.
Oh' my optimistic hero, there are lessons you must learn,
In the queer time that is coming later on;
And the masters and examiners you'll find at every turn,
In the hard times that are coming later on.
Miss Fortune is a governess who'll teach you many things,
A tutor called Experience will moderate your flings,
You'll learn how men make money, and you'll learn that it has wings
In the strange times that are coming later on.
Then you'll meet the radiant vision who is all the world to you (You'll attend her mother's lectures later on);
You'll learn that what's enough for one is not enough for two,
Nor enough for half-a-dozen later on.
No, the work is never ended, though for holidays you crave,
There are pop-guns to be mended for the Robbers in the Cave.
You fancy you're the master, but you find that you're a slave
To a curly-headed tyrant later on.
And so through all your lifetime you are longing for the day,
The lovely day that's coming later on;
When pens and ink and copybooks will all be laid away,
And that day is surely coming later on.
For when you're really tired, having done your level best,
When the story's nearly ended, and the sun sets in the West,
Then you'll lie down very gently, and the weary will find rest,
And I fancy we'll deserve it -- later on.
Later on, later on,
Oh what many friends have gone,
Sweet lips that smiled and loving eyes that shone
Through the darkness into light,
One by one they've winged their flight And perhaps we'll play together —later on.
Little Bridget Flynn lyrics
I've a nice slated house and, a. cow or two at grass,
I've a plant garden running by ,the door;
I've a shelter for the hens and. a stable for.,the ass,..,
And what: can a man want more.
I dunno; maybe so,
And °a bachelor is , easy and he's free,
But I've plenty to look after,
And I'm living all alone,
And there's no one looking after me.
Me father often tells me I should go and have a try,
To get a girl that owns a bit of land;
I know the way he says it that there's.; someone; in his eye
And me mother has the., whole thing. planned;
I dunno, maybe so, .,,
And 'twould mellify them greatly to -agree,
But there's' little Brigid Flynn, " Sure its her I want to win,
Though she never throws an eye on me.
Oh! There's a little girl who is worth her weight in gold'
An' that's a dacent dowry don't you see;
And I mean to go and ax her as soon as I get bold,
If she'll come and have an eye to me.
I dunno — will she go,
But I'd like to have her sitting on me knee,
And I'd sing like a thrush,
On a hawthorn bush
If she'll come and have an eye to me.
My Darlin' Girl From Clare lyrics by Percy French
We were sittin' on the wall upon a Sunday
To watch the girls go by,
And thinkin' we'd be marrit to one one day,
When Kate Flynn caught our eye.
Oh, man! she was the makin's of a fairy,
And it made each boyo swear,
"There's not one girl in the wide, wide world
Like the girl from the County Clare!"
CHORUS:
And ev'ry man had got the finest plan
You ever see now — barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agreed now — you'll see now;
All night they'd fight,
As to which o' them was right,
In the colour of her eyes and hair,
But not a word from me was ever heard,
About the darlin' girl from Clare!
Says Casey: "Tis the father I'll be plazin',
I'll tell him of the land I've tilled,
I'll tell him of the cattle I have grazin'
And the house I mean to build;
And whin he sees the arable' and `pasture'
And the fat stock feedin' there,
An' the hens an' the chickens,
Ye may go to the dickens
For the girl from the County Clare."
CHORUS:
So every man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now— barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agree now —you'll see now.
Says I to meself
Though I haven't got the pelf,
Of brass I've got my share,
And so I know the way they ought to go
About the darlin' girl from Clare."
Says Sweeney,"she'll be coming to the shop here
To buy some sort of thing,
I'll ax her if she has a mind to stop there,
And should I buy the ring:
An' whin she sees the curtains on the windas,
An' the clock on the stair
Keepin' time to the minit,
No one else will be in it
With the darlin' girl from Clare!"
CHORUS:
So every man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now — barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say,
That she'll agree now — you'll see now;
Thinks I "ye may stop
Till yer dead in yer shop,
An' not a hair she'll care, Wid all yer gold
Yell never hold a hold
Upon the darlin' girl from Clare."
I never said a single word about her,
But I met the girl that day,
I told her I could never live widout her,
An' what had she to say?
She said that I might go and see her father:
I met him then and there,
An' in less than an hour
We war fightin' for the dower
Of the darlin' girl from Clare!
CHORUS:
So ev'ry man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now — barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agree now — you'll see now;
But late last night
When the moon was bright
I axed her if she'd share
Me joy an' me sorra' -
An' begorra! on to-morro'
I'll be married to the girl from Clare!
Eileen Oge Lyrics by
or the Pride of Petravore)
Eileen G Oge! an that the darlin's name is,
Through the Barony her features they were famous;
If we loved her who was there to blame us,
For wasn't she the Pride of Petravore?
But her beauty made us all so shy,
Not a man could look her in the eye,
Boys, 0 boys! sure that's the reason why
We're moumin' for the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
Eileen Oge! me heart is growin' grey
Ever since the day you wandered far away;
Eileen Oge! there's good fish in the say,
But there's no one like the Pride of Petravore.
Friday at the fair of Ballintubber,
Eileen met McGrath the cattle jobber,
I'd like to set me mark upon the robber,
For he stole away the Pride of Petravore.
He never seem'd to see the girl at all,
Even when she ogled him underneath her shawl,
Lookin' big and masterful when she was lookin' small,
Most provoking for the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
So it went as it was in the beginning,
Eileen Oge was bent upon the winning;
Big McGrath contentedly was grinning,
Being courted by the Pride of Petravore.
Sez he "I know a girl that could knock you into fits."
At that Eileen nearly lost her wits,
The upshot of the ruction was that now the robber sits
With his arm around the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
Boys, 0 Boys! with fate 'tis hard to grapple,
Of my eye 'tis Eileen was the apple,
And now to see her walkin' to the Chapel
Wid the hardest featured man in Petravore.
Now boys this is all I have to say;
When you do your courtin' make no display,
If you want them to run after you just walk the other way,
For they're mostly like the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
Eileen Oge Sheet Music Notes
Rafferty's Racin' Mare lyrics by Percy French
You've not seen Rafferty round this way?
He's a man with a broken hat,
His tie and his collar are all gone astray
And his coat for the matter o' that!
We're racin' Rafferty round the place
Since Rafferty raced his mare,
He's a man with an anxious look on his face
And a partially murdered air!
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare
We met him at the fair,
Says he: "She'll win, so keep your tin,
For backin' the racin' mare."
We thanked him then and there,
And every lad in Ballinafad
Went backin' the racin' mare.
I was the jockey they chose to ride -
And often the owner he sware
That there wasn't a leap in the world too wide
To baffle the racin' mare.
Over hurdle and ditch she went like a witch,
Till she came where the water shone
I gave her her head, but she stopped at it dead:
She stopped — and I went on!
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare
I whirtled through the air
Like a beautiful bird, but never a word
From Rafferty's racin' mare!
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare -
The boys cried out "take care!"
I took all I could, but it wasn't much good
To me or the racin' mare.
"Get up, you lad," says Ballinafad,
"You'll win the race for us yet."
But I didn't care for the look of the mare,
Nor the way that her legs were set.
Says they: "The horse'll stay the course,
She'll stay it — ivery foot."
"You're right," says I — "I don't deny
She'll stay just where she's put."
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!
We danced around her there,
With stones and sticks, and bits o' bricks
We hit her fare and square.
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!
The field they leapt it there,
But on the brink she'd stand and --- drink,
Would Rafferty's racin' mare.
But where was Rafferty all the time?
Oh! Rafferty! he's the lad.
There in the ring — he stood like a king,
Cheerin' the mare like mad.
His brother was there, disguised, of course,
As a Roosian millionaire;
Giving the odds against every horse
And the longest against the mare.
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!
'Twas more than we could bear,
When a bookie revealed
he was backin' the field,
Instead of the racin' mare.
We've got the day to spare,
We've got the millionaire;
And we're havin' a race around the place,
And Rafferty — he's the hare!
Whistling Phil McHugh lyrics by Percy French
Oh! Whistlin Phil McHugh,
Has come over from Bunlaghy,
An we don't know what's come to
Little Mary Ann Mulcahy,
For ever since the day
That Phil he came a whistlin',
She stands in the doorway
An' she's waitin' an' she's lishnin'.
CHORUS:
Oh ! Mary you're contrary
Come in and shut., the door;
Phil's a rover, sure 'tis over,
And he'll not come back, asthore.
But she's lishnitf for the whistlin'
And she's waitin' by the shore,
For that arrun warrum
Round her waist once more.
There's Thady of the Cows,
Sure you know "Ten-acre Thady,"
Wid his fine new slated house
He'd make her quite a lady.
But Thady needn't stay,
And there's no use his inthragin'.
For her heart is far away
'Tis wid Phil McHugh stravagin'.
CHORUS:
There's Danny Michael Dan,
Who is six fut in his stockin's,
A very proper man,
But she never heeds his knockin's.
She'll keep him standin' there
For three quarthers of a minit,
But she's racin' like a hare
When she thinks that Phil is in it.
CHORUS:
'Tis wisdom's golden rule
I do teach her till I tire,
That every girl's a fool,
Ay, and every man's a liar.
What's that you say you hear,
What's set you all a thrimbly? '
Tis but the wind, I fear,
That is whistlin' down the chimbly.
CHORUS:
Oh! Mary you're contrary,
Come in and bar the door;
What's that scufflin'?
Phil, you ruffian!
Sure I knew he'd come, asthore.
She's been settin' there and frettin
But now her grievin's o'er;
And the singin' will be ringin'
In her heart once more!
