SONGS OF THE GAEL
FIRST SERIES
A Collection of Anglo-
Irish Songs and Ballads
WEDDED TO OLD TRADITIONAL IRISH AIRS
BY
An U-AUA1U pAT>ntii btieAttiAc
EDITOR OF " ceCt An slnse^n," -jlc.
REVISED AND ENLARGED
BROWNE AND NOLAN, LIMITED
DUBLIN . BELFAST . CORK . WATERFORD
1922
All Rights Reserved.
"ceOt An sinseAn"
gceol
Each Complete in One Volume, bound in
Cloth, and Gold Lettering,
2s. 6d.
FOREWORD
F collecting and editing the Irish songs and airs contained
in the little volume entitled " puirm TIA Smot," which was
ublished by Messrs. Browne and Nolan in 1913, I became
acquainted with many beautiful airs and versions of airs which
are known and sung in the Irish-speaking districts of Cork,
Waterford, and Kerry. It occurred to me that I would be
rendering a valuable service to the cause of Irish music if I
could bring the knowledge of these bits of traditional music
home to those who do not understand Irish sufficiently well
to sing an Irish song. With that object in view I have tried
to select suitable Anglo-Irish songs to match the traditional
airs wrhich have been taken down from living Irish singers.
Another thought guided me in this compilation. In looking
through other published collections of Irish music with songs,
I was forcibly struck by the fact that we have a large number
of most beautiful songs which have never been wedded to
Irish airs. I have matched several gongs of this class with airs.
In addition, I have collected into this volume a number of
beautiful songs with their airs which are scattered in various
collections. Promoters of Concerts and Feiseana, teachers and
pupils and singers alike, will thus have at hand a cheap and
accessible collection of songs that breathe the true spirit of
Irish nationality and Irish home-life and Irish sentiment.
I have to say in reference to the airs here found that I
have jealously excluded from their number all modern com-
positions. I have admitted nothing to these pages but genuine
old traditional Irish airs. I calculate that tkere are in this
volume about forty-five old traditional airs, taken down from
IV
living singers, which are here linked to Anglo-Irish songs and
ballads for the first time. Other traditional airs which I
have used are taken from PC trie and Joyce. A few were
given to me by Mr. McCall.
As to the songs — I have aimed at selecting those which
have in them the true national ring. We want in the Ireland
of to-day an antidote to the spirit of Anglicisation which is
abroad. I know no more effective barrier against the encroach-
ment of that spirit, next to the Irish Language and Irish Song,
than the general singing at concerts and gatherings of good
Anglo-Irish ballads and songs. The music hall and concert
room may be made a very powerful agency in de-nationalising
and even'in debasing our people. From a national and moral
point of view what effect can empty, vulgar, mawkishly
sentimental songs have ? And such songs are only toe often
heard at our so-called Irish Concerts. Or the song whose
lewd allusions are thinly veiled ? Or the songs that ignore
and deliberately eschew the glories and noble deeds and sacri-
fices of our past heroes — what effect can such songs as these
have on Irish youth ? It has been truly said that in a
nation's ballads we find the history of its struggles and pro-
gress and triumph. A nation's habits, too, and its traditions
and recollections are enshrined in its ballads. The wandering
bards and minstrels became the keepers of the records of the
nation ; and hence they were hunted down by the oppressors.
A well-known collector of Irish ballads claims for Ireland
as high a rank in ballad literature as that of any other nation.
In this collection which I now give to the public, Irish men
and women will find songs which are all racy of the soil.
There are nearly two hundred songs in the twelve penny
numbers of this collection. I would remark that of these"
I have here set to old Irish airs nearly a hundred songs which
are not found wedded to music in any collection that I know.
Of the remainder about thirty-five were written for certain
airs by their authors, but in these cases mention only of the
air was made. The airs themselves were not given. The words
and airs have never appeared together until now. There
are a dozen additional songs which I found already wedded to
airs, but these airs I have not adopted ; I have changed them
for others. One reason that weighed with me for doing so was
that I found in some cases that the songs were sung by the
people to the airs which I have here selected, Kickham's
beautiful song, " She lived beside the Anner," is one such.
Another remark I would like to make is this. I have ex-
cluded all hackneyed songs and songs which can otherwise
be easily got, such as Moore's. Of his I have put in about
half a dozen which are looked upon as the most popular. My
entire selection has been guided by the principle which may
be expressed in the words of Gavan Duffy in his " Ballad
Poetry " : " The ordinary effect of native poetry is to cherish
love of home and homely associations, which, elevated and
spiritualized, becomes love of country."
The love of home and country ; the struggles, the sacri-
fices, and the glories of the past ; the purity of Irish love, as
expressed in the sentimental songs of our ballad writers — these
things will, I feel, be found worthily reflected in the pages of
this collection.
In making up this collection I have selected gems from our
best song and ballad writers of the last and present century.
Here is a list of names : Allingham ; Banim ; Barry, M. J. ;
Boyle, John ; Browne, Frances ; Callanan ; " Carroll Malone :> ;
Casey (" Leo ") ; Collins, Wm. ; Davis, F. ; Davis, Th. ;
Doheny; Bowling, Jer. J.; Duffy; "Eva"; "Fermoy";
Furlong, T. ; Griffin ; Hogan, M. ; Joyce, Robt. P. ; Kscgan ;
Kickham ; Lane, Denny ; Locke, John ; Lover ; MacCarthy,
D. F. ; McGee, T. D. ; McKeown ; Magennis ; Moore ; Murphy,
M. J.; O'Donovan Rossa ; Ogle; Petrie; " Prout, Father";
Rooney, William ; Scanlan, Ml. ; Sullivan, T. D. ; "Tiny";
Waller; Walsh; E. ; Walsh, John. The collection will show
that there is no dying out of the poetic spirit and the art
VI
of song and ballad writing in Ireland. The following names
of living writers will bear out further this remark:
Sigerson, Dr. — dare et venerabile nomen; McCall, P. J., and
Fahy, Frank — our two raciest song- writers ; O'Higgins, Brian,
and Kehoe, P. — our youngest song- writers. All these are
represented in this collection. They show that Ireland can
still produce men who sing worthily of their land, whether in
strains joyful, sad, or humorous.
I acknowledge with gratitude my indebtedness to the
following for permission to use songs or music : Mrs. W.
Allingham, Dr. Sigerson, P. J. McCall, Frank Fahy, Arthur
Griffith, Dr. G. Joyce, Alfred P. Graves, P. Kehoe, Brian
O'Higgins, Messrs. Whelan & Son, and, in a very special way,
I am indebted to Miss Annie O'Reilly, of Macroom, for valuable
help in supplying me with some exquisite airs. Jeremiah
O'Connor, of Cork, gave me several fine versions of old airs.
There are in this volume perhaps about a dozen songs
which were written by anonymous authors. They arc
productions of considerable literary merit, whilst some of them
rank highly from a literary point of view. For this reason I
was anxious to identify the writers. Up to the time of going
to press I had not been able to do so, but since then I have
succeeded in identifying a few of them as follows;—-
John Boyle is the author of the two songs signed " Mylo "
and " Pontiac." He Was born in King's Co. in 1822, went to
America in 1842, and died in New York, in January, 1885.
The writer who signed herself "Tiny" (p. 116), was
Mrs. Mary C. F. Munster, wife of Alfred M. Munster, Danish
Consul for Ireland. She was daughter of Richard Monck of
Banagher, Kings Co. She was born in 1835 and died in 1892
at Holywood, near Belfast. I p.m indebted to D. J. Donoghue's
Lives of Irish Poets for the information here given.
In reference to the Ballad en p. 184 to which I have given
the title "A Fenian Ballad," I have it on very good authority
— those who knew the author personally — that the writer of it
was O'Donovan Rossa, the famous Fenian chief. I was
hoping to get the missing lines of the last verse, but I have
failed to do so,
The song on p. 192 is sung to the air af the previous song.
The song on p. 46 is sung to Ike air found on p. 44.
I have to say that there is no transition from one key to another
in any song of the collection. This remark is necessary
inasmuch as I have heard that some teachers have taken
grace notes in the music for marks of transition.
I venture to hope that the songs here collected will be
widely known and sung. As Dr. Sigerson remarks, in an
encouraging letter with which he favoured me, the singing
and whistling and lilting of those beautiful old airs will be
like voices from Ui^ TIA ti-0$.
This collection of songs was first published in 12 penny
numbers. These penny numbers are no longer issued as such,
owing to increased cost of paper, labour, and accounting
Henceforth the " Songs of the Gael," of which there are four
series, can only be had in book form. The Editor claims the
song known as "The Exile of Erin" as the work of an Irish
poet, Reynolds. It will be found in the Second Series of this
collection. A pamphlet has been issued proving Reynolds'
title to the song, and disproving that of Thomas Campbell.
Its title is " The Exile of Erin," published by Fallon Bros.
PHIBSBOKO', DUBLIN.
CONTENTS
I
A Ballad of Irish Freedom
Adieu to Erin ....
A Fenian Ballad ....
A Legend of the Shannon
Alley Kelly O .
A Message o'er the Sea .
Among the Heather
A Mother's Lament
An Old Irish Hill in the Morning
An Old Irish Jig ...
Arthur McCoy ....
As I Walked the Road to Sligo .
A Song for the Irish Volunteers .
A Song for Rozheen Dhu
Asthore Machree ....
Asthoreen Machree
At Early Dawn ....
At the Yellow Boreen
Avenging and Bright
Beautiful Ireland
Bells of Shandon, The .
Blarismoor Tragedy, The
Blind Mary ....
Bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh
Boochaleen Bawn
Bouchaleen Bawn
Bouchaleen Dhoun
Boys of Wexford, The .
Bridge of Glanwillian, The
topi-Din t>Ati mo Sc6|i
Brigade's Hurling Match, The
Cahal the Hunter
Cannon, The ....
Caoch O'Leary ....
Christmas Eve ....
Christmas Song ....
Claddagh Boatman, The .
Colleen Dhas Croothe Na M6
Colleen Rua, The
Come, rest in this Bosom
Comical Boy, The
PAGE
228
22
184
170
132
308
173
346
158
330
66
300
10
380
336
375
161
78
285
328
242
286
257
198
344
146
72
76
110
101
212
88
370
126
378
296
232
168
278
384
S76
X CONTENTS
Coming Bridal, The . . . . . .70
Convict of Clonmel, The ....
Croppy Boy, The
Dark "Maid of the Valley, The ..... 252
Dawn is in the Sky, The ..... 289
Dear Irish Boy, The ...... 366
Dear Land of the Shamrock . • . . .28
Deirdre's Farewell to Alba . . . . .354
Dhreenaun Dhoun, The ...... 104
Diarmid M6r . . . . . . .102
Drihaureen O Machree . . . . . .24
Driman Dhoun Dheelish . . . . . .42
Driman Dhoun Dheelish ...... 208
Eileen O Brin ....... 186
Ensign and His Banner, The ..... 206
Erin Asthore ....... 274
Erin Free ....... 382
Faded Hopes ....... 317
Fair-haired Maid, The ...... 266
Fair Kate of Glenanner ...... 320
Fanny ........ 96
Far Away ....... 332
Feagh MacHugh . . . . . . .150
Fiddler, The ....... 98
Fineen O'Driscoll the Rover . . . . . 176
Flag that Floats Above Us, The .... 200
Flower of Finae, The . . . . . .114
Follow Me Up to Carlow ..... 120
For God and Ireland ...... 348
Gallant Men of '98, The ...... 26
Galway Bay ....... 60
Girl of Dunbwy, The ...... 65
Gra Gal Machree . . . . . .210
Grade 6g Machree ...... 6
Green Flag, The ....... 350
Green Linnet, The . . . . . .314
Green Woods of Slew, The ..... 238
Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded ? . . . .300
Haste to the Wedding . . . . . 294
CONTENTS XI
PAGE
Heather Glen . . . . . . .106
Herself and Myself ...... 322
" Holly and Ivy " Girl, The . . 202
How d'you like Her for Your Wife ? . . . 374
How Pleasant Sweet Birdies . 21
I Built Me a Bower ...... 86
Innishowen ....... 276
I Rambled Down the Woodland Path . . .268
Ireland's Hurling Men . . . 272
' ' Ireland Over All " . . ... 218
Irish Maiden's Lament, The . . . . .156
Irish Molly O ! . . . . . . .56
Irish Reaper's Harvest Hymn, The ... 40
Irish Volunteers, The . . . . . .372
I've Come unto my Home Again . . . .138
I Would I Were on Yonder Hill .' , . .214
Jackets Green . . . . . . .16
Johnnie Dunlea . . . . . . .19
John O'Dwyer of the Glen . . . .254
Kate o' Belashanny . . . . . .148
Kate of Kenmare . . . . . .92
Kathleen Maehree . . . . . .240
Kelly of Killann ....... 262
Kitty Neil ....... 340
Kitty O'Hea . . . 362
Lament for the Milesians ..... 222
Lament of Garodh Earla .....
Lament of the Irish Mother
Let Erin Remember ....
Little House Under the Hill, The
Little Mary Cassidy . . . . . .326
Little Red Fox, The . . . . . .342
Linnet, The ...... 36
Ma Chreeveen Eeving Auling 6 . . . . .74
Ma Cholleeii Dhas Dhoun ....
Ma Sthoreen Oge
Ma Vannacht Lath (mo beAtitiAcc teac)
Maid of Slievenamon, The ....
Maire Dhoon Asthore .....
Mary the Pride of the West .
Xll CONTENTS
PAGB
Mary's Sweetheart . .... 304
Maureed Bawn
Men of the West, The
Molly Ma Sthore .