Fighting McGuire lyrics by Percy French
Now. Giibbon has told the story of old,
Of the Fall of the Roman Empire,
But I would recall the rise an' the fall
Of a man of the name of McGuire.
he came to our town as a man of renown,
And peace was, he said, his desire,
Still he'd frequently state what would be the sad fate
Of the man who molested McGuire.
Well, we all were afraid of this quarrelsome blade,
An' we told him to draw near the fire,
An' laughed at his jest, tho' it wasn't the best,
An' swore there's no man like McGuire.
An' when he came up with the neighbours to sup,
His friendliness all would admire
And he'd have the best bed, for we'd sleep in the shed,
for fear of insulting McGuire.
But Macgilligan's Dan — who's a rale fightin' man,
Said: "Of all this tall talkin I tire,
I'll step in an see whyever should he
Be called always Fightin' McGuire,
I'll step in and say, in a casual way,
That I think he's a thief an' a liar.
Then I'll hit him a clout, and unless I misdoubt,
That's a way of insulting McGuire."
Then onward he strode to McGuire's abode,
His glorious eye shootin' fire,
An' we thought as he passed we had all looked our
On the man who. insulted McGuire;
Then we listened with grief while we heard him called thief
An' abused as a rogue an' a liar;
Oh! we all held our breath, for we knew it was death
To give any chat to McGuire.
Well, the row wasn't long, but 'twas hot an' 'twas strong
An' the noise it grew higher an' higher,
Then it stopt! — an' we said, "Oh, begorra, he's dead
He's been kilt out an' out be McGuire!
Then out like a thrush from a hawthorn bush
Came something in tattered attire,
And after it fled the man we thought dead
The man who malthreated McGuire.
'Twas Macgilligan's son, the victory won,
An' we crowded around to admire
The bowld-hearted boy who was first to destroy
The Yoke of the Tyrant McGuire.
An' altho' it's not true, we all said that we knew
From the first he was only a liar,
An' we'd all had a mind to attach — from behind
That cowardly scoundrel — McGuire.
The Oklahoma Rose lyrics by Percy French
All round de moon clouds are hangin' high an' hazy;
On de lagoon moonbeams are lyin' lazy.
Dat's when dis coon's g'wine to meet ma Maisie,
An' I'm singin' de same old song.
It's not about ma Dinah 'way down in Carolina,
Ma latest love is finer, dan any flow'r dat blows.
In fact, she don't remind me of gals I'v left behind me,
For true love's chains dey bind me to Oklahoma's Rose.
CHORUS:
She can trip like moonbeams on de water;
Ev'ry step dis colour'd coon he taught her.
Just one clip around her waist I caught her
When de band play'd "Mumbling Most".
She's ma rose, ma lily an' ma daisy;
Where she goes the coloured coons go crazy.
All I knows is ma Aminta Maisie
All through de day she keeps lookin' down demurely, '
Much as to say, "I can't.be a woman surely!
I still can play with ma doll securely,
For dis ain't' de time to spoon."
But when de sun am sinkin her eyes begin a winkin'
An den I know she's thinkin' of dis yer colour 'd coon.
Oh! ain't I glad I found her. In love chains I have bound her.
Her face is rather 'rounder — it's rounder dan de moon.
CHORUS:
She hears me call an she comes a-creepin', creepin'.,
Over de wall she see me leapin', leapin', leapn',
Big folks an' small quietly are sleepin',
When I meet ma lily belle.
Up an' down de ladder I'm slippin' like a shadder,
No one could be gladder dan me, I don''.t suppose.
I'm coaxin'her an' teasin', I'm kissin' her,and squeezin',
It seems to me it's pleasin' to Oklahoma's Rose.
You've heard o' Julius Caesar, an' the great Napoleon too,
An' how the Cork Militia beat the Turks at Waterloo;
But there's a page of glory that, as yet, remains uncut,
An' that's the Martial story o' the Shlathery's Mounted Fut.
This gallant corps was organised by Shlathery's eldest son,
A single-minded poacher, with a double-breasted gun;
An' many a head was opened, aye, an' many an eye was shut,
Whin practisin' manoeuvres in the Shlathery's Mounted Fut.
CHORUS:
An' down from the mountains came the squadrons an' platoons, Four-an'-twinty fightin' min, an' a couple o' sthout gossoons,
An' whin we marched behind the band to patriotic tunes,
We felt that fame would gild the name o' Shlathery's Light Dhragoons.
Well, first we reconnoithered round o' O'Sullivan's Shebeen -
It used to be "The Shop House," but we call it "The Canteen :
" But there we saw a notice which the bravest heart unnerved --
"All liquor must be settled for before the dhrink is served."
So on we marched, but soon again each warrior's heart grew pale, For risin' high in front o' us we saw the County Jail;
An' whin the army faced about, 'twas just in time to find
A couple o' policemin had surrounded us behind.
CHORUS:
Still, from the mountains came the squadrons and platoons,
Four-an'-twinty fightin' min, an' a couple o' sthout gossoons,
Says Shlattery, `We must circumvent those bludgeonin' bosthoons,
Or else it sames they'll take the names o' Shlathery's Light Dhragoons.
"We'll cross the ditch," our leader cried, "an' take the foe in flank," But yells of consthernation here arose from every rank,
For posted high upon a tree we very plainly saw,
"Threspassers prosecuted, in accordance wid' the law."
"We're foiled!" exclaimed bowld Shlathery, "here ends our grand campaign,
'Tis merely throwin' life away to face that mearin' dhrain, I'm not as bold as lions, but I'm braver nor a hin,
An' he that fights and runs away will live. to fight again
CHORUS:
An' back to the mountains went the squadrons and platoons,
Four-an'-twinty fightin' min an' a couple o' sthout gossoons;
The band was playing cautiously their patriotic tunes,
To sing the fame, if rather lame, o' Shlathery's Light Dhragoons.
We reached the Mountains safely, though stiff and sore with cramp; Each took a wet of whiskey neat, to dissipate the damp.
And when we'd loaded all our pipes, bould Shlathery up and said, "To-day's immortal fight will be remembered by the dead !
"I never shall forget," says he, "while this poor heart shall beat
"The eager way ye followed when I headed the retreat.
"Ye preferred the soldier's maxim when desisting from the strife "Best be a coward for five minutes than a dead man all your life."
Chorus
So there in Ihti mountains lay the squadrons and platoons
Dour and twenty fightin' men an' a couple of sthout gossoons
'They'll nevernn rc go marching out to patriotic tunes,
Iiul till the ,slime, they sing the fame of Shlattery's Light Dhragoon
THAT'S WHY WE'RE BURYING HIM
It was Carrie said to Harry you will find that when we marry
I can cook the Sunday dinner when the maid's away
Oh no dear, he entreated but his efforts were defeated
And poor Harry had to eat it on the fatal day
CHORUS
That's why we're burying him, that's why the poor man's dead
That's why we're hurrying him off to his last long bed
One chew at the Irish Stew and the patient's spirit fled
Mmm humm mmm humm hmm hmm
That's why the poor man's dead
Mick McGuire joined the choir and the height of his desire
Was to sing a Tenor solo in the Concert Hall
He practiced Pagliacci as he heard the airs were catchy
The piano gave a prélude and he gave one bawl
CHORUS
That's why we're burying him, that's why the poor man's dead
That's why we're hurrying him off to his last long bed
One yelp, then cries for help as the eggs flew round his head
Mmm humm mmm humm hmm hmm
That's why the poor man's dead
'Frisco Fossey stole a hoss and 'ere they strung him up the boss said
That if any girl would marry him the man goes free
Then up came Widow Twanky she was lean and she was lanky
And says she kind Sir I'll t'ank 'ee, hand him down to me
CHORUS
That's why we're burying him, that's why the poor man's dead
That's why we're hurrying him off to his last long bed
One glance at his only chance then sthring me up he said
Mmm humm mmm humm hmm hmm
That's why the poor man's dead
When Erin Awakes lyrics by Percy French
Let newer nations fill the stage,
And vaunt them to the sky:
The Gael has still a heritage
That gold can never buy;
The mountains may be bleak and bare,
Forlorn the country side,
But great Cuchulainn battled there
And "Red Branch" heroes died.
And as of old, our headlands bold
Still front the raging sea,
So may our band united stand,
As fearless and as free.
I hear the lays of other days
In martial numbers flow,
King Death's the only sword that stays
The march of Owen Roe.
At Fontenoy the breezes bore
The war cry of the Gael,
And Saxon standards fled before
The sons of Innisfail.
And as of old our headlands bold
Still front the raging sea,
Beneath the rath the heroes sleep.
Their steeds beside them stand.
Each falchion from its sheath shall leap
To guard old Ireland:
The legend we may yet fulfil
And play the heroes part,
For Sarsfield's spirit slumbers still
In many an Irish heart.
And as of old our headlands bold
Still front the raging sea,
So may our band united stand
As fearless and as free.
John Keogh Tribute To Brendan O'Dowda
A TRIBUTE TO GREATNESS.
What a shame that Brendan O’Dowda is gone,
He had a great voice, sure ‘twas second to none.
The style of his singin’ for sure it was grand,
When he told the stories of Erin’s fair land.
In praise of his talents, let’s say it out loud,
The songs of Percy French, sure, he did them proud.
With a laugh in his voice he sang the humorous ones,
But with tenderness, he sang of Erin’s lost sons.
Of poor ould Irish mothers, whose childer are gone,
Their beautiful daughters and fine manly sons.
Some who’d emigrated to lands o’er the foam,
And some who died for freedom, ne’er to come home.
So let’s keep the mem’ries of Ireland alive,
As we struggle along in this world to survive.