Mountains, The
Mountain Altar, The
Mountain Men. The
310
194
30
118
264
298
Mountains of Pomeroy, The .... 250
Munster War-Song, The ... 97
Music in the Street '..... 52
My Boat . . . . . . .244
My Carroll Bawn ...... 246
My Ceallaigh Dhu Asthore . . . .62
My First Love ....... 356
My Gentle Colleen Ruadh ..... 8
My Heart of Hearts ... 38
My Love is on the River . . . . .189
My Nial Bawn ....... 44
Native Swords . . 58
Ned of the Hill . ..... 136
O'DonneH Aboo ....... 368
O'Donovan's Daughter ...... 192
Oh, Come with Me, My Irish Girl .... 338
Oh! Limerick is Beautiful ..... 5O
Old Cork Beside the Lee ..... 32
On Cnoc tiA SiT>e ...... 293
O'Neill's Vow ....... 334
O's and the Mac's, The ...... 154
Our Flag of Green ...... 360
Our Native Land ...... 216
Our Own Little Isle . . . . 2
Outlaw of Kilmore, The ...... 94
Over the Morning Dew ...... 345
Patriot Maid, The " . . . . . .84
Patriot Mother, The ...... 124
Paustteen Fiunn, The ...... 140
'pe n-eitAitin 1 ! . . . . . . • 112
Pretty Girl Milking her Cow, The .... 166
Red Lusrnore, The . . . . . .165
Redmond O'Hanlon . . . . . .220
Remember Thee ....... 55
Return from Fingal, The ..... 226
CONTENTS Xlii
PAGE
Rose of Knockmany . . . . . .39
Rosemary Crown, The ...... 144
Rover, The ....... 162
Rozheen Dhu ....... 82
Sack of Baltimore, The ...... 173
Saddest Breeze, The . . . . . .197
Sailing in the Lowlands Low . . . . .80-
She Lived Beside the Anner ..... 25&
Sheer Smueenthe (siojt Snmince) .... 134
Siege of Limerick, The ...... 282
Slaun Beo ....... 353
Snowy-breasted Pearl, The ..... 231
Song of Golden-Headed Niav ..... 290
Songs of Our Land ...... 4
Song of Sarsfield's Trooper . . . . . 324
Spinning Wheel, The ...... 14
Stormy Sea Shall Flow In, The ..... 142:
Summer in Erin ....... 90-
Summer is Coming, The ...... 302
Sweet Glengariff's Water ..... 316
Sweet Words said to Me, The . . . . . 339
There is a Stream 'mid Houra's Dells .... 130
There is a Tree in Darra's Wood .... 364
Thief of the World, The ...... 260
Thou art net Conquered yet Dear Land . . .190
Though the Last Glimpse of Erin . . . . 312
Three Thousand Miles Away . . . . .34
To-morrow, Comrades, We ..... 204
Twilight Music . . . . . . . 234
Twilight on a Tipperary Hillside .... 318
Unfurling the Flag ...... 236
You're a Dear Land to Me ..... 358
Welcome Home to You . . . . . .321
Wexford Insurgent, The ...... 152
Wexford Massacre, The . . . . . .12
When Cool Winds are Blowing . . . . .246
When the Praties are Dug . . . . 280
Willy ReiHy ..... 47
Winny ....... 180
Work of God, The 224
SONGS OF THE GAEL
OUR OWN LITTLE ISLE.
KEY E. Vivace. * Air : " The
m/.
d :- :-
|r :
d
:r
m.l:- :
1
|1 :s
:f )
Oh!
i -
rish
- men
never
for
- get— 'Tis
a f
m : r : m
Id :
m
: r
d :-.!,:
1,
11, :-
:s, >
jo - reign - er'a
farm — •
your
own lit
-tie
isle ;
'
| d : (d) : (d)
1 Oh!
|r :
i -
d
rish
:r
- men
n : 1 :
when will
1
you
|1 : .s
Some)
get
m : r : m
Id :
n
:r
r :-.d :
d
Id :-
!
life in your
hearts
for
your poor lit -
tie
isle ?
i
Id'':- :-
| Yes !
Id' :
Yes!
- rd'.t
— we've a
1 :s :
dear lit -
f
tie
| PI * r
spot of
:d >
it! )
i
d' :- :-
1 Oh!
Yes!-
-
:t
a
1 :s :
sweet lit -
n
tie
Is :-
isle !
1 — *
Id' :- :-
1 Yes!
yes !
:t
if
1 :s :
I - rish -
f |N :r
men thought of
:d 1
it, i
rit.
D.C.
PI i — .r i PI
Id
;-
:PIT
d :-.!,
• 1|
11, :-
'Twould bo a
dear
little
, sweet lit
-tie
isle !
2. Thm, come on and rise, ev'ry man of you —
Now is the time for a stir to be made ;
Ho t Pat ! who made such a lamb of you !
Life to your soul, boy, and strength to your
Yes ! yes ! — a dear little spot of it !
Oh ! yes ! — a sweet little isle !
Yes ! yes ! — if Irishmen thought of it,
Erin once more is our own little isle !
3. Rise ! heartily ! shoulder to shoulder —
We'll show 'em strength with good humour
Rise ! rise ! show each foreign beholder
We've not lost our love to thee, Erin asthore !
For oh ! yes ! — 'tis a dear little spot of it !
Yes ! yes ! — a sweet little isle !
Yes ! yes ! the Irish have thought of it ;
Erin for ever — our own little isle !
4. Never forget what your forefathers fought for, O !
When to " O'Neill " or " O'Donnell Abqo "
Sasanachs ev'rywhere sunk in the slaughter, O !
Vengeance for insult, dear Erin, to you !
For oh ! yes ! — a dear little spot of it !
Yes ! yes ! — a sweet little isle ;
Yes ! yes ! — if Irishmen thought of it,
Erin once more is our own little isle !
6. Yes, we have strength to make Irishmen free again j
Only UNITE — and we'll conquer our foe ;
And never on earth shall a foreigner see again
Erin a province — though lately so low.
For oh ! yes ! — we've a dear little spot of it !
Yes ! yes ! — a sweet little isle !
Yes ! yes ! — the Irish have thought of it ;
Erin for ever — OUR OWN little isle !
JOHN EDWARD PIGOT (" Ferrnoy.
This stirring song is from the pen of the eldest son of the Lord Chief
Baron of the Exchequer (Ireland). He was born at Kilworth, Co. Cork,
in 1822, and died in Dublin in 1871. He was one of the Young Ireland
group and wrote a few poems which are amongst the most stirring that
appeared in The Nation (1842-48). He was a great collector of Irish airs,
some of which have been published by Dr. P. W. Joyce. .The last four
lines of each verse are repeated and should be choroaed by the audience.
SONGS OF OUR LAND.
Air : " Cuifle mo
KEY G. Moderately.
(:(s,) is, :-.l,:ta, |s, : s, :s, Id : t, :d | m :r :ro)
( I Songs of our land, ye are 'with us for ev - er : The)
f|s :f :r |d :t, : s. If, : m, :ii, |m, :- :f
(power and the splen-dour of Ithronespass a - way; But
: -.1, : ta, | s, :-.s, : s,
urs is the might of some
(is :f :r |d :t, : s,
([sum - mer's bright ro - ses, or
fir :m :f |r:s :s
(Itrea - sure each voice of the
d :-.t, :d
:r :m
far flow - ing riv - er, Thro')
- :d
:d )
Ye )
:r |f :r :t,
((truth, which time wri - teth on
au- tumn's de - cay.
s : -.f : ni | PI : r : d \
swift - pass-ing a - ges, And)
d : -.t, : s, I f , : n, : f , j
leaves or on sand, Ye )
i :-«l| ' ta, | s, :-s, :s. Id :-.t,:d |i*i :r :ro )
ing us the bright thoughts of] po - ets and sa - ges, And )
.bring
s :f
:r
p them a-mongst us, old
s
S, :-
songs of our land !
The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers ;
The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave ;
But far in the future the power of their numbers
Shall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave.
It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely,
Like voices of reeds by the summer breeze fanned j
It will call up a spirit of freedom, when only
Her breathings are heard in the songs of our land.
3k For they keep a record of those*, the true-hearted,
Who fell with the cause they had vowed to maintain ;
They show us bright shadows of glory departed,
Of the love that grew cold, and the hope that was vain.
The page may be lost and the pen long forsaken,
And weeds may grow wild o'er the brave heart and hand ;
But ye are still left when all else hath been taken,
Like streams in the desert, sweet songs of our land !
4. Songs of our land ! ye have followed the stranger
With power over ocean and desert afar,
Ye have gone with our wand'rers thro' distance and danger,
And gladdened their path like a home-guiding star ;
With the breath of our mountains in summers long vanished,
And visions that passed like a wave from the strand ;
With hope for their country and joy from her banished,
Ye come to us ever, sweet songs of our land !
5* The spring-time may come with the song of her glory,
To bid the green heart of the forest rejoice ;
But the pine of the mountain, tho' blasted and hoary,
And rock in the desert can send forth a voice.
It is thus in their triumphs for deep desolations,
While ocean waves roll, or the mountains shall stand,
Still hearts that are bravest and best of the nation,
Shall glory and live in the songs of our land.
FRANCES BROWNE.
The above air is a West-Cork version of a sweet and well-known air.
I link it with the fine song of the " Blind Poetess of Donegal," and hope
it will be often heard in schools and concerts. It is a fitting introduction
to tho fine collection that follows.
GRACIE OG MACHREE.
KEY
• 1|
E.
1. :- :t, Id
placed the sil
Air
:- :r m :
ver in
: " Coif LAOI HA y
- :1 |1 :-
her palm,
peAb "
:t \
By )
1 :-
iln -
:s |m :-
ny's smi
:r ro :1|
:- 1- :-
And)
ling tide,
Id :-
vowed,
:t, |d :-
ere sum
: r m : -
mer time
:f |m :-
came on,
^o }
r :d :t|.t,|cf :-
claim her as a bride.
But when
:t, |d :-
the sum
:r )
mer >
m :-
time
came on
:t 1 :-
I dwelt
IS | M I ~
be - yond
the >
:- 1- :-
:t, d :-
Yet still
:t, Id :-
my heart
:r ^
is )
sea;
N :-
ev
:f |n :-
er true
:r r :d
To Gra - cie
:t,.t,|d :-
6g Ma-chree.
!• i
110 )
1 :-
bon -
:s 11 :-
nie are
:t d1 :-
the woods
:t |t :d' :t )
of Targ, And )
1 •-
green
: t |d' : -
thy hills,
:t 1 :m
:- 1- :-
And)
Rath- more,
| soft
:s |1 :-
the sun
:t id1 :-
light) ev
:t |t :-
er falls
:t )
On )
| Dar .
:1 |1 :-
re's slop
: s i 1 : -
ing j shore ;
:- 1- :-
:s )
And >
1 :
there
s :•
ev
d :-
i
fir :•
llGra
8
the
H ;-
eyes
:t
i
d1 :-
love
:t
in
It :-
tears
Shine)
1
|m :-
: r m : 1 ,
: —
1- :-
:t, i
er
mourn
- ful ly,
While)
t|
Id :-
:r
m :-
:f
|m :-
:r >
am
far,
and
far
a
- way
From)
d
It, :-
• t|
d :-
j -
1- :-*
II
cie
6g
Ma-
chree.
il
When battle steeds were neighing loud,
With bright blades in the air,
Next to my inmost heart I wore
A bright tress of her hair.
When stirrup cups were lifted up
To lips, with soldier glee,
One toast I always fondly pledged,
'Twas Gracie 6g Machree.
O ! I may never, never clasp
Again, her lily hand,
And I may find a soldier's grave
Upon a foreign strand ;
But when the heart pulse beats the last,
And death takes hold of me,
One word shall part my dying lips,
Thy name, Asthore Machree.
„,
JOHN K. CASEY.
This air is a very sweet one. It is given here as sung by the traditional
singers at Ring, Co. Waterford. It was taken down by Annie O'Reilly,
Macroom. I think it will be admitted that air and song, now linked for
e first time, make a thing of beauty that will be a joy for ever.
* The musical phrase on page 6, lines 4 and 7, | r : d : t, .t, | d
should be printed as the same phrase in last line of song.
8
MY GENTLE COLLEEN RUADH.
KEY D.
Air: " A CuniAti
CAJ\ 64At).J>
(My~ fai -
:r
ry
|m .r
:n .s
1
dar
: s
- ling
Id' ,
girl, f
my
< :t .d1
1
I
: s .m
|r
near
:r
thee
d
now,
; —
1 }
i if
were
<:s .n
r
sun -
:r
light
|m .r
:H .s
1
eyes
: s
would
Id' ,
chase \
( The
of
your
j:t .d1
1
: s .m
|r
:r
r
:_
1 i
( The
sor
row
from
my
brow
;
;
j:l .t
d1
:n
Is
:lit «d
r1
:t
Id1 )
( Your
lips
would
whis
- per
o'er
and
o'er '
f :t .d1
"( The
1
words
: s .m
so
|r
fond
:r
and
d
true,
:-
1 }
<:s .m
r
:r
|m .r
:m .s
1
:- .s
Id1 i
1 They
whis
- pered
long
and
long
a
- go. >
€ :t .d1
( "My
1
gen
:s .in
- tie
|r
Col -
:r
leen
r :-
Ruadh.
1 1
2. No more by Inny's bank I sit,
Or rove the meadows brown
But count the weary hours away
Pent in this dismal town ;
I cannot breathe the pasture air,
My father's homestead view,
Or see another face like thine,
My gentle Colleen Ruadh.
9
3. Thy laugh was like the echo sent
From Oonagh's crystal hall ;
Thy eyes the moonlight's flashing glance
Upon a waterfall ;
Thy hair the amber clouds at eve,
When lovers haste to woo ;
Thy teeth Killarney's snowy pearls,
My gentle Colleen Ruadh.
4. But drearily and wearily
The snow is drifting by,
And drearily and wearily"
It bears my lonely sigh ;
Far from this lonely Connaught town,
To Irniy's wave of blue,
To the homestead in the fairy glen,
And gentle Colleen Ruadh.
J. K CASEY (" Leo ").
This is a fine air and a high-class love song. As a combination I think
I am right in saying that air and song have never appeared in print till
now.
10
A SONG FOR THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS.
KEY G. Mofarato. Air : " Tho Peacock."
<:**
< The
d :
tri -
t, |1, :l,.t, d :d
June's tongue and po - et's
Ir
pen
:d.r
May
51
in
: PI
| PI .r
:d .r
Pi : s.
Is,
: PI .r
il
sow
the
seed
in
pros - trat?
men ;
But
j|
d
:t, ..1,
H.
:- .t,
d : - .m
Ir
:d .r
(I
'tis
the
sol -
dier's
sword a -
lone
Can
51
PI
: 1
|s ,m
: r m
d : 1,
1 1|
• in f
11
reap
the
crop
so
brave - ly
sown !
No
5|
S
:- .1
Is
: m .s
1 .S :P1 .f
Is
: 1 .s
il
more
I'll
sing
nor
i - dly
pine,
But
s
f
: Pi
Ir
:d_.r
PI : s,
Is,
: m .r
il
train
my
soul
to
lead a
line—
A
i
d
sol -
: Wi
dier'fe
111
life's
the
d : - .PI
life for
Ir
me —
:d .r
A
1
PI
: 1
| S .PI
: r .PI
d :1,
H.
II '
(
dier's
death,
'so
Ire - land's
free !
I
2. No foe would fear your thunder words
If 'twere not for our lightning swords —
If tyrants yield when millions pray,
'Tis lest they link in war array ;
Not peace itself is safe, but when
The sword is sheathed by fighting men.
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free I
11
3. The rifle brown and sabre bright
Can freely speak and nobly write —
What prophets preached the truth so well
As Hofer, Brian, Bruce, and Tell ?
God guard the creed these heroes taught, —
That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought,
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free !
Then, welcome be the bivouac,
The hardy stand and fierce attack,
Where pikes will tame their carbineers,
And rifles thin their bay'neteers,
And every field the island through
Will show " what Irishmen can do ! "
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free !
6. Yet, 'tis not strength, and 'tis not steel
Alone can make the foeman reel ;
But wisdom working day by day,
Till comes the time for passion's sway —
The patient dint, and powder shock,
Can blast an empire like a rock.
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free !
8. The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in slavish men ;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown.
No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine,
But train my soul to lead a line —
A soldier's life's the life for me —
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free !
THOMAS DAVIS.
This is one of Davis's fine songs. In the title I changed " Militia " to
" Volunteers." I hope the Volunteers of 1914 will make it a rallying song.
It is a fine, bold, manly air
KEY P.
12
THE WEXFORD MASSACRE.
1649.
Air : " The Maid of Wicklow."
( : d .r
m
: m
.,f :m .r m
: 1 .1 :
d .r
\
( 1. They
knelt
a
- round the Cross
di - vine— The f
(
PI
: m .
,f
: m .r
r :
:
d .r
)
1
ma
tron
and the
maid ;
They
i
(
m
: m .
,f
:m .r
m :
1 .1 :
1 .t
)
1
bowed
be
-
fore Re-
demp -
tion's sign, And )
/
d1
: t .
1
:R .t
1 :
_
1 .t
)
I
fer
vent
-
ly they
prayed ;
Three
1
(
d'
:t .
,1
:s .t
1 .s :
N
1 ,,t
)
i
him
- dred
fair and
help, less
ones,
Whose
>
d1
: t .
,1
:s .t
1 :
_
1 .,t
,
crime
was
this a -
lone —
Their
[
!
d1
vali
: t .
1
: R .t
1 .s :
sires and
m :
sons
d .r
1
ant
hus bands,
Had
{
m
bat
: r .
d
: t, .,d
for their
1, :
own.
- 1
tied
Had battled bravely, but in vain —
The Saxon won the fight ;
The Irish corses strewed the plain
Where Valour slept with Right.
And now that man of demon guilt
To fated Wexford flew —
The red blood reeking on his hilt,
Of hearts to Erin true.
13
3. He found them there — the young, the old,
The maiden, and the wife :
Their guardians brave in death were cold
Who dared for them the strife.
They prayed for mercy — God on high I
Before Thy cross they prayed,
And ruthless Cromwell bade them die
To glut the Saxon blade 1
4. Three hundred fell — the stifled prayer
Was quenched in woman's blood ;
Nor youth nor age could move to spare
From slaughter's crimson flood.
But nations keep a stern account
Of deeds that tyrants do ;
And guiltless blood to Heaven will mount,
And Heaven avenge it, too !
M. J. BARRY.
This is a beautiful and pathetic air and an equally pathetic ballad.
Even in this matter-of-fact, materialistic age there will be found few
dry eyes in any audience where this ballad shall be well sung.
14
THE SPINNING WHEEL.
\
KEY C.
Lively
•
Air:
a |
lAicineAC A beAti "beAg."
(:d' -d'
d1
Mel
:t .t |
- low the
1 : s .,s
moonlight to
d'
shine
: t
is
.t
be
in
- gin -
1
ning,
'"'}
»
llClose
. t
by
•t |
the
1 :s .S 11
win-dow young |Ei]
: 1
- een
.1
is
H
spinn
: 1 .
- ing;
1 5
t .t | 1 : s .s
o'er the fire her blind
d1
:t .t |d' :r'
grand-mother, sit - ting,
r . r
: s . s
m1
croon - ing and moan - ing, and
CHORUS.
in : 1 . 1 J 1 : t . 1
Mer - ri - ly, cheer - i - ly,
: 1 .1 I 1
(jSwings the wheel, spins the wheel, while the foot's stir - ring ;
m
: 1 . 1 | 1 : t . 1
: s . m 1 s
m : 1 .1 ! 1 : 1 .1
Thrills the sweet voice of the
t .d1 : t . s 1
: 1
drow - si - ly knit - ting :—
: s . i ' i | s : s
s
noise - less - ly whir - ring,
im .1 : 1 I 1 .1 : 1 it : t .s | 1 : 1
: s
(j Spright-ly, and bright - ly and (air - i - ly ring - i
ng
si
young maid-en sing - ing.
2. " Eileen, A 6apA, I hear borne one tapping."
' 'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping."
" Eily, I surely Tiear somebody sighing."
' Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying.'*
CHORUS.
15
3. " What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder ?
' 'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under."
" What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on,
And singing, all wrong, that old song of ' The Coulin ' ? "
CHORUS.
There's a form at the casement — the form of her true love —
And he whispers with face bent, " I'm waiting for yow. love ;
Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly,
We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly."
CHORUS.
6. The maid shakes her head, on her lips lay her fingers,
Steals up from the seat — longs to go, and yet lingers :
A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother,
Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other.
CHORUS.
6. Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round,
Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound ;
Noiseless and light to the lattice above her
The maid steps — then leaps to the arms of her lover.
CHORUS.
Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel swings ;
Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings ;
Ere the reel and the wheel stopped their ringing and moving ;
Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving.
JOHN FRANCIS WALLER, LL.D.
This air is extensively known through Kerry. With Waller's delightful
ballad it is sure to be a great favourite. It makes a very striking contrast
to the anglicised music-hall rubbish so commonly cheered at many of our
present-day Irish concerts.
Some notes in first three lines of music are required for verses othor
than the first. They are found without words in first verse.
16
JACKETS GREEN.
:d .r
When
ta,.s,
I
:d .t,
S |f_
was a ma
,P1 ' T
i • de
S i
.t, ;d
a ifai
S|
.t, : SL.J
r and
• ~* 1
young, On the)
:d .r )
plea -
m
sant
: s
banks
| f .m :
of
r .t,
Lee,
d .t.
: s, .f, |
No J
Si :s, .1, )
bird
ta,.8|
that
:d .t,
in
Is, :
the
3|
green
S|
wood
:- 1
sung Was i
:s, .1, >
half
ta,
heart
r
so
:- .s,
ne
: s
blithe
|ta,d :
'er beat
| fe.s :
and
r .m
with
1 .fe
free.
f
I .M
fly~-
s
:d_Jt, |
ing
:- 1
My >
d :d >
feet, No >
:s .f )
love
m
sang
:- .d
me
I f .m :
her
r .t,
queen,
d .t,
: s, .f, 1
Till >
«i :B, .1, )
down
1 ta,.s,
th
e glen
1 S|
rode
Sars -
S,
field's
: 1
men, And they/
II
I wore
the
jackets
green.
II
2. Young Donal sat on his gallant grey
Like a king on a royal seat,
And my heart leaped out on his regal way,
To worship at his feet.
Oh ! love, had you come in those colours dressed,
And wooed with a soldier's mien,
I'd have laid my head on your throbbing breast
For the sake of your jacket green.
17
3. No hoarded wealth did my love own,
Save the good sword that he bore,
But I loved him for himself alone,
And the colour bright he wore ;
For had he come in England's red,
To make me England's queen,
I'd rove the high green hills instead,
For the sake of the Irish green.
4. When William stormed with shot and shell,
At the walls of Garryowen,
In the breach of death my Donal fell,
And he sleeps near the Treaty Stone ;
That breach the foeman never crossed,
While he swung his broadsword keen
But I do not weep my darling lost,
For he fell in his jacket green.
5. When Sarsfield sailed away I wept
As I heard the wild ocon,
I felt, then, dead as the men who slept
'Neath the fields of Garryowen —
While Ireland held my Donal blessed,
And no wild sea rolled between,
Till I would fold him to my breast,
All robed in his Irish green.
6. My soul has sobbed like waves of woe,
That sad o'er tombstones break,
For I buried my heart in his grave below,
For his and for Ireland's sake.
And I cry, " Make way for the soldier's bride,
In your halls of death, snd queen,"
For I long to rest by my true love's side,
And wrapped in the folds of green.
18
7. I saw the Shannon's purple tide
Roll by the Irish town,
As I stood in the breach by DonaFs side-
When England's flag went down.
And now it glowers as it seeks the skies,
Like a blood-red curse between,
I weep, but 'tis not women's sighs
That will raise the Irish Green.
8. Oh ! Ireland, sad is thy lonely soul,
And loud beats the winter sea,
But sadder and higher the wild waves roll
From the hearts that break for thee.
Yet grief shall come to our heartless foes,
And their thrones in the dust be seen,
So Irish maids love none but those
Who wear the jackets green.
MICHAEL SCANLAN.
This delig tful ballad, w th its equally delightful plaintive, sweet air
is already a prime favourite in Gaelic League circles in London I'm
not sure that it always gets its proper setting. I have heard it simcr to a
very inferior mus^-,Jia.1111 «/• The above air is the true one. I am in-
debted to Annie O'Reilly for it.
KEY D.
19
JOHNNIE DUNLEA,
Air : "
:s.,s|d'
:t
:s |
f
:r
:
m
d :d
:d
|m :-
lere'sal tree
in
the
green-wood
I
love best
of
all—
t,
in.f
s
:f
:m |
f
:r
i
d
t| I S|
: 1,
1 f :-
it
stands by
the
side
of
Eas-
more's haunt-ed
fall;
r r
d
: r
:d |
d
:t,
:
d
r :m
:m
™t :-
or be-
side
it
while
sun
- set
shone
bright far
a -
way,
rit.
:r'
d1
:t
:s |
f
:r
t,
d :d
:d
Id :-
i
met
for
the
last
time
my
John-nie
Dun
-lea.
2. He stood by my side, and the love-smile he wore
Still brightens my heart, tho' 'twill beam nevermore ;
'Twas to have but farewell, then speed to the fray
'Twas a farewell for ever — my Johnnie Dunlea.
3. For the red Saxon soldiers lay hid in the dell
And burst on our meeting with loud savage yell «
But their leader's red life-blood I saw that sad day,
And it stained the good sword of my Johnnie Dunlea.
4. My curse on the traitors, my curse on the ball
That stretched my true love by Easmore's haunted fall ;
The blood of his brave heart ebbed quickly away
And he died in my arms there — my Johnnie Dunlea.
R. D. JOYCE, M.D.
This pretty traditional air was taken down from the singing of Mary
[allissy, a girl who lives a mile or two west of Macroom on the Bally-
ourney road. I link it with Robert Joyce's sweet song. Pronounce,
Dunlea," as if it were spelled "Dunlay."
20
MA CHOLLEEN DHAS DHOUN.
KEY C. Quick, but not too much so. Air : " CAiliti -oe^f j\«A-6."
<: m.f s : s : s | f
( I've looked on fair maid
: - : s .f m : - :
ens a many
f |r :
with calm
d :d i
, list-less)
(Id :-
:- 1- :
:d
n : d : d
|m :f
:sj>
i| eye;
*
Nor
, rail.
ev - en a
thought
of their)
5]ta :s
:f |s :d
\
[' : t
d1 :- :-
1- :
:d )
>
(| charms
hath cost me. a
sigh ;
Heart)
A tempo
rail ^
r :~
(| whole
: d.d | m : -
-f :s.l
ta : -.s : f
life free of
|S :d'
sorrows
:r' l
had ^
and un-car •
ing my
A tempo
i
\\ 'I : ~
:r'.d' | d1 :
- :t,s
f :- :s.f
|n :-
:f.f)
i\ run,
Till I gazed
on your
lips, row-an rud
dy, Ma)
jlr :d :d |d :-
(\ Choi - leen D^as Dhoun.
2. The year blooms in springtime ; the summer brings blooms brighter
still ;
And autumn's wild tints lend fresh glories to valley and hill ;
But winter chills all, save my heart, where love's ne'er setting sun
Keeps your charms abloom thro' all seasons, Ma Cholleen Dhas Dhoun..
3. Thy voice, like the stream in the forest, is music and joy,
Nor distance nor time can the bliss of that moment destroy,
When I poured out my tale ; your eyes' gentle light told I'd won,
My own little beaker of honey, Ma Cholleen Dhas Dhoun.
WILLIAM ROONEY.
This air, and the Irish song to which it is wedded (see " £uimi iiASmot,"
No. ft), is a prime favourite at Ballingeary Irish College. The air is here
wedded to one of Rooney's sweetest songs. William Rooney, whose death
at an early age, like that of Davis, was a grievous loss to his country, was
one of Ireland's most promising sons. He was a. man of genius, deep
learning, and ardent patriotism.
21
HOW PLEASANT, SWEET BIRDIES.
KEY C. Air: "Lovely Willy."
.s d1 : t : 1 s :m :m .s
f.
11
wake in
the >
!ow pleas - ant, sweet bird - ies, To
d :- :d'.r'
m : d1 : f .m1
r1 :s
true loves
:m.s }
dawn, And
sing to your
The )
d1 : d1 : r1 .t
same bough up-
d1 :- : d1 .r' PI' :d'
on ; Ah ! not| thus can
: f .m1 >
~TJ
r1 :s :m .s
whis - per To
d1 :d' rr'.t
my dar - ling
d1 :-
one,
:m .s ^
'Tia >
d1 : t : 1
far from each
S : m :m .s
o - ther We
f :m
wake in
:r )
the )
d :- I!
dawn.
; .