For many years now sure, people will talk,
Of this fine Irish tenor, your man from Dundalk.
John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann, 15th May 2011
Larry Mick McGarry lyrics by Percy French
Oh Larry Mick McGarry,
was a torment in the town,
A lad, a woman glad o'
Rut a man would like to drown;
With a smile he would beguile away
A girl from her boy,
An' before he got a mile away
He tired of his toy.
CHORUS:-
Titheryah the doodle ah
No marryin' for me!
Titheryah the doodle ah
As far as I can see.
Bright by the candle light
An' pourin' out the tea;
But yer glad ye lidn't ax her
in the mornin'.
Oh, Larry played , old Harry;
With the girls about the place.
At the dancin' they'd be glancin'
At the features: of his face.
But he never would endeavor
To be lover-like until --.,
Mary Carey, she's a fairy,
Had him going like a mill.
CHORUS:
Titheryah the 'doodle ah .
He met her in the street,
Titheryah the doodle ah
Sez he, "Yer lookin' sweet, .:.
A walk an' .:a talk wid ye'
I think would be a treat.
But all he got from Mary was
"Good Morning".
_
The dancin' down at Clancy's
Brought in all the neighborhood,
Though the roof wasn't waterproof,
The floor was fairly good,
An' Larry Mick McGarry
He could handle well the leg,
But Mary light and airy,
Oh, she took him down. a peg.
CHORUS:
Titheryah the, doodle ah
She footed it with Flynn
Titheryah the doodle ah
An'all the other min. ..;
But Larry Mick McGarry
Oh! he hadn't a look in
Faith he had to go and find her .'
In the morning.
Oh, she taught him till she brought
Up to where she had designed.
Sez Larry, "Will ye marry me!"
Siz she, "I wouldn't mind".
He kissed her an' carrissed her
Which is quite the proper .thing
Then together,: hell for leather,
They were off to buy a ring.
CHORUS:
Titheryah the doodle ah
"No marrin" sez you.
Titheryah the doodle ah
Ye may escape the 'flu.
Wait till you meet yer mate
An' all there is to do
Is to go an' buy the licence In the morning.
Later On lyrics by Percy French
When we're children at our lessons, it is beautiful to think
Of the good time that i's coming later on;
When we've done with silly copybooks "and 'horrid pens and ink,
What a.. lovely time is coming later on!
The rivers of New Zealand, the mountains of Peru,
The watersheds of Europe, and the tribes of Timbuctoo,
All the facts without the fancies, all the tiresome and true,
Will be nowhere in that lovely later on..
We'll forget the foolish fables that were written by Fontaine, In the pleasant time that's coming later on;
At those twelve times twenty 'tables we will never look again, In the lazy time that's coming later on;
The date of Magna Carta, the plot they called "the Rye,"
The counties that are bounded by the Humber and the Wye,
We may not quite forget them, but we mean to have a try
In the lazy time that's coming later on.
Oh' my optimistic hero, there are lessons you must learn,
In the queer time that is coming later on;
And the masters and examiners you'll find at every turn,
In the hard times that are coming later on.
Miss Fortune is a governess who'll teach you many things,
A tutor called Experience will moderate your flings,
You'll learn how men make money, and you'll learn that it has wings
In the strange times that are coming later on.
Then you'll meet the radiant vision who is all the world to you (You'll attend her mother's lectures later on);
You'll learn that what's enough for one is not enough for two,
Nor enough for half-a-dozen later on.
No, the work is never ended, though for holidays you crave,
There are pop-guns to be mended for the Robbers in the Cave.
You fancy you're the master, but you find that you're a slave
To a curly-headed tyrant later on.
And so through all your lifetime you are longing for the day,
The lovely day that's coming later on;
When pens and ink and copybooks will all be laid away,
And that day is surely coming later on.
For when you're really tired, having done your level best,
When the story's nearly ended, and the sun sets in the West,
Then you'll lie down very gently, and the weary will find rest,
And I fancy we'll deserve it -- later on.
Later on, later on,
Oh what many friends have gone,
Sweet lips that smiled and loving eyes that shone
Through the darkness into light,
One by one they've winged their flight And perhaps we'll play together —later on.
Little Bridget Flynn lyrics
I've a nice slated house and, a. cow or two at grass,
I've a plant garden running by ,the door;
I've a shelter for the hens and. a stable for.,the ass,..,
And what: can a man want more.
I dunno; maybe so,
And °a bachelor is , easy and he's free,
But I've plenty to look after,
And I'm living all alone,
And there's no one looking after me.
Me father often tells me I should go and have a try,
To get a girl that owns a bit of land;
I know the way he says it that there's.; someone; in his eye
And me mother has the., whole thing. planned;
I dunno, maybe so, .,,
And 'twould mellify them greatly to -agree,
But there's' little Brigid Flynn, " Sure its her I want to win,
Though she never throws an eye on me.
Oh! There's a little girl who is worth her weight in gold'
An' that's a dacent dowry don't you see;
And I mean to go and ax her as soon as I get bold,
If she'll come and have an eye to me.
I dunno — will she go,
But I'd like to have her sitting on me knee,
And I'd sing like a thrush,
On a hawthorn bush
If she'll come and have an eye to me.
My Darlin' Girl From Clare lyrics by Percy French
We were sittin' on the wall upon a Sunday
To watch the girls go by,
And thinkin' we'd be marrit to one one day,
When Kate Flynn caught our eye.
Oh, man! she was the makin's of a fairy,
And it made each boyo swear,
"There's not one girl in the wide, wide world
Like the girl from the County Clare!"
CHORUS:
And ev'ry man had got the finest plan
You ever see now — barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agreed now — you'll see now;
All night they'd fight,
As to which o' them was right,
In the colour of her eyes and hair,
But not a word from me was ever heard,
About the darlin' girl from Clare!
Says Casey: "Tis the father I'll be plazin',
I'll tell him of the land I've tilled,
I'll tell him of the cattle I have grazin'
And the house I mean to build;
And whin he sees the arable' and `pasture'
And the fat stock feedin' there,
An' the hens an' the chickens,
Ye may go to the dickens
For the girl from the County Clare."
CHORUS:
So every man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now— barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agree now —you'll see now.
Says I to meself
Though I haven't got the pelf,
Of brass I've got my share,
And so I know the way they ought to go
About the darlin' girl from Clare."
Says Sweeney,"she'll be coming to the shop here
To buy some sort of thing,
I'll ax her if she has a mind to stop there,
And should I buy the ring:
An' whin she sees the curtains on the windas,
An' the clock on the stair
Keepin' time to the minit,
No one else will be in it
With the darlin' girl from Clare!"
CHORUS:
So every man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now — barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say,
That she'll agree now — you'll see now;
Thinks I "ye may stop
Till yer dead in yer shop,
An' not a hair she'll care, Wid all yer gold
Yell never hold a hold
Upon the darlin' girl from Clare."
I never said a single word about her,
But I met the girl that day,
I told her I could never live widout her,
An' what had she to say?
She said that I might go and see her father:
I met him then and there,
An' in less than an hour
We war fightin' for the dower
Of the darlin' girl from Clare!
CHORUS:
So ev'ry man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now — barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agree now — you'll see now;
But late last night
When the moon was bright
I axed her if she'd share
Me joy an' me sorra' -
An' begorra! on to-morro'
I'll be married to the girl from Clare!
Eileen Oge Lyrics by
or the Pride of Petravore)
Eileen G Oge! an that the darlin's name is,
Through the Barony her features they were famous;
If we loved her who was there to blame us,
For wasn't she the Pride of Petravore?
But her beauty made us all so shy,
Not a man could look her in the eye,
Boys, 0 boys! sure that's the reason why
We're moumin' for the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
Eileen Oge! me heart is growin' grey
Ever since the day you wandered far away;
Eileen Oge! there's good fish in the say,
But there's no one like the Pride of Petravore.
Friday at the fair of Ballintubber,
Eileen met McGrath the cattle jobber,
I'd like to set me mark upon the robber,
For he stole away the Pride of Petravore.
He never seem'd to see the girl at all,
Even when she ogled him underneath her shawl,
Lookin' big and masterful when she was lookin' small,
Most provoking for the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
So it went as it was in the beginning,
Eileen Oge was bent upon the winning;
Big McGrath contentedly was grinning,
Being courted by the Pride of Petravore.
Sez he "I know a girl that could knock you into fits."
At that Eileen nearly lost her wits,
The upshot of the ruction was that now the robber sits
With his arm around the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
Boys, 0 Boys! with fate 'tis hard to grapple,
Of my eye 'tis Eileen was the apple,
And now to see her walkin' to the Chapel
Wid the hardest featured man in Petravore.
Now boys this is all I have to say;
When you do your courtin' make no display,
If you want them to run after you just walk the other way,
For they're mostly like the Pride of Petravore.
CHORUS:
Eileen Oge Sheet Music Notes
Rafferty's Racin' Mare lyrics by Percy French
You've not seen Rafferty round this way?
He's a man with a broken hat,
His tie and his collar are all gone astray
And his coat for the matter o' that!
We're racin' Rafferty round the place
Since Rafferty raced his mare,
He's a man with an anxious look on his face
And a partially murdered air!
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare
We met him at the fair,
Says he: "She'll win, so keep your tin,
For backin' the racin' mare."
We thanked him then and there,
And every lad in Ballinafad
Went backin' the racin' mare.
I was the jockey they chose to ride -
And often the owner he sware
That there wasn't a leap in the world too wide
To baffle the racin' mare.
Over hurdle and ditch she went like a witch,
Till she came where the water shone
I gave her her head, but she stopped at it dead:
She stopped — and I went on!
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare
I whirtled through the air
Like a beautiful bird, but never a word
From Rafferty's racin' mare!
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare -
The boys cried out "take care!"
I took all I could, but it wasn't much good
To me or the racin' mare.
"Get up, you lad," says Ballinafad,
"You'll win the race for us yet."
But I didn't care for the look of the mare,
Nor the way that her legs were set.
Says they: "The horse'll stay the course,
She'll stay it — ivery foot."
"You're right," says I — "I don't deny
She'll stay just where she's put."
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!
We danced around her there,
With stones and sticks, and bits o' bricks
We hit her fare and square.
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!
The field they leapt it there,
But on the brink she'd stand and --- drink,
Would Rafferty's racin' mare.
But where was Rafferty all the time?
Oh! Rafferty! he's the lad.
There in the ring — he stood like a king,
Cheerin' the mare like mad.
His brother was there, disguised, of course,
As a Roosian millionaire;
Giving the odds against every horse
And the longest against the mare.
CHORUS:
Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!
'Twas more than we could bear,
When a bookie revealed
he was backin' the field,
Instead of the racin' mare.
We've got the day to spare,
We've got the millionaire;
And we're havin' a race around the place,
And Rafferty — he's the hare!
Whistling Phil McHugh lyrics by Percy French
Oh! Whistlin Phil McHugh,
Has come over from Bunlaghy,
An we don't know what's come to
Little Mary Ann Mulcahy,
For ever since the day
That Phil he came a whistlin',
She stands in the doorway
An' she's waitin' an' she's lishnin'.
CHORUS:
Oh ! Mary you're contrary
Come in and shut., the door;
Phil's a rover, sure 'tis over,
And he'll not come back, asthore.
But she's lishnitf for the whistlin'
And she's waitin' by the shore,
For that arrun warrum
Round her waist once more.
There's Thady of the Cows,
Sure you know "Ten-acre Thady,"
Wid his fine new slated house
He'd make her quite a lady.
But Thady needn't stay,
And there's no use his inthragin'.
For her heart is far away
'Tis wid Phil McHugh stravagin'.
CHORUS:
There's Danny Michael Dan,
Who is six fut in his stockin's,
A very proper man,
But she never heeds his knockin's.
She'll keep him standin' there
For three quarthers of a minit,
But she's racin' like a hare
When she thinks that Phil is in it.
CHORUS:
'Tis wisdom's golden rule
I do teach her till I tire,
That every girl's a fool,
Ay, and every man's a liar.
What's that you say you hear,
What's set you all a thrimbly? '
Tis but the wind, I fear,
That is whistlin' down the chimbly.
CHORUS:
Oh! Mary you're contrary,
Come in and bar the door;
What's that scufflin'?
Phil, you ruffian!
Sure I knew he'd come, asthore.
She's been settin' there and frettin
But now her grievin's o'er;
And the singin' will be ringin'
In her heart once more!
Fighting McGuire lyrics by Percy French
Now. Giibbon has told the story of old,
Of the Fall of the Roman Empire,
But I would recall the rise an' the fall
Of a man of the name of McGuire.
he came to our town as a man of renown,
And peace was, he said, his desire,
Still he'd frequently state what would be the sad fate
Of the man who molested McGuire.
Well, we all were afraid of this quarrelsome blade,
An' we told him to draw near the fire,
An' laughed at his jest, tho' it wasn't the best,
An' swore there's no man like McGuire.
An' when he came up with the neighbours to sup,
His friendliness all would admire
And he'd have the best bed, for we'd sleep in the shed,
for fear of insulting McGuire.
But Macgilligan's Dan — who's a rale fightin' man,
Said: "Of all this tall talkin I tire,
I'll step in an see whyever should he
Be called always Fightin' McGuire,
I'll step in and say, in a casual way,
That I think he's a thief an' a liar.
Then I'll hit him a clout, and unless I misdoubt,
That's a way of insulting McGuire."
Then onward he strode to McGuire's abode,
His glorious eye shootin' fire,
An' we thought as he passed we had all looked our
On the man who. insulted McGuire;
Then we listened with grief while we heard him called thief
An' abused as a rogue an' a liar;
Oh! we all held our breath, for we knew it was death
To give any chat to McGuire.
Well, the row wasn't long, but 'twas hot an' 'twas strong
An' the noise it grew higher an' higher,
Then it stopt! — an' we said, "Oh, begorra, he's dead
He's been kilt out an' out be McGuire!
Then out like a thrush from a hawthorn bush
Came something in tattered attire,
And after it fled the man we thought dead
The man who malthreated McGuire.
'Twas Macgilligan's son, the victory won,
An' we crowded around to admire
The bowld-hearted boy who was first to destroy
The Yoke of the Tyrant McGuire.
An' altho' it's not true, we all said that we knew
From the first he was only a liar,
An' we'd all had a mind to attach — from behind
That cowardly scoundrel — McGuire.
The Oklahoma Rose lyrics by Percy French
All round de moon clouds are hangin' high an' hazy;
On de lagoon moonbeams are lyin' lazy.
Dat's when dis coon's g'wine to meet ma Maisie,
An' I'm singin' de same old song.
It's not about ma Dinah 'way down in Carolina,
Ma latest love is finer, dan any flow'r dat blows.
In fact, she don't remind me of gals I'v left behind me,
For true love's chains dey bind me to Oklahoma's Rose.
CHORUS:
She can trip like moonbeams on de water;
Ev'ry step dis colour'd coon he taught her.
Just one clip around her waist I caught her
When de band play'd "Mumbling Most".
She's ma rose, ma lily an' ma daisy;
Where she goes the coloured coons go crazy.
All I knows is ma Aminta Maisie
All through de day she keeps lookin' down demurely, '
Much as to say, "I can't.be a woman surely!
I still can play with ma doll securely,
For dis ain't' de time to spoon."
But when de sun am sinkin her eyes begin a winkin'
An den I know she's thinkin' of dis yer colour 'd coon.
Oh! ain't I glad I found her. In love chains I have bound her.
Her face is rather 'rounder — it's rounder dan de moon.
CHORUS:
She hears me call an she comes a-creepin', creepin'.,
Over de wall she see me leapin', leapin', leapn',
Big folks an' small quietly are sleepin',
When I meet ma lily belle.
Up an' down de ladder I'm slippin' like a shadder,
No one could be gladder dan me, I don''.t suppose.
I'm coaxin'her an' teasin', I'm kissin' her,and squeezin',
It seems to me it's pleasin' to Oklahoma's Rose.
Drumcolliher lyrics by Percy French
I've been to a great many places,
And wonderful sights I've seen
From Agernavoe to Ballinasloe
And back to Ballyporeen.
But when they talk of the town that
Over the ocean lie
When they say to me Pat,
what do you think of that.
I up and says, says I-
CHORUS:
"I suppose you've not been to Drumcolliher?
Ye haven't? Well now I declare,
You must wait till you've been to Drumcolliher
And see the fine place we have there.
There's only one street in Drumcolliher,
But then 'tis a glory to see:
Ye may talk till You're dumb, but give me old Drum,
For Drum is the place for me."
They tell me there's Isles of the Ocean
By India's golden shore,
Where life all day long is a beautiful song,
With flowers and fruits galore;
They tell me the sun does be shining,
With never a cloud in the sky --
But when they have done with their clouds and their sun
I up and I says, says I --
CHORUS:
"I suppose you've not been to Drumcolliher?
Ye haven't? Well now I declare.
You must wait till you've been to Drumcolliher
And seen the fine sun we have there.
There's only one sun in Drumcolliher,
And then 'tis a glory to see;
You may talk till you're dumb, but give me old Drum,
For Drum is the place for me."
"I was over in London quite lately,
I gave King Edward a call;
Says the butler, "He's out, he isn't about,
An' I don't see his hat in the hall;
But if you would like to look round, sir,
I think you will have to say,
Apartments like these are not what one sees I
n your country every day."
CHORUS:
Says I, "Have yes been to Drumcolliher?
Ye haven't? Well now I- declare.
You must wait till, you've been to Drumcolliher
And seen the fine house we have there.
There's only one house in Drumeolliher,
For hardware, bacon, and tea;
If your master would come we would treat him in Drum,
Oh! Drum is the place for. me."
McBreens Heifer lyrics And Music Percy French
McBreen had two daughters, and each one in turn
Was offered in marriage to Jamesy O'Burn.
Now Kitty was pretty but Jane she was plain,
So to make up the differ, McBreen would explain.
He'd give the best heifer he had on the land,
As a sort of a bonus with Jane, understand.
But then Kitty would charrum a bird off a bush,
And that left the lad in a horrid non-plush.
CHORUS:
Now there's no denyin' Kitty was remarkably pretty,
Tho' I can't say the same for Jane,
But still there's not the differ of the price of a heifer,
Between the pretty and the plain.
Entirely bothered was Jamsey O'Burn,
He thought that he'd give the schoolmaster a turn.
Sez he "to wed Kitty is very good fun,
Still a heifer's a heifer when all's said an' done.
A girl she might lose her good looks anyhow,
And a heifer might grow to an elegant cow.
But still there's no price for the stock, d'ye mind,
And Jane has a face that the Divil designed."
CHORUS:
Now there's no denyin' Kitty was remarkably pretty,
Tho' I can't say the same for Jane,
But still there's not the differ of the price of a heifer,
Between the pretty and the plain.
The schoolmaster said, with a good deal of sinse,
"We'll reduce the two girls to shillin's an' pence;
Add the price of the heifer, then Jane, I'll be bound,
Will come out on top by a couple o' pound.