2 She's whiter than lily,
More fair to gaze on ;
She's more sweet than the violin,
More bright than the sun !
But better than all, is
Her mind high and free —
And, O Lord ! in the heaven !
Take anguish from me !
Translated from the Irish by DR. SIQERSON.
This lovely air is one of the sweet bits of music which I picked up in
the Macroom district. I here wed it for the first time to Dr. Sigerson'g
fine translation of a charming Irish song.
KEY C.
22
ADIEU TO ERIN.
Air : " An beinpn t«AC]\A."
<:s .d1,
r'lm1
: r1 .m1 |
f1 .m1 :r .m1
d1 :-.
t |s
:- .1 )
U -
dioa,
my
own green
E
rin,
Re- J
<ta
:- .1
Id1 .,r'
: m1 .d1
d1 .t :s .f
Is
: .s )
(i ceive
my
last,
my
fond a
dieu ;
i )
(in1
:r' m1
If1 in'
X .11
g I 1
d1
:t
|s .f
:m .d >
<|go,
but
with
me
bear
-
ing
A j
51 ta
:d'
|d' .t
:s .f
m
:d
Id
II -In I
<J heart
that
still
is
true
to
you.
{ The \
J|f
:- .m
If .,s
:1 .f Is
• ~ '
Is
:- .1 >
<! charma that
iia
ture) gave
thee
With >
51 ta
:- .1
1 d1 .,r
1 : m' .d1
d1 .
t : s .f
Is
:s .d',r')
<! la -
vish
hand
shall
cease to
smile,
And the)
<i*
0 ROUl
:r' .m'
I f • .m'
• r»l Ml'
d1
:t
Is .f
:m .d >
of
beau
- ty
leave
thee
Ere >
.< ta
:d'
I d1 .t
:s .f
m
:d
Id
II
for
get
my
own
green
Isle.
1
2.
Ye fields where heroes
bounded
To meet the foes of liberty,
Ye hills that oft resounded
The joyfttl shout of victory-
Obscured is all your glory,
Forgotten all your fame ;
Ami the minstrel's mournful story
Alone shall tell the hero's name.
23
3. But yet the day may brighten,
When those tears shall cease to flow,
And the sun of freedom lighten
Those spirits now so drooping low.
Then should the glad breeze blowing
Convey the echo o'er the sea,
My heart with rapture glowing
Shall bless the hand that set thee free.
CALLANAN.
This beautiful air was well known to the writers of Irish songs who
lived in the eighteenth century. A magnificent Irish song to this air is to
be found in " £uirm HA SinoL," No. 4, from the pen of Eoghan Ruadh.
This particular version of the air was given to the Editor by T. D. Sullivan.
The air and Callanan's words mako a beautiful combination. They were
apparently linked together, even in Callanan's time, as T. D. S. sang them
over sixty years ago.
DRIHAUREEN O MACHREE.
KEY E^- Fairly slow.
Air : " Jimmy mo iiiil/e
:,,,,;
d :r :PI in :d' :t .1
grieve when I think on the
s : 1
dear hap
» PI ^
- py >
r
days
:- :d
of
d :- :s Id1 :m
youth, When |all the
:PI. I
bright )
8
dreams
of this
d1 :- ir'.d'itl
1 :-
:s<ni,n
faith - less | world
seemed)
truth ;
:- is.l.tld1 :n :m
When I| strayed through the
s : 1
green wood
"- f
d'
gay
: r' d'«t
as a
1 : - : stm,r
mid - sum mer|
Pi :-
bee,
:ljt, )
111 >
bro
:- .r : PI
ther-ly
in : d1 : t . 1
love with my
8 1 :-
Dhrihau -
:n ,
- rcen )
t;
:- :d
Ala -
d :- ||
chrcc.
2. Together we lay in the sweet-scented fields to rest,
Together we watched the gay lark as ho sang o'er his nest,
Together we plucked the red fruit of the fragrant haw- tree,
And I loved as a sweetheart my Dhrihaureen O Machree.
3. His form was straight as the hazel that grows in the glen,
Hie m Miners were courteous, and social, and gay amongst men ;
His bosom was white as the lily on summer's green lea —
His God's brightest image was Dhrihaureen O Machree \
25
Oh ! sweet were his words as the honey that falls in the Bight,
And his young smiling face like the May-bloom was fresh and as bright ;
His eyes were like dew on the flower of the sweet apple-tree ;
My heart's spriv^g and summer was Dhrihaureen 0 Machree I
He went to the wars when proud England united with France ;
His regiment was first in the red battle charge to advance ;
But when night drew its veil o'er the gory and life-wasting fray,
Pale, bleeding and cold lay my Dhrihaureen 0 Machree !
]. Oh ! if I were there I'd watch over my darling's last breath !
I'd wipe his cold brow, and I'd soften his pillow of death ;
I'd pour the hot tears of my heart's melting anguish o'er thee !
Oh ! blossom of beauty ! my Dhrihaureen O Machree !
Perhaps in his death-pangs he wished that his loved one were near,
To clasp his cold hand with a fond-breathing prayer, and a tear !
As he gasped all neglected, with none but his Maker to see,
And pity, my poor dying Dhrihaureen O Machree I
8. Now I'm left to weep like the sorrowful of night,
This earth and its pleasures no more shall afford me delight ;
Ihe dark narrow grave is the only sad refuge for me,
Since I lost my heart's darling, my Dhrihaureen 0 Machree I
). My soul has exhausted its treasure of tears for my love !
He comes to my dreams from his home in the regions above ;
I long for the hour when my grief -worn spirit is free,
To meet in those regions my Dhrihaureen O Machree !
MICHAEL HOGAN.
(«• The Bard of Thomond.")
Dhrihaureen = A little brother.
This lovely air, first published by Dr. Joyce, is commonly found amongst
the traditional Singers of Munster. Singers will please note that the
syllable " hau " of the word " Dhri-hau-reen " is the accented syllable.
Consequently the first syllable " Dhri " must be sung on the grace note,
"soh," just as I have printed it. It must be sung quickly as a grace note.
56
THE GALLANT MEN OF NINETY-EIGHT.
KEY C. Spiritedly. Air : " Leather away the Wattle O."
spir-it
of our
d1 .d1 rdr'.m'r' .d1 :t .d'
fa-thers bright In spires our hearts to
jn'.f :m' .f Is1 .m1
firm un - ite, And (strike a
}
:f .r1 Id1 .,d' :s .in {_
- gain for |God and right, As )
Ns.lJJis .f
id the men of
5 If .,f :f .r1
\ |Ross could tell, And
m .d :d .d',r'
Nine-ty-Eight. When
m1 .m1 :m' .s',s'
Tub - ber- neer-ing and
man-y a Sax -on
:f .r1 d1 .,d' :s .m
in
sol
:- .d
dier,
foe - man fell, And
too !
i _j I ji
in1 .m i in • Q >
Wex-ford and New )
f jn' :r' .tn^f>
Car - new, Where)
fo 1 t • a f \
,8 . i <u . S .1 >
rnan-y an Ir - ish )
f'noRus.
<: -d',r'
<: .d',r' m1 ,m' : m1 .d1
' Hur - rah, brave boys, we|
f .f :f .r
vow to stand To-
m1 .in1 :n' .s1 >
geth-er for our)
fl f m1 : r1 .in',f j s1 ,n« : f .r' I d1 .,d' : s .in |
t fa - tlu-r - land, As | did the bold de ' vo - ted band, The)
<| f,s .] I, jb : s ,f
( gal - lant nu-n of
Nine
.d |d
ty- ! Eight.
27
2. Their altars and their homes they rose
To guard from ruthless tyrant foes,
Who reeled beneath the vengeful blows
For freedom dealt in Ninety-Eight.
The patriots' blood that reddened deep
The soil where fell they in their gore,
Their mem'ry green and fresh shall keep
Within our bosoms' inmost core.
CHORUS-
3. Then, let us here give three times three,
For those who fought for liberty,
As slaves could never bend the knee
The free-born men of Ninety-Eight !
Not they that bondsmen's yoke could bear,
While one stout pike could deal a blow,
Then by their memory let us swear
To meet once more the hated foe !
CHORUS.
B. MAGENNIS.
This rousing song I here link for the first time to the fine spirited air
BO well known to Irish singers. 1 have never heard the air sung to an
Anglo -Irish song. This is a marching song for the Volunteers. It will
Uot be long until song and air become favourites.
28
DEAR LAND OF THE SHAMROCK.
Ki.v D.
( : d1 I s :- .m : m
m
: r : m
Dear land of the sham-rock and
s : ro : m | m : -
sweet-smell-ing briar,
:d'
Deai
:m | m : r :m Id :-.
scenes of my child-hood, which! nev - er could tire 1
: d'.d'l s :- .m : m | m : r : n
When a| boy I picked beech nuts in
( : d'.d'j s : in : n | m : r : n
( Oh ! my| heart's in old Ire - land wher
s : m : m
wild Glen - a
ev - er
t I d1 : d1 : d1 | r1 : d1 . r'l m1 : d1 : 1
Yetjthough far a - way from that| dear be - lov'
d
I
dy
To
d1 :- .t : d1 | r1 : d1 : r1
of - fer up prayers to my
m1 :-'.r' :d' | r1 : d1 : t
chase from her borcl - ers the
ni1 : d' : J
co un- try's
| n : -
boe —
II, :-
go.
I s_Mn
d sod,
1 : -
God,
d1 : t : 1 | s :m
base for - eign foe ;
1 : d.d j r :- .d : r | m : ro : r Id
t For in y| heart's in old Ire - land wher| ev
1, : -.lil 1, :
er I go 1
2. And often I drank out- of Barranane's well,
In whose mirror of waters there lurks a bright spell ;
Tn' afflicted go there to find ease from their woe —
My heart's in old Ireland wherever I go.
29
And often I swam in the Blackwater tide ,
And roamed the sweet woodlands around Castle Hyde,
Where thro' the wild woodlands the Blackwaters flow —
Oh ! my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go.
3. In childhood I played in its pastures of green,
Where sweet crimson daisies can always be seen !
And wild-flowers whose moss-banks and shelters I kno'w-
Oh ! my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go.
Ah ! now to my sad heart what exquisite joy,
To stand once again on the bridge of Fermoy,
To look on the Blackwater rolling below —
Oh ! my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go ! .
But all my sad wanderings soon will be o'er,
And the land of my love I will never leave more ;
Though dark is her sorrow, and bitter her woe —
My heart's in old Ireland wherever I go.
And though far away from that dear belov'd sod,
I offer my prayers to my country's God,
To chase from her borders the base foreign foe — •
For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go.
ANON.
The words of this song were given to me by my friend, Jack O'Reilly,
of Macroom. Words and air make a fine, rattling air.
30
MOLLY MA STHORE.
( :d li
I As d,
KEY D.
:d Is :-
As [down
s .m :-
ev-en-
d1 :-
lit
1 .r1 :-
One
:s
The
: s
Made
vo-cal
( :s Id' :-
( They Isung
5 :s il.r':- :-
^ They I sung them
( :d Is :- :
\ Ah ! I Gra
s.m:- ;
Molly
Air : " 5]
1
m :- :s
l.r':- :-
i>y
Bann - a's
banks I
r :- :ro
d :- :-
ing in
May,
d1
m1 :- :r'
d1 :- : C
tie
birds, in
blith - e
-
d1 :- :1
s :- :-
ev - 'ry
spray ;
d1
mi •- : r1
d1 :- :d
their| lit - tie
notes (
;-
d1 :- :1
s :- :-
o'er and
o'er.
. 1
m :- : s
1 .r1:- :-
Ma-
chree ma
Cholleen
;-
r :— '. ro
d :- :-
veg Ma-
sthore.
mo 6j\oix>e,
d1 :-
strayed,
1 :-
notes,
of | love,
d1 :
Oge,
2. The daisy pied, and all the sweets
The dawn of nature yields —
The primrose pale, and violet blue,
Lay scattered o'er the fields ;
Such fragrance in the bosom lies
Of her whom I adore,
Ah ! Gra Machree, etc.
3. I laid me down upon a bank,
Bewailing my sad fate,
That doomed me thus the slave of love
And cruel Molly's hate ;
How can she break the honest heart
That wears her in its core ?
Ah 1 Gra Machree, etc.
'S t.
31
4. You said you loved me, Molly dear !
Ah ! why did I believe ?
Yet who could think such tender words
Were meant but to deceive ?
That love was all I asked on earth —
Nay, heaven could give no more,
Ah ! Gra Machree, etc.
6. Oh ! had I all the flocks that graze
On yonder yellow hill,
Or lowed for me the numerous herds
That yon green pasture fill —
With her I love I'd gladly share
My kine and fleecy store,
Ah ! Gra Machree, etc.
6. Two turtle doves, above my head,
Sat courting on a bough ;
I envied them their happiness,
To see them bill and coo.
Such fondness once for me was shown,
But now, alas ! 'tis o'er.
Ah ! Gra Machree, etc.
7. Then fare thee well, my Molly dear !
Thy loss I e'er shall moan ;
Whilst life remains in my poor heart,
'Twill beat for thee alone :
Though thoa art false, may heaven on thee
Its choicest blessings pour,
Ah ! Gra Machree, etc.
GEORGE OGLE.
In reference to this version of the well known air, I would like to say
that I got it from the Rev. T. Darcy, who was for many years stationed
in Sunday's Well, Cork. He took down the version fifty years ago from the
singing of an old woman in Co. Carlow, who was then nearly a hundred
years old. She had learned the version from her grandmother. We can
thus trace back the version nearly two hundred years. It is much
superior to the version usually sung.
32
OLD CORK BESIDE THE LEE.
KEY P. Slowly and tenderly. A:r : " The Irish Hautboy.1
f:d .1| |S|.,l|:d .r |m :d ,r,m f :ni .r |m .,d :!,.
(State-ly I cit-ies rise in spier dour o-ei the land where - in I dwell,
f .li,li |S|.,1| :d .r |m :s ,m,m r .,ro :r .d |d
( And they | wa-kon foelings ten-der in the hearts that love them well—
:d .1, s, .,1, :d .r |m :d .r,m
Frisco's Golden Gate way, Soiye
f :m .r |m .,d : 1,. \
Bos - ton or Jiew York, i
( But'l
mf.
j : s .8
(Yes, their
f .S,,S,
/FromwhL-li
8i.,li.'d .r |n :s .nini r .,n :r .d |d
vow I'd have them straightway Fora
glimpse of dear old Cork !