But still I'm forgettin' that down in Glengall,
The stock is just goin' for nothin' at all."
So Jim thought he'd wait till the end of the year,
Till girls might be cheaper or stock might be dear.
Father O'Callaghan lyrics by Percy French
Father Cornelius O'Callaghan,
To most of us Father Con --
To all of us quite the kindliest man,
That ever the sun shone on.
I mind me when I was a bit of a lad,
He stood with me out in the cold
While I told him a curious dream I had,
Of findin' acrock of gold.
O Father O'Callaghan!
When will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan
If anyone knows 'tis you!
And Father O'Callaghan sthrok'd me pate,
Sez he, "The story is old-
Everyone that can work and wait
Will find his crock of gold
Rosie Mulvany was bright as a bird,
I lov'd her, she didn't object,
But somehow I never could bring out the word,
That Rose had a right to expect.
I'd dream of her nightly, I'd dream she said "Yes,"
Be daylight me courage was gone,
I was wore to a shadow, so in my distress,
I went and I saw Father Con.
O Father O'Callaghan,
Will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan,
What is a boy to do?
And Father O'Callaghan said, "See here,
You must call in your Sunday clothes.
Say to her this, `Will you marry me dear?'
You can leave the rest to Rose."
We talk'd one night of the glorious days,
When Ireland led the van,
With scholars as thick as the stars in the sky
And work for every man.
"Twill come again," said Father Con,
And his fertile fancy paints
The glorious day when the sun shines on
A new Isle of Saints.
O Father O'Callaghan
When will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan
If anyone knows, 'tis you.
And Father O'Callaghan raised his head,
And smil'd his humorsome smile,
"When ev'ry man learns to rule himself
'Twill then be a saintly isle."
Father O'Callaghan's dead and gone,
This many and many a day -
But we haven't forgot you Father Con,
And it keeps us from goin' astray.
And so at the last great earthquake shock,
When the trumpet's soundin' clear,
He'll guide to their God the faithful flock,
That knew him and loved him here.
O Father O'Callaghan
When will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan
If anyone knows 'tis you!
And Father O'Callaghan says no word,
For he's sleepin' softly yet,
And when the Archangel's voice is heard,
We know that we wont forget
Gortnamona lyrics by Percy French
Long, long ago in the woods of Gortnamona,
I thought the birds were singing in the blackthorn tree;
But oh! it was my heart that was ringing, ringing, ringing,
With the joy that you were bringing, 0 my love, to me.
Long, long ago, in the woods of Gortnamona,
I thought the wind was sighing round the blackthorn tree;
But oh! it was the banshee that was crying, crying, crying,
And I knew my love was dying far across the sea.
Now if you go through the woods of Gortnamona,
You hear the raindrops creeping through the blackthorn tree.
But oh! it is the tears I am weeping, weeping, weeping,
For the loved one that is sleeping far away from me.
The Road To Ballybay, Lyrics by Percy French
"Is this the road to Ballybay?"
Sez I to Miss Magee;
"You're leavin' it behind you,'
Sez Maryanne to me.
So I turned and walked beside her,
And 'tis only fair to say
It was very pleasant walkin'
On the road to Ballybay.
Ballybay, Ballybay [ Lyrics ],
'Twas a dark and winthry day,
But the sun was surely shinin'
On the road to Ballybay.
"Is this the road to fame and wealth?"
Sez I to Miss Magee;
"Ye've got the brains, ye've got the health," .
Sez Maryanne to me.
"But still I want a comrade
To praise me an' to, blame,
An' keep me from the traps that's-
,laid Upon the road to fame."
Ballybay, Ballybay,
No man could go asthray
With a guide like her beside him
On the road to Ballybay.
Is this the road to paradise
Says I to Miss Magee
I'm thinking that it might be
Says Maryanne to me,
O'h I saw the love light leppin
In a pair of roguish eyes
And I knew we two were steppin
On the road to paradise
Ballybay, Ballybay the birds are far away
But our hearts they sang together
On the road to Ballybay
Galloping Hogan lyrics by Percy French
(An incident in the Siege of Limerick)
"They have sent for fresh artillery,
The guns are on the way,
God help our hapless Limerick
When dawns another day."
Thus speaks the gallant Sarsfield,
As sadly he recalls
The famine [ song lyrics ] and despair that lurk
Behind these crumbling walls.
"And yet one blow for freedom --
One daring midnight ride!
And William may be humbled yet,
For all his power and pride!
"Go! Bring to me `The Galloper,'
To Highway Hogan say
'Tis Ireland has need of him,
And him alone to-day!"
The Soldier and the Highwayman
Are standing face to face,
The fearless front, the eagle eye,
In both of them we trace.
"Hogan! the night is dark and drear,
Say, canst thou lead the way
To Keeper Mountain's black ravines
Ere dawn another day?"
"Can the eagle find his eyrie?
Can the fox forget his den?
I can lead ye as none other
Of the Slievecamatha men.
The black mare knows it blindfold,
It's not by stars she'll steer,
Ye'll be to-night on the Keeper's height —
And the dawn will find ye here
"Lead on! " and well, he led them,
Though the Shannon ford;ran deep,
And though the white-lipped flood ran deep,
Around O'Brien's Keep.
The sentinel on Killaloe;
Looked out, but failed to see
Five huncred silent horsemen ride
Behind the rapparee
That night by Balleneety's towers
The English gunners lay.
"King William's Camp and safety lies
But twelve "short miles away.
What need of further caution?
What Irish wolf would dare
To prowl around our camp to-night,
So near the.lion's lair?"
An Irish wolf is near them ` now,
And Irish ears have heard
The chosen watchword for the night,
And "sarsfield" was the word.
A tramp' of -horse - ' Who's' there?'"
The word ! " "Sarsfield!" the answer ran
And then the sword smote downwards,
"Ay, and Sarsfield is the man!"
"To arms! the foe ! " Too late, too late,
Though Villiers' vengeful - blade
Is wet with Hogan's life blood;
As he leads the ambuscade.
Then. foot to , foot, and hand , to hand.,
They battle round the guns,
Till victory declares itself
For Erin's daring sons.
"Oh for those guns in Limerick now
Placed on the city walls!
We'd bid King William breakfast
On his own black cannon balls!
It may not be - but trebly charged,
And filled with shot. and shell,
They'll toll the robber's requiem,
And sound the soldier's knell."
Oh, sudden flash of blinding light!
Oh, hollow-sounding roar!
Down history's pages in Irish ears
It echoes evermore.
And Balleneety's blackened tower
Still marks the famous place .
Where Sarsfield staked his all to win,
And won that midnight race!
Sweet Marie lyrics by Percy French
I've a little racin' mare called Sweet Marie;
And the temper of a bear has Sweet Marie.
But I've backed the mare to win, and on her I've all my tin,
So we'll take a trial spin, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie,
If you bolt, Sweet Marie,
Sure, you'll never win the Farmer's Cup for me;
And if YOU don't pull it through, faith, I'm done, and so are you
For I'll trade you off for glue Sweet Marie.
Now, the colours that I chose for Sweet Marie
Were lavender and rose for Sweet Marie,
Och, but now, no thanks to you, sure I'm quite another hue,
For I'm only black and blue, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie,
If you bolt, Sweet Marie
Sure you'll never win the Farmers' Cup for me,
Every daisy in the dell ought to know me mighty well,
For on every one I fell, Sweet Marie.
Now we're started for the Cup, Sweet Marie,
Weight for age and owners up, my Sweet Marie.
Owners up just now I own, but the way you're waltzing roun'
Sure, 'twill soon be owners down, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie:
Pass the colt, Sweet Marie.
Och, you're gone and lost the farmers cup for me
You're a slayer too, I find but you'r not the proper kindthe
For you stay loo far behind, Sweet Miuriee
The Valley Of Dunloe lyrics by Percy French
Have the faries all departed
And left me broken-hearted,
To mourn the little creatures we loved so long ago?
Ah! most of them have vanished
But there's one that isn't banished
For I met her as I wandered in the Valley of Dunloe.
I had stopped a while to render In its glory all the splendour
Of the great sun slowly rising, and the morning mists aglow,
And the rocks that rose before me, And the tree tops bending o'er me,
Standing black against the sunshine that was sweeping down Dunloe.
I put in trees and grasses,
And the summer cloud that passes,
O'er the mountain and its shadow in the valley far below.
But what chalk could tell the story, the glamour and the glory
when those golden gleams had flooded all the Valley Of Dunloe
I've been to a great many places,
And wonderful sights I've seen
From Agernavoe to Ballinasloe
And back to Ballyporeen.
But when they talk of the town that
Over the ocean lie
When they say to me Pat,
what do you think of that.
I up and says, says I-
CHORUS:
"I suppose you've not been to Drumcolliher?
Ye haven't? Well now I declare,
You must wait till you've been to Drumcolliher
And see the fine place we have there.
There's only one street in Drumcolliher,
But then 'tis a glory to see:
Ye may talk till You're dumb, but give me old Drum,
For Drum is the place for me."
They tell me there's Isles of the Ocean
By India's golden shore,
Where life all day long is a beautiful song,
With flowers and fruits galore;
They tell me the sun does be shining,
With never a cloud in the sky --
But when they have done with their clouds and their sun
I up and I says, says I --
CHORUS:
"I suppose you've not been to Drumcolliher?
Ye haven't? Well now I declare.
You must wait till you've been to Drumcolliher
And seen the fine sun we have there.
There's only one sun in Drumcolliher,
And then 'tis a glory to see;
You may talk till you're dumb, but give me old Drum,
For Drum is the place for me."
"I was over in London quite lately,
I gave King Edward a call;
Says the butler, "He's out, he isn't about,
An' I don't see his hat in the hall;
But if you would like to look round, sir,
I think you will have to say,
Apartments like these are not what one sees I
n your country every day."
CHORUS:
Says I, "Have yes been to Drumcolliher?
Ye haven't? Well now I- declare.
You must wait till, you've been to Drumcolliher
And seen the fine house we have there.
There's only one house in Drumeolliher,
For hardware, bacon, and tea;
If your master would come we would treat him in Drum,
Oh! Drum is the place for. me."
McBreens Heifer lyrics And Music Percy French
McBreen had two daughters, and each one in turn
Was offered in marriage to Jamesy O'Burn.
Now Kitty was pretty but Jane she was plain,
So to make up the differ, McBreen would explain.
He'd give the best heifer he had on the land,
As a sort of a bonus with Jane, understand.
But then Kitty would charrum a bird off a bush,
And that left the lad in a horrid non-plush.
CHORUS:
Now there's no denyin' Kitty was remarkably pretty,
Tho' I can't say the same for Jane,
But still there's not the differ of the price of a heifer,
Between the pretty and the plain.
Entirely bothered was Jamsey O'Burn,
He thought that he'd give the schoolmaster a turn.
Sez he "to wed Kitty is very good fun,
Still a heifer's a heifer when all's said an' done.
A girl she might lose her good looks anyhow,
And a heifer might grow to an elegant cow.
But still there's no price for the stock, d'ye mind,
And Jane has a face that the Divil designed."
CHORUS:
Now there's no denyin' Kitty was remarkably pretty,
Tho' I can't say the same for Jane,
But still there's not the differ of the price of a heifer,
Between the pretty and the plain.
The schoolmaster said, with a good deal of sinse,
"We'll reduce the two girls to shillin's an' pence;
Add the price of the heifer, then Jane, I'll be bound,
Will come out on top by a couple o' pound.
But still I'm forgettin' that down in Glengall,
The stock is just goin' for nothin' at all."
So Jim thought he'd wait till the end of the year,
Till girls might be cheaper or stock might be dear.
Father O'Callaghan lyrics by Percy French
Father Cornelius O'Callaghan,
To most of us Father Con --
To all of us quite the kindliest man,
That ever the sun shone on.
I mind me when I was a bit of a lad,
He stood with me out in the cold
While I told him a curious dream I had,
Of findin' acrock of gold.
O Father O'Callaghan!
When will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan
If anyone knows 'tis you!
And Father O'Callaghan sthrok'd me pate,
Sez he, "The story is old-
Everyone that can work and wait
Will find his crock of gold
Rosie Mulvany was bright as a bird,
I lov'd her, she didn't object,
But somehow I never could bring out the word,
That Rose had a right to expect.
I'd dream of her nightly, I'd dream she said "Yes,"
Be daylight me courage was gone,
I was wore to a shadow, so in my distress,
I went and I saw Father Con.
O Father O'Callaghan,
Will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan,
What is a boy to do?
And Father O'Callaghan said, "See here,
You must call in your Sunday clothes.
Say to her this, `Will you marry me dear?'
You can leave the rest to Rose."
We talk'd one night of the glorious days,
When Ireland led the van,
With scholars as thick as the stars in the sky
And work for every man.
"Twill come again," said Father Con,
And his fertile fancy paints
The glorious day when the sun shines on
A new Isle of Saints.
O Father O'Callaghan
When will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan
If anyone knows, 'tis you.
And Father O'Callaghan raised his head,
And smil'd his humorsome smile,
"When ev'ry man learns to rule himself
'Twill then be a saintly isle."
Father O'Callaghan's dead and gone,
This many and many a day -
But we haven't forgot you Father Con,
And it keeps us from goin' astray.
And so at the last great earthquake shock,
When the trumpet's soundin' clear,
He'll guide to their God the faithful flock,
That knew him and loved him here.
O Father O'Callaghan
When will the dream come true?
O Father O'Callaghan
If anyone knows 'tis you!
And Father O'Callaghan says no word,
For he's sleepin' softly yet,
And when the Archangel's voice is heard,
We know that we wont forget
Gortnamona lyrics by Percy French
Long, long ago in the woods of Gortnamona,
I thought the birds were singing in the blackthorn tree;
But oh! it was my heart that was ringing, ringing, ringing,
With the joy that you were bringing, 0 my love, to me.
Long, long ago, in the woods of Gortnamona,
I thought the wind was sighing round the blackthorn tree;
But oh! it was the banshee that was crying, crying, crying,
And I knew my love was dying far across the sea.
Now if you go through the woods of Gortnamona,
You hear the raindrops creeping through the blackthorn tree.
But oh! it is the tears I am weeping, weeping, weeping,
For the loved one that is sleeping far away from me.
The Road To Ballybay, Lyrics by Percy French
"Is this the road to Ballybay?"
Sez I to Miss Magee;
"You're leavin' it behind you,'
Sez Maryanne to me.
So I turned and walked beside her,
And 'tis only fair to say
It was very pleasant walkin'
On the road to Ballybay.
Ballybay, Ballybay [ Lyrics ],
'Twas a dark and winthry day,
But the sun was surely shinin'
On the road to Ballybay.
"Is this the road to fame and wealth?"
Sez I to Miss Magee;
"Ye've got the brains, ye've got the health," .
Sez Maryanne to me.
"But still I want a comrade
To praise me an' to, blame,
An' keep me from the traps that's-
,laid Upon the road to fame."
Ballybay, Ballybay,
No man could go asthray
With a guide like her beside him
On the road to Ballybay.
Is this the road to paradise
Says I to Miss Magee
I'm thinking that it might be
Says Maryanne to me,
O'h I saw the love light leppin
In a pair of roguish eyes
And I knew we two were steppin
On the road to paradise
Ballybay, Ballybay the birds are far away
But our hearts they sang together
On the road to Ballybay
Galloping Hogan lyrics by Percy French
(An incident in the Siege of Limerick)
"They have sent for fresh artillery,
The guns are on the way,
God help our hapless Limerick
When dawns another day."
Thus speaks the gallant Sarsfield,
As sadly he recalls
The famine [ song lyrics ] and despair that lurk
Behind these crumbling walls.
"And yet one blow for freedom --
One daring midnight ride!
And William may be humbled yet,
For all his power and pride!
"Go! Bring to me `The Galloper,'
To Highway Hogan say
'Tis Ireland has need of him,
And him alone to-day!"
The Soldier and the Highwayman
Are standing face to face,
The fearless front, the eagle eye,
In both of them we trace.
"Hogan! the night is dark and drear,
Say, canst thou lead the way
To Keeper Mountain's black ravines
Ere dawn another day?"
"Can the eagle find his eyrie?
Can the fox forget his den?
I can lead ye as none other
Of the Slievecamatha men.
The black mare knows it blindfold,
It's not by stars she'll steer,
Ye'll be to-night on the Keeper's height —
And the dawn will find ye here
"Lead on! " and well, he led them,
Though the Shannon ford;ran deep,
And though the white-lipped flood ran deep,
Around O'Brien's Keep.
The sentinel on Killaloe;
Looked out, but failed to see
Five huncred silent horsemen ride
Behind the rapparee
That night by Balleneety's towers
The English gunners lay.
"King William's Camp and safety lies
But twelve "short miles away.
What need of further caution?
What Irish wolf would dare
To prowl around our camp to-night,
So near the.lion's lair?"
An Irish wolf is near them ` now,
And Irish ears have heard
The chosen watchword for the night,
And "sarsfield" was the word.
A tramp' of -horse - ' Who's' there?'"
The word ! " "Sarsfield!" the answer ran
And then the sword smote downwards,
"Ay, and Sarsfield is the man!"
"To arms! the foe ! " Too late, too late,
Though Villiers' vengeful - blade
Is wet with Hogan's life blood;
As he leads the ambuscade.
Then. foot to , foot, and hand , to hand.,
They battle round the guns,
Till victory declares itself
For Erin's daring sons.
"Oh for those guns in Limerick now
Placed on the city walls!
We'd bid King William breakfast
On his own black cannon balls!
It may not be - but trebly charged,
And filled with shot. and shell,
They'll toll the robber's requiem,
And sound the soldier's knell."
Oh, sudden flash of blinding light!
Oh, hollow-sounding roar!
Down history's pages in Irish ears
It echoes evermore.
And Balleneety's blackened tower
Still marks the famous place .
Where Sarsfield staked his all to win,
And won that midnight race!
Sweet Marie lyrics by Percy French
I've a little racin' mare called Sweet Marie;
And the temper of a bear has Sweet Marie.
But I've backed the mare to win, and on her I've all my tin,
So we'll take a trial spin, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie,
If you bolt, Sweet Marie,
Sure, you'll never win the Farmer's Cup for me;
And if YOU don't pull it through, faith, I'm done, and so are you
For I'll trade you off for glue Sweet Marie.
Now, the colours that I chose for Sweet Marie
Were lavender and rose for Sweet Marie,
Och, but now, no thanks to you, sure I'm quite another hue,
For I'm only black and blue, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie,
If you bolt, Sweet Marie
Sure you'll never win the Farmers' Cup for me,
Every daisy in the dell ought to know me mighty well,
For on every one I fell, Sweet Marie.
Now we're started for the Cup, Sweet Marie,
Weight for age and owners up, my Sweet Marie.
Owners up just now I own, but the way you're waltzing roun'
Sure, 'twill soon be owners down, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie:
Pass the colt, Sweet Marie.