:d' .1,1 is ,,f :m .r |d .1, :1|.
d'.,t :1 .s 11
glories I'd ft - ban-don, oncea | gain the soil to s tand
djj :!,. )
j tand on )
d'.,t :1 .s |Kt :d'.l,l
rise the walls of Shan-don nearly
s ,n :r .d |d
known in youth to me,
:d .1, |S|. l,:d .r |n :d T,II f .,f :PI .r |tn ttd :!,.
tOr>cc a IgAHl toaee the Ci - ty wUerethe boys are brave and 'wit
5 -l,,l,
(And the
8|.,l(:d .r | m :» .n,m|r m :r .d |d
gtria are iweet andpret - ty In old | Cork beside the Lee !
33
2. Stately cities r:'se in splendour
O'er tho world from pole to pole-
But I never will surrender
That old city of my soul ;
She is neither Rome nor Venice,
Neither Boston nor New York,
But where'er my voico or pen is
Still I sing the praise of Cork!
Yes, wherever I may wander
I can feel my heart grow fonder
Of that old town over yonder
Far across the spreadirg sea,
Of that famous Irish city,
Whore the- boys are brave and witty
And the girls are s wee t and pre tty*
In old Cork beside the Lee 1
3. Shou'd our land again in splendour,
From her lowly state arise,
Flinging forth — may God defend her ! —
Her green banner to the skies.
Exiles homeward would be thronging,
Back from Boston and New York,
Just to satisfy their longing
For a sight of dear old Cork !
Ah, there would be no delaying,
Those who had for years bee a praying
On the Mardyke to go straying
As in days of youth and glee,
In that charming Irish city
Where the boys are brave ard witty
And the girls are sweet and pretty,
Dear old Cork beside the Lee 1
DENIS A. MCCARTHY.
Tin's sweet and tender air is taken from Petrie. The words have never
been published in any song book and have never been lin ked to any air
till now, as far as I know.
1-3
THREE THOUSAND MILES AWAY.
KEY C. Moderately quick.
Air: "An
f :n In :n
: 1 I
1 :s
: 1
d1 :-
t 1 1 ..-I t
•si. "A song? '' cries eaeh
bright -
eyed
fel
• - low,
(2. We'll |3ing of
the
great
de-
part -
- ed,
f :m'.n'
r' :-
,_ |
rl : n1
:rl
t :-
:r' |s :
•j Now
what
shall
we
sing
a - bout
I And the
val
-
leys
where
they lie — •
^ :s.s|n :1
:1 |
1 : s
:1
d> :-
: r' | m1 :
•j Shall we sing of
the
bound -
ing
bil
lows,
' The |brave and
the
fear -
less
heart
- ' ed,
5:r'
d1 :t
:1 |
t :1
:s
1 :-
:- 1-
Of
bat -
ties
or
of
rout ?
Who
taught
men
how
to die :
c : i
tn1 :-.
:n': |
r1 : m1
.rl
d1 :-
:d' |t :
0,
for -
eign
fields
where
Free -
dom wielc
C And
ev
'ry
man,
of
ev
'ry clan,
f :t
1 :-
:- I
1 :t
:1
1 :-
: s | m :
Her
sword
in
the
dead -
ly fray '
< We'll guard
his
mem
o - ry,
i :r.r
tn : 1
:1 1
1 ;s
:1 Id' :-
:r' In1 :
•JNo, we'll sing
of
thee,
dear Ire
land,
( Who
died on
the
green
hills| fight
ing
< :r' d' :t
:1
t |J.
:s
1 :-
:- l~ :
Three
thou
sand
miles
a -
way.
\ For Iro
land's lib
er -
ty.
35
3. We'll sing of the sunny meadows,
And we'll sing of the flowing streams j
Of the glens that sleep in shadows
That haunt us in OUF dreams ;
Of the dancing rills, and the high green hills,
And the fields we ne'er may see.
Then here's to the fields of Ireland,
With a hearty three times three.
4. Let your voices ring out cheering,
And drain your goblets dry,
To the men who died for Erin,
And to those who yet will die.
'Neath prison bars, or 'neath the stars,
In camp or garden gay,
We'll sing of thee, gr& geal machree,
Three thousand miles away.
MICHAEL SCAN LAN.
This ia an Irish-American song. It is * bright, stirring one. I link it
frith the " c6ifj\e " air and feel sure that it will become a favourite.
The air was got in Co. Cork amongst the traditional singers.
36
THE LINNET.
KEY E. Quick.
1 : S "f H :|11
( I've found a
lin - net
Air from Petrie.
|m .,r ; d .in
com - rade
5 : s •»?
( Wo
f :s .ta
( My
hold sweet con
1 .,s:m .d |r
heart, my ram
:s .1
He
crs.
ta
sits
Id'
on
the
ta.,1 : s < m < r| m
bios - somed spray
With-
ta : 1 , s , nil d1
rail.
f
in
the
:s_,,f in
And ov
hoi - low
I Hi %» /I
song - note
haunt
ed dell,
s :- .1 1 ta.,1
; s .ta
That
wild bird knows
and
loves me
d
well.
CHORUS.
crcs.
' ta
Sweet
:s
- net,
Id'
still
:5_!»1 |taj rs^rlm ,
sing Imer - ri ly, )
:s .1
Be-
ta
side
Li_i_i5l d'
the glit
t'ring
rail.
f
stream
:- -Mfs >
- let's shore, )
For
f : s .ta
1 of •
37
PI : ni | ro_.,r :d __.ro
love - bright dreams thou
1_^!i:|lL^ Ir :" -d
Ros - a - leen for
s :- .1 |ta.»l
bring'st to me
d :d |d
ev - er - more.
I
2. As I lie in my waking dreams,
And dreamy thoughts successive rise,
Down from the blooming bough he seems
To look on me with human eyes ;
And then he sings, — ah, such a song
Will ne'er be heard while seasons roll,
Save Rosaleen's voice, that all day long
In memory charms my heart and soul.
CHORUS.
Sweet linnet, still sing merrily
Beside the haunted streamlet's shore,
For many a dream thou bring'st to me
Of Rosaleen for evermore.
3. If souls e'er visit earth again,
With one my little friend's possessed ;
Each dulcet wild Elysian strain
Springs so divinely from his breast.
Those fairy songs — that earnest look —
Some minstrel's sprite it sure must be, —
Anacreon's soul or hers who took
The love-leap by the Grecian Sea.*
CHORUS.
Sweet linnet, still sing merrily
Beside the murmuring streamlet's shore,
For happy dreams thou bring'st to me
Of Rosaleen for evermore.
R. D. JOYCE, M.D.
* Sappho, the Greek poetess.
This beautiful air is taken from Petrie. Tenderness is the characteristic
quality of the melody, owing to the recurrence of the note " ta." Old
Irish singers used to repeat the last portion of the air. This song gives
me an opportunity of doing this. I repeat the second part of the melody
as a chorus. The song will be found to be a very suitable selection for the
air. The Rev. E. Gaynor some years ago made a different selection in
the following song of T. D. Sullivan.
38
MY HEART OF HEARTS.
1. Come on, come on, my heart of hearts,
Come fondly nigh to me;
Our hearth is bright this winter night,
Howe'er the skies may be.
Dark clouds have cloaked our darling moon,
There's not a star to see ;
My moon, my star, my sun you are,
And more than all to me.
2. Life's storms may bring us icy words,
And looks as cold as snow —
They'll melt before our cottage door,
We'll thaw them where we go.
They cannot touch our hearts of fire,
Or dim those eyes of blue,
Or e'er unfold the clasp I hold
My heart ol hearts of you.
3. Or let the winter last for aye,
Let its rain be hail ;
Let clouds the worst around us burst,
And wild words load the gale.
I still shall have a summer bright,
A flpwer of fairest hue,
And light and heat, and fruitage sweet,
My heart of hearts, in you.
T. D. SULLIVAN.
39
ROSE OF KNOCKMANY.
EY F|> Cheerfully, Air from
Petrie.
:s .f in :r :m |d :r :m f :m :f | s.s : -
- :d' >
Oh ! sure 'tis some fai - ry has set me con- trary,
No >
f :f :r | in :m :d
f :f :r |r :-
:fL_f)
more blithe and air - y I
sing as I go ;
No >
m : r : in | d : r : in
f • ,,, . f 1 q « .
1 •II • 1 | D *0 • *
• ^ \
long-er in clov-er, a
free - heart-ed rover
I >
t :-,t:s |f :f :r
in :-.d:d |d :-
:m.r )
lilt a light dit - ty or
shake a loose toe.
In >
d : in : s | d1 : t : d1
? :d' :t |d' :d'
:1 )
Lein-ster and Ul-ster, thro'
Con - nacht and Munster,
'Twas>
s : s : f | m : r : in
f :f :r |r :-
:_s .f )
I made the fun stir wher-
ev - er I strayed ;
And a)
1 in :r :m |d :r :m If :in :f |s.s:-
• d' )
; jov - ial - ler fel - low, whilel'so - ber or mellow,
Ne'er)
t :t :s |f :f :r
tn :- .d : d | d : —
tossed off a jor - um or
wooed a fair maid.
2. Till once in the Maytime, the tuneful and gay time —
I fear 'twas the fay time from eve to the dawn — -
I played for a maiden, with hair simply braiden,
With eyes of soft lustre and grace like a fawn.
Those eyes while she listened, thro' dewy drops glistened,
Or sparkled like gems in the light of the moon ;
Some witchcraft was in it ! for since that bless'd minute,
I'm like poor young Johnnie who played but one tune.
3. For whether I'm strolling where billows are rolling,
Or sweet bells are tolling o'er Shannon or Lee ;
My wild harp when sweeping, where fountains are leaping,
At lone Gougane Barra, or storied Lough Neagh —
To priest or to peasant, no matter who's present,
In sad hours or pleasant, by mountain or stream,
To the careless or cannie, to colleen or granny, — -
Young Rose of Knockmany is ever my theme.
CHARLES J. KICKHAM.
40
THE IRISH REAPER'S HARVEST HYMN.
KEY D. Moderately. Air : " fte*it> cnoc tmiA
1 All"
d1 :t :
hail ! Ho -
{:r |m s :s : t
Smile (down, bless - ed
J:BJI
( Who
l~&
d : d : Pi.,d
wan - ders a-
t ; 1 .s :m.r
Ma - ry! be
REFRAIN.
( :s .m
I "Be
j:jrLd|
( But
d : d : nud
with me, O
PI :d :sjn
Ma - rv, our
1 : s : - .m
Queen ! on the
r :d :m.s
way from his
PI : d : s.m
with me wher-
r :d : m .s
Ma - ry ! For-
t : 1 ,s :m.r (PI :d : s .m
guide me and (guard me wher-
r : d id
hope and our
r :PI :s.l
poor Ir - ish
1 : t : r1
dear be - loved
r :d :d
ev - er
1 :t :r'
sake me not,
r :d :d
ev - er I
joy!
S
boy
d1
home ;
d :-
roam.
d1 :-
Ma -
.HI )
r;,!
go.
2. From the home of my fathers in anguish I go,
To toil for the dark-livered, cold-hearted foe,
Who mocks me, and hates me, and calls me a slave,
An alien, a savage — all names but a knave.
But blessed be Mary !
My sweet, holy Mary !
The bo-oAc he never dare call me a knave.
41
3. From my mother's mud sheeling an outcast I fly,
With a cloud on my heart and a tear in my eye ;
Oh ! I burn as I think that if Someone would say,
" Revenge on your tyrants ! " but, Mary I pray
From my soul's depths, O Mary !
And hear me, sweet Mary !
For union and peace to old Ireland I pray.
4. The land that I fly from is fertile and fair,
Arid more than I ask or I wish for is there,
But I must not taste the good things that I see —
There's nothing but rags and green rushes for me.
O mild Virgin Mary !
O sweet Mother Mary !
Who keeps my rough hand from red murder but thee ?
5. JBut sure in the end our dear freedom we'll gain,
And wipe from the green flag each SAf AIIAC stain,
And oh ! holy Mary, your blessing we crave !
Give hearts to the timid, and hands to the brave ;
And then, Mother Mary !
Our own blessed Mary !
Light liberty's flame in the hut of the slave !
JOHN KEEGAN.
This beautiful song of Keegari's has till now been unfortunately wedded
to what is simply a music-hall modern air. I link it now to an air worthy
of it, which is a traditional one, taken down from the singing of Mrs.
Danny Warren, of Toames, near Macroom. She is, in my opinion, the
sweetest traditional singer I met. As there are six lines in the verses of
the song I repeat for the last two lines the second portion of the air.
This repatition waa a usual thing with old Irish singers.
DHRIMAN DHOUN DHEELISH,
KEY C. With feeling.
Air:
" T)y\uiinponn t)onn "oiLif.
f -m.,f!
s.d1:- :d'
.t d'.r':-
;
r'.,t
d1
:-.t :s.l >
< ~o7'
Dhrim-an dlu
jun dheelish f
the
land
- lord has )
i
s :
come,
Like a
fouf blast
-
of
t :
death
d1 :r'.,t)
has he )
I
/Ts
d' .,t
swept
^\
s .f :ni,,f
r :- :d«
home ; He
-,t
has
s :
with -
1 :r.,t,)
o'er our
ered our )
!
d
roof -
r :- .m
tree — be-
f :-.s:
neath the
1
cold
r :
sky,
rd1.,^)
Toor, )
/•s
/CN
(
1
• r1 d1 • I1)1 r1
d1 t • s f *
n
,f
r :
d :- .d )
i
house
- less, and
home - less,
to
-
night
must we )
j
d
:- II
•s
1
lie.
II
2. My heart it is cold as the white winter's snow ;
My brain is on fire, and my blood's in a glow.
0 ! Dhriman dhoun dheelish I 'tis hard to forgive
When a robber denies us the right we should live.
3. With my health and my strength, with hard labour and toil,
1 dried the wet marsh and I tilled the hard soil ;
I moiled the long day through, from morn till even,
And I thought in my heart I'd a foretaste of heaven.
4. The summer shone round us above and below,
The beautiful summer that makes the flowers blow ;
O ! 'tis hard to forget, it, and think I must bear
That strangers shall reap the reward of my care.
43
6. Your limbs they were plump then — your coat it was silk,
And never was wanted the mether of milk ;
For freely it came in the calm summer's noon,
While you munched to the time of the old milking croon.
6. How often you left the green side of the hill,
To stretch in the shade, and to drink of the rill !
And often I freed you before the grey dawn,
From your snug little pen at the edge of the bawn.
7. But they racked and they ground me with tax and with rent,
Till my heart it was sore, and my life-blood was spent :
To-day they have finished, and on the wide world,
With the mocking of fiends from my home wai I hurled.
8. I knelt down three times for to utter a prayer,
But my heart it was seared, and the words were not there ;
O ! wild were the thoughts thro' my dizzy head came,
Like the rushing of wind through a forest of flame.
9. I bid you, old comrade, a long last farewell,
For the gaunt hand of famine has clutched us too well ;
It severed the master and you, my good cow,
With a blight on his life, and a brand on his brow.
JOHN WALSH.
The title of this moving ballad is generally applied allegorical ly to
Ireland. Here it is used in its literal sense as the favourite name in Ire-
land for a cow. The ballad enshrines one of the saddest social facts of
our history and deserves a place in any collection of folk-songs which have
any pretensions to be racy of the soil.
The writer of this ballad was a Cappoquin man
MY NIAL BAWN.
KEY A. Tenderly.
Old Traditional Air.
5 • HI .S|
i.
111
Hi
:s,.l,|d :
d
|r
)
< "He"
has
no
gold
but the| gold that
shines j
j :d_.r In
:r .d
Hi
: 8| .m, 1 s, :
•i
I
I
* In those] bright
, those
clus -
ter - ing| tress -
es;
'
5 : n, .s,
i,
il.
Hi
: 8|.1|
d :
d
|r
I
* There's
nei -
ther
rank
nor
power for
him
'
<:d.r in
:r .d
Hi
:l.
1, :
1,
1
\
nVhom this| fond
heart
wild
- ly
bless -
e».
}
\ :P1
S
: m
l«
:r .d
p :
r
|r
\
< But,
oh!
there's truth,
and
power,
and
love
)
5 : d .r
t For my
m
Ni -
:r .d
al's
Hi
king
: s, .m,
s, :
dower ;
—
i
}
- iy
f :«VS|
1,
'll
Hi
ISj^l,
d :
d
If
I
< And
ne'er
was
King
so
» •
dol
- ised
}
( :d .r
m
:r .d
H,
:1,
1. :
-
1
\\
( fn the
day
of his
high
- est
power.
II
2. To have no hope in the wide, wide world
But all that's round him clinging ;
There's neither life nor joy for me
Unless from his fondness springing.
I never think of pain or woe,
For life can bring no trial,
Which angels e'en could guard me thro'
More tenderly than Nial.
45
3. His soul is soft as a morn of May
But strong as the deep, deep ocean — •
With passions wild as the storm and flamo,
For deeds of high devotion.
Oh ! fierce and brave is my own dear love,
The wrong and the foe defying ;
But his voice is low and sweet to me
As winds in the springtime sighing.
4. Bright blessings fall on my Nial Bawn !
I know his love outpouring ;
And there's no joy on earth for me
Like the joy of thus adoring.
Oh ! my heart has love — such deep, deep love !
To falf in refreshing shower?,
That all around will look bright and green
Thro1 our life's long golden hours !
" EVA " of the Nation.
(Miss MARY EVA KELLY.)
This is a woman's song. The air above printed is a very well-known one
in the South of Ireland. I have heard three versions of it, but they differ
little from one another. It is in the "gapped" scale, having neither
the note " fah " nor " £." This is, according to authorities on Irish
music, the oldest form of the gapped scale. I have heard this air called
" Slievenamon." The only reason why it should be so called is because
the Rev. E. Gaynor selected for it years ago a song of Kickham's which
I give below.
THE MAID OF SLIEVENAMON.
Alone, all alone, by the wave-wash'd strand,
And alone in the crowded hall ;
The hall it is gay, and the waves are grand,
But my heart is not here at all :
It flies far away, by night and by day,
To the times and the joys that are gone ;
And I never can torget the Maid I met
In the valley near Slievenamon.
2. It was not the grace of her queenly air,
Nor her cheek of the rose's glow,
Nor her soft black eyes, nor her flowing hair,
Nor was it her lily-white brow.
'Twas the soul of truth, and of melting ruth,
And the smile like a summer dawn,
That stole my heart away, one soft summer day,
In the valley near Slievenamon.
3. In the festive hall, by the star-watch'd shore,
- My restless spirit cries :
" My love, oh my love, shall I ne'er see you more ;
And, my land, will you ne'er uprise ? "
By night and by day, I ever, ever pray,
While lonely my life flows on,
To see our flag unrolled, and my love to enfold,
In the valley near Slievenamon.
CHARLES J. KICKHAM.
KEY Q.
WILLY REILLY.
:d
Oh !
m .,m :d .,1, |r : d .,1,
rise up Wil - ly Reil - ly, and
s, .,1, :d .,d |d
come along with me
,5
m .,r : m ,,s | 1 : s .,1
mean for to go with you,
.,d :r ,,d I 1, )
e this counter - ie, )
d .,
and leave this counter
To
m .,r :m .,s [1 : s .,1
leave my father's dwell - ing, his
d .,d : r .,d | 1
houses and free land '
:d.,r
And a -
m .,m :d .,1, | r :d .,1,1 s, ,,1, : d ,,d | d II
way goes Wil-ly Reil - ly and' his dear Col-leen Bawn.\\
2. They go by hills and mountains, and by yon lonesome plain,
Through shady groves and valleys all dangers to refrain ;
But her father followed after with a well-arm'd band,
And taken was poor Reilly and his dear Colleen Bawn.
3. It's home then she was taken, and in her closet bound,
Poor Roilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground,
'Till at the bar of justice before the Judge he'd stand,
For nothing but the stealing of his dear Colleen Bawn.
4. " Now in the cold, cold iron my hands and feet are bound,
I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the ground,
But all the toil and slavery I'm willing for to stand,
Still hoping to be succoured by my dear Colleen Bawn."
5. The jailor's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did say,
" Oh ! get up, Willy Reilly, you must appear this day,
For great Squire Foill-ard's anger you never can withstand,
I'm afeer'd you'll suffer sorely for your dear Colleen Bawn»
48
' This is the news, young Reilly, last night that I did hear,
The lady's oath will hang you or else will set you clear."
" If that be so," says Reilly, " her pleasure I will stand,
Still hoping to be succoured by my dear Colleen Bawn."
7. Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suit of green,
His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to be seen ;
He's tall, and straight, and comely as any could be found,
He's fit for Foillard's daughter, was she heiress to a crown.
8. The Judge he said, " This lady being in her tender youth,
If Reilly has deluded her she will declare tho truth " ; .
Then, like a moving beauty bright, before him she did stand,
" You're welcome there, my heart's delight, and dear Colleen Bawn.
9. *' Oh, gentlemen," Squire Foillard said, " with pity look on mo,
This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family,
And by his base contrivances this villainy was planned,
If I don't get satisfaction I'll quit this Irish land."
10. The lady with a tear began, and thus replied she :
"The fault is none of Reilly's, the blame lies all on me ;
I forced him for to leave his place and come along with me,
I loved him out of measure, which wrought our destiny."
11. Out bespoke the noble Fox, at the table he stood by,
" Oh, gentlemen, consider on this extremity ;
To hang a man for love is a murder you may see,
So spare the life of Reilly, let him leave this counterie."
12. Good, my lord, h.3 stole from h?r her diamonds and her rings,
.old watch and silver buckles, and many precious things,
Which cost me in bright guineas more than five hundred pounds—
1 11 have the life of Reilly should I lose ten thousand pounds."
13. " Good, my lord, I gave th^m a<3 a token of true love,
And when we are a-parting I will them all remove,
If you have got them, Ileilly, pray send them home to me."
" I will, my loving lady, with many thanks to thee."
14. " Thore is a ring among them I allow yourself to wear,
With thirty locket diamonds well set in silver fair,
And as a true-love token wear it on your right hand,
That you'll think on my poor broken heart when you're in foreign
lands."
15. Then out spoke noble Fox : " You may let the prisoner go,
The lady's oath has cleared him, as the Jury all may know ;
She has released her own true love, she has renewed his name,
May her honour bright gain high estate and her offspring rise to
fame."
This is a very sweet, quaint old air. I got it from the Rev. T. Darcy,
but I often heard it in my youth. It is in the " two-strain " form, and in
the oldest form of the " gapped " scale, having neither " fah " nor " t "
note. The song is a North of Ireland one. I heard it sung by a little
girl in Co. Fermanagh last year (1913), but not to its proper air.
50
OH ! LIMERICK IS BEAUTIFUL,
KEY C. Moderately and affectionately.
( td ir
M : - i- .w 1 H
:-.r:m s :- :t
U s--»:n I
1 Oh!
Lira - e - rick is beau - ti
. ful Aa )
eld :-
:r |d :-
• ^i
d :- :-
1 : :B I
lev' - -
ry- bod
y
knows,
And )
fby ^
:1 |1 :s
:m
y
d' :- :r'
of my
Id' ;t :1 >
heart How)
that cit - -
ils :-
:m |m :r
:d
r : - :•-
| : :s >
(| proud
old Shan -
non
flows 1
it >
ll1 ;"
: 1 1 1 : s
:m
d1 :- rr1
Id1 : t : 1 )
(j sweeps
down by
the
brave old
town As )
1|S S-
:m |n :-.r
:d
r :- :-
| : :d.r|
^1 pure
in depth
and
tone
As when)
JL::
:m |m :r
:n
the
s ;- :t
Sax - ons
Jl :s :m )
field swept
from Tho V
<|d :-
:r |d :-
:t, Id :- :-
I
C walls
of Gar -
ry- | owen.
1
2. 'Tis not for Limerick that I sigh —
Though I love her in my soul, —
Though times will change and friends will die,
And man will not control ;
No, not for friends long passed away,
Or days for ever flown,
But that the maiden I adore
Is sad in Garryoweu.
51
3. Oh ! she T love is beautiful,
And world-wide is her fame ;
She dwells down by the rushing tide,
And &\]\e is her name ;
And dearer than my very life
Her glances are to me,
The light that guides my weary soul
Across life's stormy sea.
4. I loved her in my boyhood,
And now in manhood's noon,
The vision of my life is still
To dry thy tears, arooh ;
I'd sing unto the tomb, or danco
Beneath the gallows tree.
To see her on the hills once more
Proud, passionate, and free.
MICHAEL SOANLA.N.
There is another song of this name which ia much inferior to this
beautiful song of Scanlan's. The writer of this song is an Irish-American,
and is one of our best song- writers. The air ia a vary pretty version of
" Iri^h Molly O."
52
MUSIC IN THE STREET.
KEY C. A little slow and pathetic. Air : " UACA
41
{"
.f
f .m
:d .,r |n
: s .tn ,s >
It
rose up -
on the sor •
did street, A )
f .m
:d
.,d Id
: .d )
ca - dence sweet
and lone ;
Through )
m .f
:s
.d1 | d1 .,r'
:£' .,8 I
all the vul -
gar din it
pierced, That >
1 .1
:ta
.1 tails
: .d )
low me - lo -
dious tone.
it I
PI »I
: s
.d1 |d' .,r'
:ff- .,d« >
thrilled on my
a - wak - en'd
ear A )
1 .d1
;ta
.ltal|s .,f
:m .s ^
mid the noi
sy mart,
Its )
f .m
:d
.d | m .,d'
:s .m ,s )
mu - sic
0 -
ver ev - 'ry
sound Vi - )
f .m
:d
,d |d
:
bra - ted
in
my heart.
2. I've heard full oft a grander strain
Through lofty arches roll,
That bore on the triumphant tide
The rapt and captive soul.
In this the breath of my own hills
Blew o'er me soft and warm,
And shook my spirit as the leaves
Are shaken by the storm.
3. As sounds the distant ocean wave
Within a hollow shell,
I heard within this far-off strain
Ube gentle waters swell
53
Around my distant island shore,
And glancing through the rocks,
While o'er their full and gliding wave
The sea-birds wheeled in flocks.
4. There, through the long delicious eves
Of that old haunted land
The Naiads, in their floating hair,
Yet dance upon the strand ;
Till near and nearer came the sound,
And swelled upon the air,
And still strange echoes trembled through
The magic music there.
6. It rose above the ceaseless din,
It filled the dusty street,
As some cool breeze of freshness blows
Across the desert's heat.
It shook their squalid attic homes — •
Pale exiles of our race —
And drew to dingy window panes
Full many a faded face.
6. And eyes whose deep and lustrous light
Flashed strangely, lonely there,
And many a young and wistful brow
Beneath its soft brown hair ;
And other eyes of fiercer fire,
And faces rough and dark —
Brave souls ! that bore thro' all their lives
The tempests on their bark.
7. In through the narrow room it poured,
That music sweeping on,
And perfumed all the heavy air
With flowers of summers gone,
With waters sparkling to the lips,
With many a summer breeze,
That woke into one rippling song
The shaken summer trees.
8. In it, along the sloping hills,
The blue flax blossoms bent ;
In it, above the shining streams,
The " Fairy Fingers " leant ;
In it, upon the soft green Rath,
There bloomed the Fairy Thorn j
In their tired feet they felt the dew
Of many a harvest mom.
54
9. In it, the ripe and golden corn
Bent down its heavy head ;
In it, the grass waved long and sweet
Above their kindred dead ;
In it, the voices of the loved,
They might no more behold,
Came back and spoke the tender words
And sang the songs of old.
10. Sometimes there trembled through the strain
A song like falling tears,
And then it rose and burst again
Like sudden clashing spears ;
And still the faces in the street,
And at the window panes,
Would cloud or lighten, gloom or flash,
With all its changing strains.
11. But, ah ! too soon it swept away,
That pageantry of sound,
Again the parted tide of life
Closed darkly all around.
As in the wake of some white bark,
In sunshine speeding on,
Close in the dark and sullen waves,
The darker where it shone.