Och, you're gone and lost the farmers cup for me
You're a slayer too, I find but you'r not the proper kindthe
For you stay loo far behind, Sweet Miuriee
The Valley Of Dunloe lyrics by Percy French
Have the faries all departed
And left me broken-hearted,
To mourn the little creatures we loved so long ago?
Ah! most of them have vanished
But there's one that isn't banished
For I met her as I wandered in the Valley of Dunloe.
I had stopped a while to render In its glory all the splendour
Of the great sun slowly rising, and the morning mists aglow,
And the rocks that rose before me, And the tree tops bending o'er me,
Standing black against the sunshine that was sweeping down Dunloe.
I put in trees and grasses,
And the summer cloud that passes,
O'er the mountain and its shadow in the valley far below.
But what chalk could tell the story, the glamour and the glory
when those golden gleams had flooded all the Valley Of Dunloe
The Four Farrellys
THE FOUR FARRELLYS
In a small hotel in London I was sitting down to dine.
When the waiter brought the register and asked me if I'd sign.
And as I signed I saw a name that set my heart astir —
A certain "Francis Farrelly" had signed the register
I knew a lot of Farrellys and out of all the crew
I kept on "sort of wonderin' " which Farrelly were you.
And when I'd finished dinner I sat back in my chair,
Going round my native land to find, what Farelly you were.
SOUTH
Were you the keen-eyed Kerryman I met below Kenmare,
Who told me that when Ireland fought "the odds were never fair?"
If Cromwell had met Sarsfield, or Owen Roe O'Neill,
It's not to Misther Gladstone we'd be lookin' for repeal.
Would have Ireland for the Irish, not a Saxon to be seen,
And only Gaelic spoken in that House in College Green. Told me landlords wor the Divil! their agints ten times worst,.
And iv'ry sort of government for Ireland was a curse!
Oh! if you're that Francis Farrelly, your dreams have not come true,
Still, Slainthe! Slainthe! Fransheen! for I like a man like you!
NORTH
Or were you the Francis Farrelly that often used to say
He'd like to blow them Papishes from Derry walls away?
The boy who used to bother me that Orange Lodge to join,
And thought that history started with the Battle o' the Boyne —
I was not all with ye, Francis, the Pope is not ma friend,
But still I hope, poor man, he'll die without that bloody end. -
And when yer quit for care yerself, and get to Kingdom Come,
It's not use teachin' you the harp — you'll play the Orange drum!
Och! man, ye wor a fighter, of that I had no doubt.
For I see ye in Belfast one night when the Antrim Road was out!
And many a time that evenin' I thought that ye wor dead,
The way them Papish pavin' stones was hoppin' off yer head.
Oh! if you're the Francis Farrelly who came from North Tyrone -
Here's lookin' to ye, Francis, but do leave the Pope alone!
EAST
Or were you the Francis Farrelly that in my college days
For strollin on the Kingstown Pier had such a curious craze?
D'y mind them lovely sisters — the blonde and the brunette?
I know I've not forgotten, and I don't think you forget!
That picnic at the Dargle —' and the others at the Scalp —
How my heart was palpitatin' — hers wasn't — not a palp!
Someone said ye married money — any maybe ye were wise,
But the gold you loved was in her hair, and the d'monds in her eyes!
So I like to think ye married her and that you're with her yet,
'Twas some "meleesha" officer that married the brunette;
But the blonde one always loved ye, and I knew you loved her too,
So me blessin's on ye, Francis, and the blue sky over you!
WEST
Or were you the Francis Farrelly I met so long ago,
In the bog below Belmullet, in the County of Mayo?
That long-legged, freckled Francis with the deep-set, wistful eyes,
That seemed to take their colour from those ever-changing skies,
That put his flute together as I sketched the distant scene,
And played me "Planxy Kelly and the "Wakes of Inniskeen."
That told me in the Autumn he'd be Bailin' to the West
To try and make his fortune and send money to the rest.
And would I draw a picture of the place where he was born,
And he'd hang it up, and look at it, and not feel so forlorn.
And when I had it finished, you got up from where you sat,
And you said, "Well, you're the Divil, and I can't say more than that."
Oh' if you're that Francis Farrelly, your fortune may be small,
But I'm thinking — thinking —Francis, that I love you best of all;
And I never can forget you — though it's years and years ago -
In the bog below BeImullet, in the County of Mayo.
THE FOUR FARRELLYS
In a small hotel in London I was sitting down to dine.
When the waiter brought the register and asked me if I'd sign.
And as I signed I saw a name that set my heart astir —
A certain "Francis Farrelly" had signed the register
I knew a lot of Farrellys and out of all the crew
I kept on "sort of wonderin' " which Farrelly were you.
And when I'd finished dinner I sat back in my chair,
Going round my native land to find, what Farelly you were.
SOUTH
Were you the keen-eyed Kerryman I met below Kenmare,
Who told me that when Ireland fought "the odds were never fair?"
If Cromwell had met Sarsfield, or Owen Roe O'Neill,
It's not to Misther Gladstone we'd be lookin' for repeal.
Would have Ireland for the Irish, not a Saxon to be seen,
And only Gaelic spoken in that House in College Green. Told me landlords wor the Divil! their agints ten times worst,.
And iv'ry sort of government for Ireland was a curse!
Oh! if you're that Francis Farrelly, your dreams have not come true,
Still, Slainthe! Slainthe! Fransheen! for I like a man like you!
NORTH
Or were you the Francis Farrelly that often used to say
He'd like to blow them Papishes from Derry walls away?
The boy who used to bother me that Orange Lodge to join,
And thought that history started with the Battle o' the Boyne —
I was not all with ye, Francis, the Pope is not ma friend,
But still I hope, poor man, he'll die without that bloody end. -
And when yer quit for care yerself, and get to Kingdom Come,
It's not use teachin' you the harp — you'll play the Orange drum!
Och! man, ye wor a fighter, of that I had no doubt.
For I see ye in Belfast one night when the Antrim Road was out!
And many a time that evenin' I thought that ye wor dead,
The way them Papish pavin' stones was hoppin' off yer head.
Oh! if you're the Francis Farrelly who came from North Tyrone -
Here's lookin' to ye, Francis, but do leave the Pope alone!
EAST
Or were you the Francis Farrelly that in my college days
For strollin on the Kingstown Pier had such a curious craze?
D'y mind them lovely sisters — the blonde and the brunette?
I know I've not forgotten, and I don't think you forget!
That picnic at the Dargle —' and the others at the Scalp —
How my heart was palpitatin' — hers wasn't — not a palp!
Someone said ye married money — any maybe ye were wise,
But the gold you loved was in her hair, and the d'monds in her eyes!
So I like to think ye married her and that you're with her yet,
'Twas some "meleesha" officer that married the brunette;
But the blonde one always loved ye, and I knew you loved her too,
So me blessin's on ye, Francis, and the blue sky over you!
WEST
Or were you the Francis Farrelly I met so long ago,
In the bog below Belmullet, in the County of Mayo?
That long-legged, freckled Francis with the deep-set, wistful eyes,
That seemed to take their colour from those ever-changing skies,
That put his flute together as I sketched the distant scene,
And played me "Planxy Kelly and the "Wakes of Inniskeen."
That told me in the Autumn he'd be Bailin' to the West
To try and make his fortune and send money to the rest.
And would I draw a picture of the place where he was born,
And he'd hang it up, and look at it, and not feel so forlorn.
And when I had it finished, you got up from where you sat,
And you said, "Well, you're the Divil, and I can't say more than that."
Oh' if you're that Francis Farrelly, your fortune may be small,
But I'm thinking — thinking —Francis, that I love you best of all;
And I never can forget you — though it's years and years ago -
In the bog below BeImullet, in the County of Mayo.
Percy French Photo
FROM THE IRISH ROADS ALBUM-Vol. 2
LITTLE BRIGIT FLYNN, with Orchestra
WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE? with AMONG THE HEATHER, with Orchestra
COUNTY MAYO FRAGMENT, unaccompanied Orchestra (Duet with Zuilmah Hopkins) THE GIRLS OF COLERAINE, with Orchestra
NELLY BLY, with Orchestra TROTTIN' TO THE FAIR, with Harp
COUNTY KILDARE FRAGMENT, unaccompanied NORA LEE, with Orchestra and Male Chorus DOWN IN GLASLOCH, with Orchestra THE GARTAN MOTHER'S LULLABY, with Harp THE BONNIE WEE WINDOW, with Orchestra
Sung by RICHARD HAYWARD
ACCOMPANIED by THE RICHARD HAYWARD ORCHESTRA and AILEEN MACARDLE, Harp
This gathering of songs follows closely the pattern which I set in my record entitled: "From the Irish Roads" (Decca No. LF/1086). These are songs which you might hear at any time in an Irish kitchen where the old fashion of the ceilidhe still endures, or perchance at an Irish fair or market, or in the more friendly kind of Irish country pub. The notes which follow may help you to a better understanding of these un- sophisticated outpourings of anonymous country singers of imagination who sought to amuse themselves and their neighbours in days gone by, as well as of those other songs which are the work of known composers who follow the same age-old tradition. And for a brief account of Irish folksong in general I would refer you to my notes printed on the back sleeve of "From the Irish Roads".
Little Brigit Flynn. This is a sprightly example of the art of Percy French, beloved composer of some of Ireland's most famous songs. Though it was written towards the end of the nineteenth century, this song, like most of Percy French's work, stems directly. from the folk- song tradition of Ireland, and the tune is a delightful arrangement of an old melody known as The Tailor.
County Mayo fragment. An arch little piece of genuine domestic folksong which I collected in a pub near Ballina. In company with my friend, John Feeney, the Irish tenor who lives in New York but was born in the County Mayo, I heard' an old fellow lilting away endlessly at this one verse, and John made a bet with me that I would never get it down on to paper. I won the bet and John paid up, like the good Mayo man he is. I sing it here as it should be sung, unaccompanied, and, as nearly as I can, in the obviously traditional manner of the Bal- lina man. I have not succeeded in tracing any other verses, or even the part of one, and that is why I call it a fragment. This song should really be sung by a woman, preferably by an Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.
What will you do, love? A duet very popular in the Irish country. side. It is a sort of counterpart of The Humour is on me now, which I sing, also with Zuilmah Hopkins, on my Decca Record No. LF/1086- From the Irish Roads. I have often heard an old ballad singer and his wife render this song in the midst of an Irish fair.
Among the Heather. A good example of the more mannered type of folksong, with a curiously irregular rhythmical pattern. It was collected by my friend Alec Foster, in Birdstown Glen in the County Donegal, and like many of the songs from that region it proclaims its Scottish origin,
The Girls of Coleraine. Many country songs are sung to this eloquent old tune, and this example comes from the pleasant town of Coleraine, in the County Derry. From a fragmentary collection of words I made this present version.
Nelly Bly. The melody of this song by Stephen Foster is almost a perfect text-book model of a simple tune. The arrangement is one which I made for a scene in my motion picture Luck of the Irish, the very first sound feature-film to be made in Ireland.
Trottin' to the Fair. A song written by Alfred Perceval Graves and set to an old Irish melody by C Villier's Stanford, this is a fine example of the happy collaboration of two great Irishmen. And it was made fam- ous by the singing of another, Plunket Greene, who set the tradition of singing each long phrase in a single breath. It all goes with a jogging swing that fits the pretty conceit like a glove.
County Kildare fragment. I collected this in much the same circumstances that brought me the County Mayo fragment. But this time John Feeney was not with me and I won no wager, and the pub was near Athy in the County Kildare. I sing this fragment in the original Irish, and follow it with my own English translation. As is the case with the Mayo fragment, I have never come across another words of this wryly humorous ballad: and not for want of seeking.
Nora Lee. It was in the region of Dungannon, in the County Tyrone, that I first heard this song. I was only able to gather a few words of it and from these I made this present version. I well remember the old man, who sung for me, coming to a puzzled stop in the middle of the first verse, with the exasperated remark: Dambut, there's a hole in the ballad!
Down in Glasloch. It was in the County Monaghan that I collected this melody, and again the words I got were fragmentary. So once more I had to fill in the holes in the ballad. Glasloch is the home of my friend Sir Shane Leslie, the Irish writer, and this song became a favourite of his, and of late mother, who was an aunt of Sir Winston Churchill. The beautifully-wooded demesne of Glasloch is one of the loveliest in the county and Monaghan is famous for its melodies.
The Garten Mother's lullaby. This lovely song is the joint creation of Joseph Campbell, one of our best Ulster poets, and of Herbert Hughes, that gifted Ulster musician whose work in the collection of Irish folk- song must always remain a major and brilliant achievement in that field. Both these men have passed away but their influence lives on and their example is still bright and seminal. The words are original, but the melo- dy was taken down by Herbert Hughes from the singing of Kate O Duffy of Letterkenny in the County Donegal. The song first appeared in Songs of Uladh in 1904, and is now included in the first volume of Irish Country Songs by Herbert Hughes, published by Boosey & Co. Gartan is the town- land in Donegal where Saint Columcille was born.
The Bonnie Wee Window. This song, which is of Scottish ancestry, I took down from a Mrs. Rosborough of Portrush, in the County Antrim. It belongs to a large family of humorous domestic songs and doubtless came to Ireland, like Among the Heather, with returning migratory agricultural workers who sought seasonal employment in the harvest fields of Scotland. Many English songs came to us in the same way, in the mouths of workers who laboured south of the Scottish border.
RICHARD HAYWARD
LITTLE BRIGIT FLYNN, with Orchestra
WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE? with AMONG THE HEATHER, with Orchestra
COUNTY MAYO FRAGMENT, unaccompanied Orchestra (Duet with Zuilmah Hopkins) THE GIRLS OF COLERAINE, with Orchestra
NELLY BLY, with Orchestra TROTTIN' TO THE FAIR, with Harp
COUNTY KILDARE FRAGMENT, unaccompanied NORA LEE, with Orchestra and Male Chorus DOWN IN GLASLOCH, with Orchestra THE GARTAN MOTHER'S LULLABY, with Harp THE BONNIE WEE WINDOW, with Orchestra
Sung by RICHARD HAYWARD
ACCOMPANIED by THE RICHARD HAYWARD ORCHESTRA and AILEEN MACARDLE, Harp
This gathering of songs follows closely the pattern which I set in my record entitled: "From the Irish Roads" (Decca No. LF/1086). These are songs which you might hear at any time in an Irish kitchen where the old fashion of the ceilidhe still endures, or perchance at an Irish fair or market, or in the more friendly kind of Irish country pub. The notes which follow may help you to a better understanding of these un- sophisticated outpourings of anonymous country singers of imagination who sought to amuse themselves and their neighbours in days gone by, as well as of those other songs which are the work of known composers who follow the same age-old tradition. And for a brief account of Irish folksong in general I would refer you to my notes printed on the back sleeve of "From the Irish Roads".
Little Brigit Flynn. This is a sprightly example of the art of Percy French, beloved composer of some of Ireland's most famous songs. Though it was written towards the end of the nineteenth century, this song, like most of Percy French's work, stems directly. from the folk- song tradition of Ireland, and the tune is a delightful arrangement of an old melody known as The Tailor.
County Mayo fragment. An arch little piece of genuine domestic folksong which I collected in a pub near Ballina. In company with my friend, John Feeney, the Irish tenor who lives in New York but was born in the County Mayo, I heard' an old fellow lilting away endlessly at this one verse, and John made a bet with me that I would never get it down on to paper. I won the bet and John paid up, like the good Mayo man he is. I sing it here as it should be sung, unaccompanied, and, as nearly as I can, in the obviously traditional manner of the Bal- lina man. I have not succeeded in tracing any other verses, or even the part of one, and that is why I call it a fragment. This song should really be sung by a woman, preferably by an Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.
What will you do, love? A duet very popular in the Irish country. side. It is a sort of counterpart of The Humour is on me now, which I sing, also with Zuilmah Hopkins, on my Decca Record No. LF/1086- From the Irish Roads. I have often heard an old ballad singer and his wife render this song in the midst of an Irish fair.
Among the Heather. A good example of the more mannered type of folksong, with a curiously irregular rhythmical pattern. It was collected by my friend Alec Foster, in Birdstown Glen in the County Donegal, and like many of the songs from that region it proclaims its Scottish origin,
The Girls of Coleraine. Many country songs are sung to this eloquent old tune, and this example comes from the pleasant town of Coleraine, in the County Derry. From a fragmentary collection of words I made this present version.
Nelly Bly. The melody of this song by Stephen Foster is almost a perfect text-book model of a simple tune. The arrangement is one which I made for a scene in my motion picture Luck of the Irish, the very first sound feature-film to be made in Ireland.
Trottin' to the Fair. A song written by Alfred Perceval Graves and set to an old Irish melody by C Villier's Stanford, this is a fine example of the happy collaboration of two great Irishmen. And it was made fam- ous by the singing of another, Plunket Greene, who set the tradition of singing each long phrase in a single breath. It all goes with a jogging swing that fits the pretty conceit like a glove.
County Kildare fragment. I collected this in much the same circumstances that brought me the County Mayo fragment. But this time John Feeney was not with me and I won no wager, and the pub was near Athy in the County Kildare. I sing this fragment in the original Irish, and follow it with my own English translation. As is the case with the Mayo fragment, I have never come across another words of this wryly humorous ballad: and not for want of seeking.
Nora Lee. It was in the region of Dungannon, in the County Tyrone, that I first heard this song. I was only able to gather a few words of it and from these I made this present version. I well remember the old man, who sung for me, coming to a puzzled stop in the middle of the first verse, with the exasperated remark: Dambut, there's a hole in the ballad!
Down in Glasloch. It was in the County Monaghan that I collected this melody, and again the words I got were fragmentary. So once more I had to fill in the holes in the ballad. Glasloch is the home of my friend Sir Shane Leslie, the Irish writer, and this song became a favourite of his, and of late mother, who was an aunt of Sir Winston Churchill. The beautifully-wooded demesne of Glasloch is one of the loveliest in the county and Monaghan is famous for its melodies.
The Garten Mother's lullaby. This lovely song is the joint creation of Joseph Campbell, one of our best Ulster poets, and of Herbert Hughes, that gifted Ulster musician whose work in the collection of Irish folk- song must always remain a major and brilliant achievement in that field. Both these men have passed away but their influence lives on and their example is still bright and seminal. The words are original, but the melo- dy was taken down by Herbert Hughes from the singing of Kate O Duffy of Letterkenny in the County Donegal. The song first appeared in Songs of Uladh in 1904, and is now included in the first volume of Irish Country Songs by Herbert Hughes, published by Boosey & Co. Gartan is the town- land in Donegal where Saint Columcille was born.
The Bonnie Wee Window. This song, which is of Scottish ancestry, I took down from a Mrs. Rosborough of Portrush, in the County Antrim. It belongs to a large family of humorous domestic songs and doubtless came to Ireland, like Among the Heather, with returning migratory agricultural workers who sought seasonal employment in the harvest fields of Scotland. Many English songs came to us in the same way, in the mouths of workers who laboured south of the Scottish border.
RICHARD HAYWARD