12. The faces faded from my view,
Like faces in a dream ;
To its dull channel back again
Crept the subsiding stream.
And I, too, starting like the rest,
Cast all the spell aside,
And let the fading music go —
A blossom down the tide.
ANONYMOUS.
The above air is one of the sweet old traditional bits of music which I
picked up in the Macroom district, Co. Cork. It starts off in a very un-
usual way. The song was suggested by hearing " Patrick's Day " and
44 Garryowen " played on the 4th of July by the band of the 60th Regiment
in the streets of New York. I don't know the author, but he was a poet
of no mean order.
55
REMEMBER THEE.
KEY C.
f:s.,l d1
:- .r':m' .r1 d1 :- .t :1 .s
s : 1
( Re- mem
- ber thee! yes, while there's
3 life in
(Id' :-
( 1 heart
:s .,1
It shall
d1 :~ .r1 : PI' .r1 |d' :t
nev - er for - I get theo,
(is :H
< 1 lorn as
i r .,d
d : - : d .,r
art, More
PI :s
dear in
thou
( 1 1 . s : PI
:d .r
PI : s : 1 .,ta
1 :-
( 1 Bor - row,
thy
g'oom and thy
show'rs,
(id1 '— .r' t Pi' .r'
d1 : t : 1
s :PI
(| rest
of the
world in their
eun - ni
,|d :-
( 1 hours.
: d1 )
this >
all
.,ta
i
thy >
the)
••*•>*}
- est )
Than
2. Wert thou all that I w:'sh thee, great, glorious, and free —
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea,
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow,
But, oh ! could I love thee more deeply than now ?
3. No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it rune,
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons, —
Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nost,
Drink love in each life-drop that flews from thy breast.
THOMAS MOORE.
56
IRISH MOLLY. O!
KEY Eb- Moderately and Quietly.
< : m 1 r : - : d | r : - : n 1 : - : s I m : : n )
( Oh ! 1 fair - er than the HI - y tall, and)
<|r :- :d | 1, :- : 1,
"ill sweet - er than the*
1, :- :- 1- :- :1 )
rose, As )
1|1 :- :t Id1 :- :t
<| mod - est as the
1 :- :s |s :- :1 )
vi - o - let in )
<|m :- :r | d :- :r
(jdew - y dell that
m :- :- |-.:- :1 )
blows ; With)
<\l :- :t |d' :- :t
1| heart as warm as
1 :- :s |s :- :1 >
&um - mer noon, and )
<||ti :- :r |d :- :r
(j pure as win • ter
m :- : - |- :--:m )
snow — The )
dp : - :d |r :- :m 11 :- :s | in :- :m >
^| pride of E - rin'sj isle is she, dear )
<ir :- :d |1, :- : 1,
)| I - rish Jlol - ly
1, :- :- 1- :- 1
0!
2. No linnet of the hazel grove than she more sweetly sang,
No sorrow could be resting where her guileless laughter rang,
No hall of light could half so bright as that poor cabin glow
Where Shone the face of love and grace of Irish Molly (>
67
5. But fever's breath struck down in death her father strong and bravo
And who should now his little ones from want and sorrow save 2
" Oh ! never fear, my mother dear, across the seas I'll go,
And win for ye a new home there," said Irish Molly O.
4. And far away 'mid strangers cold she toiled for many a year,
And no one heard the heart-wrung sigh or saw the silent tear,
But letters fond the seas beyond would kind and constant go,
With gold won dear, and words of cheer, from Irish Molly O.
6. And one by one she sent for all the loved ones o'er the foam,
And one by one she welcomed them to her fond heart and home,
And last and best her arms caressed the aged head of snow —
" Oh, mother, we'll be happy now ! " said Irish Molly O.
6. Alas, long years of toil and teais had chilled her young heart's glow,
And grief and care had blanched her hair and stilled her pulses flow,
And when the spring bade wild birds sing and buds in beauty blow —
They made your grave where willows wave, poor Irish Molly O.
FKANCIS A. FAHY.
This is one of several, which I intend to give, of Frank Fahy's charming
songs. Some of his songs are copyright in London Publishers with whom
I cannot afford to deal, and who have set some, at least, of Mr. Fahy's songs
to airs which are anything but Irish.
58
KEY 0.
NATIVE SWORDS.
Air : " The Boyne Water."
( We'
We've
bent too long to
s
( If ;m .r |1 .s :f .m
( I force our prayers de-
rid
m |d :r.m >
brag - gart wrong, While'
;- .d | 1, : s
- ed ; We've
(II 1'ljsM'* :t*L |i_Lf :rl_£ 'd : r -m >
( I fought too long, our -| selves a - mong, By >
"8 \
U - )
f : m .r | 1 .s : f .m
knaves and clans di -
|r
ded.
(II : l^1 | r' : - .m1
( | ni - ted now, no
:1 .r1 |rLd' : r' .m1
dis-
1
fao - tion we
d1 : d« |d' : 1
now thank God ! our
: - .d1 | 1 : s
we'll bow, Foul
: - .d1 | 1 : t
i
card
it;
And
s_._f : s .PI |d : r .PI ^
na - tive sod Has >
f : m .r | 1 ^ : f .m
Na - tive Swords to
r
guard
|r
it.
59
2. Like rivers which, o'er valleys rich,
Bring ruin in their water,
On native land, a native hand
Flung foreign fraud and slaughter.
From Dermod's crime to Tudor 's time
Our clans were our perdition ;
Religion's name, s"ince then, became
Our pretext for division.
3. But, worse than all, with Lim'ricks fall
Our valour seem'd to perish ;
Or o'er the main, in France and Spain,
For bootless vengeance flourish.
The peasant, here, grew pale for fear
He'd suffer for our glory,
While France sang joy for Fontenoy,
And Europe hymned our story.
4. But now, no clan, no; factious plan,
The East and West can sunder —
Why Ulster e'er should Munster fear,
Can only wake our wonder.
Religion's crost, when union's lost,
And " royal gifts " retard it ;
But now, thank God ! our native sod
Has Native Swords to guard it.
THOMAS DAVIS.
This fine air has too long been left to the monopoly of an Orange faction.
Let ib be sung henceforth in every parish thro' the land to Davis's stirring
words. It is also now fortunately wedded to one of the finest songs ever
written in the Irish language. This song may be found in No. 1 of the
series entitled " t?ui"" HA Srn6l," which I published in 1913. " Tlofc
CACA tiA tttuiviAn " is the name of the song.
60
GAL WAY BAY.
KEY E^. Plaintively.
Air : " Irish Molly O."
{ '"is
r : - :
far
a - way
- : PI .1 : - : s
I am to
|m :-
- day
:d )
From)
(I r : - id
I) scenes I
*l • "
roamed
a
1, :- :-
boy,
1- :-
And)
<|1 :
11 long
.t
a -
Id' :-
g°
: t
the
1 :- :t
hour I
|s :-
know
",}
H fii^T
s : m
saw
Id i-
ii
: -.r
in -
ois ;
l-x'-
But>
t| Time
: t
nor
Tide
:t
nor
1 :- : t
wa - ters
|s :-
wide
Can)
(11 : -,s :
<| wean
1 : -,s :m |d :
my heart.
er true
d |1| :
dear Gal
it
way,
flies
s
to
you,
1, 11, :-
way! Bay.
m >
For >
d \
My J
2. My chosen bride is by my side, her brown hair silver-grey,
Her daughter Rose, as like her grows as April dawn to day ;
Our eldest boy, his mother's joy, his father's pride and stay — •
With gifts like these I'd live at case were I near Galway Bay.
61
3. A prouder man I'd walk the land in health and peace of mind,
If I might toil and strive and moil, nor cast one thought behind ;
But what would be the world to me, its rank and rich array,
If memory I lost of thee, my poor old Galway Bay.
4. Oh, grey and bleak, by shore and creek, the rugged rocks abound,
But sweeter green the grass between than grows on Irish ground,
So friendship fond, all wealth beyond, and love that lives alway,
Bless each poor home beside your foam, my dear old Galway Bay.
6. Had I youth's blood and hopeful mood and heart of fire once more,
For all the gold the earth might hold I'd never quit your shore ;
I'd live content whate'er God sent, with neighbours old and grey,
And lay my bones 'neath churchyard stones beside you, Galway Bay.
6. The blessings of a poor old man be with you night and day,
The blessings of a lonely man whose heart will soon be clay ;
'Tis all the Heaven I'd ask of God upon my dying day —
My soul to soar for evermore above you, Galway Bay.
FRANCIS A. FAHY.
This air is " Irish Molly O." Compare it with the song of that name
on p. 56. It will be observed that this version has some beautiful turns
which make it a delightful song and give it a character of its own.
62
MY CEALLAIGH DHU ASTHORE.
KEY F. Air: " cSic ni -O
11
:m .r
d :1, |
S|.l, :t, .s, d :- .t,
|d.r
: m .d
A -
gain the
flow' - ry feet of
June
Have
f
: m .r I d .1(
'a,,!,*,!!, :- 1
;
m .r
tracked our cot
tagej side ;
And
d
:1, |8,.l,
:t,.s,
d :- .t, |
d .r
n -f
o'er
the waves the
tim - id
moon
Steals
3
:- .1 |n
: r
d :- .t, I
d ••
m .s
mi
-
ling
Iik3 a
bride :
But
|i
:f |r
:n .f
s : - .s |
PI
:d
1 what
were June
or
flowers to
me,
Or
(If :m_j; |d .1, ;8,«l,.t,| 1, .
( I waves, or moon, orl more,
T Id .1, ;8,«l,.t,|l. :- |
PI .8 )
But >
m .r )
ir >
il
d
rail.
"CeaT
nng
1, itr^B,
and
came
d :- .t, |d_.r ; w -f
brought not thee, My
:- .1 |m
:r
laigh
: - .t, |d
Dhu
sthore.
2. Let others prize their lordly lands,
And sceptres gemmed with blood,
More dear to me the honest hands
That earn my babes their food.
63
And little reck we queens or kings
When daily labour's o'er ;
And by the ev'ning embers sings
My Ceallaigh Dhu asthofe.
3. And when he sings, his every song
Is sacred freedom's own ;
And like his voice his arm is strong,
For labour nursed the bone :
And then his step, and such an eye 1
Ah, fancy ! touch no more
My spirit swims in holy joy
O'er Ceallaigh Dhu asthore !
4. His voice is firm, his knee is proud
When pomp's imperious tone
Would have the free-born spirit bowed,
That right should bow alone ;
For well does Ceallaigh know his due,
Nor ever seeks he more ;
Would heaven mankind were all like you,
My Ceallaigh Dhu asthore !
5. And Ceallaigh is an Irishman
In sinew, soul, and bone;
Not e'en the veins of old Slieveban
Are purer than his own :
The wing of woe has swept our skies,
The foreign foe our shore,
But stain or change thy race defies,
My Ceallaigh Dhu asthore !
6. What wonder, then, each word he said
Fell o'er my maiden day,
Like breathings o'er the cradle-bed
Where mothers kiss and pray.
Though dear your form, your cheek, and ey€f,
I loved those virtues more,
Whose bloom nor ills nor years destroy,
My Ceallaigh Dhu asthore.
7. Oh, could this heart, this throbbing thing,
Be made a regal chair,
I'd rend its every swelling string,
To seat you, Ceallaigh, there :
And oh, if honest worth alone
The kingly bauble bore,
No slave wert thou, my blood, my bone,
My Ceallaigh Dhu asthore.
FRANCIS DAVTS.
(The Belfast Poet.)
This sweet air is well known to students of the Munster Irish College
ftt Ballingeary. I link it for the first time with the fine song of Francis
Davis.
65
THE GIRL OF DUNBWY.
KEY C. Andante.
: .s
'TIS
d^r'id'.t
pret - ty to
1 :j3 .s d'.,t :d'.r' |n'
see the girl of Dun-bwy
Id' .,r'
:d' .t 1 1
ping the moun
:s .s '
1 :t .t |d'
state - li - ly,
I Step-
- tain
f .,1
:s .f |m
ged her gown,
: f ,m,r
d .,r :n .s |1
rag -
and
na - ked her feet,
d' .,r'
im'r'.dMU .,1
t :d' .f
- land to
in .,f :r .d |d
match her is meet.
I la -
dy in Ire
:jn .ra
Tho~
: s .s )
"No" >
2. Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies —
Yet a monarch might kneel for a glance of her eyes ;
The child of a peasant — yet England's proud queen
Has loss rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien.
3. Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams just as if
A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff —
And love, and devotion, and energy speak
From her beauty-proud eye, and passion-pale cheek.
4. But pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip,
And her teeth flash as white as the crescent moon's tip,
And her form and her step, like the red deer's, go past —
As lightsome, as lovely, as haughty, as fast.
5. I saw her but once, and I looked in her eye,
Anc^ she knew that I worshipped in passing her by ;
The saint of the wayside — she granted my prayer,
Though wo spoke not a word, for her mother was there.
THOMAS DAVIS.
1—4.
66
ARTHUR M'COY.
1798.
Aj?. Sweetly and fairly slow. Air: '* Aj\ OijMnti
j:d.r
t While the
m :
snow -
1|
flakes
of
d :
win -
f
ter
are
m :
fall -
'" 1
mg )
f " ^'
t, :
i.
:B,
d :
t,
:d
I" l
- ,
1 On
moun -
tain,
and
house -
top.
and
tree,
>
< :d .r
PI :
i,
: t|
d :
f
! r J-P1 :
m )
( Come
old -
en
weird voi -
ces
re- 1 call -
ing )
pi.
t, :
i,
:0i
t, :
d
:- .t,
d :
- ,
^ The
homes
of
Hy-
Fa -
iy
to
me.
>
K?Lf
< The
T
s :1 :
ram - bio
n -T
~by~
d :
riv -
t,
er
and
1, :
wild
11 -I
wooa,)
<:*.*
} The
s :
le -
ll
gends
of
d :
moun -
f
tain
:r
and
m
glen,
- I
1 :d .r
m :
i,
:t,
d :
f
:r
m :
m |
< When the
bright,
ma -
gic
mir -
ror
of
child -
hood j
t Made
t, :
he -
i,
roes
and
t. :
d
ants
:- .t,
of
d
men. 1
67
2. Then I had my dreamings ideal,
My prophets and heroes sublime,
Yet I found one, true, living, and real,
Surpass all the fictions of time :
Whose voice thrilled my heart to its centre,
Whose form tranced my soul and my eye ;
A temple no treason could enter —
My hero was Arthur M'Coy.
3. For Arthur M'Coy was no bragger,
No bibber, nor blustering clown,
'Fore the club of an alehouse to swagger,
Or drag his coat-tail through the town :
But a veteran, stern and steady,
Who felt for his land and her ills ;
In the hour of her need ever ready
To shoulder a pike for the hills.
4. As the strong mountain tower spreads its arms.
Dark, shadowy, silent, and tall,
In our tithe-raids and midnight alarms,
His bosom gave refuge to all.
If a mind clear, aad calm, and expanded,
A soul ever soaring and high,
'Mid a host — gave a right to command it —
A hero was Arthur M'Coy.
5. While he knelt, with a Christian demeanour,
To his priest, or his Maker, alone,
He scorned the vile slave, or retainer,
That crouched round the castle, or throne,
The Tudor — The G-uelph, The Pretender,
Were tyrants, alike^ branch and stem ;
But who'd free our fair land, amd defend her,
A nation, were monarchs to him.
6. And this faith in good works he attested,
When Tone linked the true hearts and brave,
Every billow of danger he breasted — •
His sword-flash, the crest of its wave •
68
A standard he captured in Gorey,
A sword-cut and ball through the thigh,
Were among the mementoes of glory
Recorded of A:i>hur M'Coy.
7. And he died for his love — I remember,
On a mound by the Shannon's blue wave,
On a dark, snowy eve in December,
I knelt at the patriot's grave.
The aged were all heavy-hearted —
No cheek in the churchyard was dry :
The Sun of our hills had departed —
God rest you, old Arthur M'Coy !
JOHN BOYLE (" PONTIAC ").
This music is a " Barony " (near Youghal) version of the widely-known
air. Of the half-dozen versions which I know this is the sweetest, after the
Ring version. Tho latter may be found in " £uinn HA StnoL," No. 4.
The air suits the above '98 ballad admirably. The ballad is a splendid
specimen of what a ballad should be. When will Irishmen learn to appre-
ciate the work of their own countrymen and taboo the inanities of the
Anglicised concert hall ?
69
MARY, THE PRIDE OF THE WEST.
Air: "Aj\ eijMtin ni '
1. The summer shines bright from the plain
To the hills where the clear rocks are piled ;
The birds sing a clear, joyous strain,
And the flowers are in bloom o'er the wild —
Bub a flower, all these fair flowers above
In sweetness, blooms deep in my breast ;
'Tis the lone flower of kindness and love
For Mary, the Pride of the West.
2. There's an ash-tree that blooms light and fair,
Where the linnets in May make their bower ;
There's a rose-bush beyond all compare,
By the walls of the grey mountain tower —
But how lovely soe'er that lone tree,
And the bush all in white blossoms drest,
As fair and as lovely is she
My Mary, the Pride of the West.
3. When she goes from the wild hills among
To the town on the verge of the plain,
Could you see her sweet face 'mid the throng,
You ne'er would forget it again ;
And the gallants who pass, when they see,
And the crowd, think her brightest and best,
And they ask who such fair maid can be,
My Mary, the Pride of the West !
4. When each night at her father's broad hearth
I sit near my love by the fire,
I have all that my heart or* this Earth
Can love, and desire, and admire :
Then her eyes, like two clear stars above,
With their kind looks on me often rest,
Till I'm wild, wild with fondness and love,
For Mary, the Pride of the West !
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
For the music see last song, page. 66.
70
THE COMING BRIDAL.
KEY P. Fairly slow.
JJ
( ]
i
i
i
i
!
i.r
m : d1 : t
1 : t .1
: s .1*
i 1 1 ., s :m
: m .r )
Where the)
'. V} »T )
Where the)
And the '
:n.p )
Vty home stands bj
d :r :^_-l,
broom bios - soms
m id1 :t
green beech - es
d :m .r :d .1,
r Fun - shion's brig
d :r :ro .fe
shine in the
1 : t .1 : s .m
ntj riv - er,
s :-
spring,
mur - mur and
t, :1, :1,
cool branch-es
d :r :m .fe
quiv - er,
1, <,:-
sing;
s :m
blue in
s :-
dells,
1 .,3 :m
birds 'mid
d :r
there, where
*3 \
stream as
m :d'
down by
d : ni .r
love in
their
:dj,
the
:t
it
:t
the
:d .1,
her
And >
The" >
:d.r ,
sky gleams
1 :t .1 :
so
s .m
winds thro;
1 :t_J. :
old cas -
t, :1, :
white cot -
the
s .m^
tie
tage
A- 1
:l,.t,)
ru - in,
dwells.
My >
2. The black whortle shines mid' the heather,
Where the wild deer in brown autumn rove,
And dark is the strong raven's feather,
But darker the locks of my love.
71
%
Two trees by the Fort of the Fairy,
A red rose" and white sweetly grow ;
Oh, the lips and the brow of my Mary
Outshine their pure crimson and snow.
3. No flocks hath she down by the island,
No red gold her coffers illume,
No herds on the brown moor or highland,
No meads where the sweet flowers may bloom ;
The old dame has herds by the wildwood ;
She'd give me green meads, herds, and gold,
But the young heart that loved me since childhood
Shall find me in manhood unsold.
4. Next Sunday the fires will be blazing
For the Baal-feast o'er mountain and plain ;
That morn village crowds will be gazing
With joy on our gay bridal train :
Could love half so blest ever falter,
When placed 'mid the throng side by side,
When there, at the old chapel altar,
The good priest will make her my bride ?
R. D. JOYCE, M.D.
I have seen three versions of this beautiful air. One of these I gave in
No. 4 of my Collection of Irish Songs, 1st Ed. I got that version from an
old lady in Cork, a traditional singer. I reprint it below. The above version
was taken down from another traditional singer.
KEY E[?. — \-time.
:l,.t, |d :t, :1, |t,.n :- .r :1, |t, :1, }
:d .r m :d' :t |1 .t :- .1 :n.f |s :- }
:d .r m :d' :t 1 1 .t :- .1 :m .1 |m :in .r }
:d .1, |P. .r :d.l, :t,.l, |1, :1, :1, |1, :- }
72
.r |d
.r |m
.r |m
:r .t, :1,
:d' :t
:d' :t
It, :r
1 1 ,t : - .1
:m
I :n -f
s
s
tn
:m }
:- )
:m .r }
|1 .t :- .
L :m<f<s
.1, |n .r :d .1, :t .,1
, ,
BOUCHALEEN DHOUN.
KEY P. Moderate. Air : " 'OjxoiceA'o HA UUAii\e."
j:d^r|m :1 :s II :d :rj?|li • s( :d.r
( My I true love he Idwells on the Imoun-tains, Like £
, Like a)
rim :s ; m .,d I r :d :d Id :- :d.r|
( | war - ea - gle I fear - less and ' free, By the)
( n.
( side
of
:s
the
1
low
:d
tun
:r .d
- ing
i,
foun
- tains That >
I "
( wan
: s
- der
:m .,d
thro'
r
wide
:d
An
:d
- na-
lee.
.- :d.p)
His >
Jl"
( I soul
: s
has
:1 .t
more
d1
va -
:t
lour
:s .,t
and
1
hon -
:s :s,U|
our Than a )
if*
( Iking
:m
with
:r
a
d
pal -
ace
: s
and
11
:- :«,l,t,
crown ; Fo^ the£
73
d1 . : l_/b
blood of
1*1
veins
of
:1
of
r :d :d
Bou - cha - leen
1.
Con
d :-
Dhoun.
5, :d.r>
nor Fills the)
2. Soft " cead mile fdilthe " I give him
When he comes every Sunday to me ;
And what can I do but believe him
When he whispers — " A Chuisle Machree "
For the look is so truthful and tender
Of his bright roving eyes of dark brown,
That I'm sure e'en a lady in splendour
Would be coaxed by my Bouchaleen Dhoun.
3. My father has riches in plenty,
And suitors for me in his eye ;
But, oh ! let my age come to twenty —
If I don't give them all the good-by.
For I sigh for a life on the mountains
Far away from the dust of the town,
With the song of the soft-tuning fountains
And the love of my Bouchaleen Dhoun.
J. K. CASEY (" Leo ").
The above is the air to which this song is sung in Co. Cork. I have seen
the words linked to aiother air, a version of which I gave with the last
song, " The Coming jLiridal."
MA CHREEVEEN EEVING AULING O.
KEY C.
-
f:d'.r'
( Ye
m1 :- .r1 |d' :t
dark - haired youth and
1 .t
el -
;d'.t
ders
hoar
:n >
- y I
II3
( | List
: m .m
to the
r
wand'
: m .s
1 :
harp
- .t
er's
H
song;
: d1 .r1 |
- ring
My )
{
m1
claur
: - .r1 |
- shoch
d1
weeps
: t
my
1 .t :
true
d1 .t
love's
1 .S
: m .m >
ry In )
sto -
I
S
my
: m |
true
r
I I11 .S
1
na
.
tive
1
tongue
She's )
love's
m =-.t i
( 1 bound and
d1
bleed
:- .r1
- ing
m1 :
'neath
d1
th' op -
r'
press
- or, )
!
Few
her
d1
friends
:t
and
1 :
fierce
- .r
her
In
foe,
: d1 .r1 >
And >
!
m1
brave
: - .r1 | d1
hearts cold
: t
who
1
.t :
d1 .t
11 .s
: m -PI >
her, Ma )
would
re
dress
{
S
chree
:m |
- veen
r
eev -
: m .s
ing
1 :
au
ling
1
O.
|
2. My love had riches once, and beauty,
Till want and sorrow paled her cheek ;
And stalwart hearts for honour's duty
They crouching now like cravens sleek.
75
Oh, Heaven ! that e'er this day of rigour
Saw sons of heroes abject, low —
And blood and tears thy face disfigure,
Ma chreeveen eeving auling O.
3. I see young virgins step the mountains
As graceful as the bounding fawn,
With cheeks like heath-flower by the fonintain,
And breasts like downy canawaun.
Shall bondsmen share those beauties ample ?
Shall their pure bosoms' current flow
To nurse new slaves for them that trample
Ma chreeveen eeving auling O ?
4. Around my claurshoch's speaking measures
Men, like their fathers tall, arise,
Their heart the same deep hatred treasures — •
I read it in their kindling eyes !
The same proud brow to frown at danger
The same long coulin's graceful flow,
The same dear tongue to curse the stranger
Ma chreeveen eeving auling O.
6. I'd sing ye more, but age is stealing
Along my pulse and tuneful fires ;
For bolder woke my chord appealing
For craven Sheeamus to your sires.
Arouse to vengeance, men of brav'ry,
For broken oaths, for altars low,
For bonds that bind in bitter slav'ry.
Ma chreeveen eeving auling O.
EDWARD WALSH.
The above is the air to which traditional singers in Co. Cork sing
Edward Walsh's fine song, it is a grand setting and much finer than the
printed setting which is so well known. This version was printed for the
first time by me in my collection of Irish songs, "£uinti HA Smol."
I am indebted to Miss Annie O'Reilly for it. She writes to me as follows :
" I have been listening to this all my life. I have never seen it in print,"
7G
THE BOYS OF WEXFORD.
[The following version of the " Boys of Wexford " is an improvement
on the old song by Dr. Robert Dwyer Joyce. It has been altered by
Mr. Edmund Leamy, B.L., and will, we anticipate, meet with universal
approval.]
KEY P.
rs
d :-.r |d_.t, :IL_
.s, s :-.! |s :f |
comes the cap - tain's daugh - ter, The )
, .
( cap
:- .d |m .r :d .t,
1. :- 1- :t, |
Yeos, . Saying*)
tain of the
I d
\ " Brav
:- .r |d .t, :1, .s,
s :- .1 |s :f ,
I - - rish Man, We'll )
9 U - ni ted
< m
( ne'er
:r |d .r :m .fe
s :- |- :s >
foes. A >
a - gain be
( thou
sand pounds I'll
s :- .f |m :s i
bring if you Will >
( fly
:m |r :d
from home with
1, :- 1- :t, ^
me, And )
I d
( dress
:- .r |d .t, :lj_.s,
my -self in
s :- .1 |s :f l
man's at - tire, And }
5 n,
\ fight
:d |m .r ;d .tt
for lib - er
d :- |-
ty."
77
CHORUS — •
( :s
1 :
-•f 1
d1
: 1
s :-.f\m
:s ^
( We
arc
the
boys
of
Wex ford,
Who }
,
f
:m
|r
:d
i,
:- 1-
:t, >
>
(
fought
with
heart
and
hand
To )
/
d
:- .r
|d .t,
:1, .
S|
S
:- .1 |s
:f 1
|
burst
in
twain
the
gall- ing chain,
And >
rail.
(
m
:d
1 ro .r
:d ,
1
d
:- 1-
(
free
our
na
tive
land.
2. "I want no gold, my maiden fair,
To fly from home with thee ;
Your shining eyes will be my prize —
More dear than gold to me.
I want no gold to nerve my arm
To do a true man's part —
To free my land I'd gladly give
The red drops from my heart."
CHORUS.
3. And when we left our cabins, boys,
We left with right good will,
To see our friends and neighbours
That were at Vinegar Hill !
A young man from our ranks
A cannon he let go ;
He slapt it into Lord Mount joy —
A tyrant he laid low !
CHORUS.
4. We bravely fought and conquered
At Ross and Wexford town ;
Three Bullet Gate for years to come
Will speak for our renown ;
Through Walpole's horse and Walpole's foot
On Tubberneering's day,
Depending on the long, bright pike,
We cut our gory way.
CHORUS.
78
5. And Oulart's name shall be their shame,
Whose steel we ne'er did fear,
For every man could do his part
Like Forth and Shelmalier !
And if, for want of leaders,
We lost at Vinegar Hill,
We're ready for another fight,
And love our country still !
CHORUS.
No collection of National Anglo-Irish ballads can be regarded as satis-
factory which does not include this fine air and song. There are three
airs which may well compete for the honour of being an Irish National
Anfhem : " The Boys ©f Wexford," " Let JErin Remember," and
" Tho Boyne Water." In this collection I give four or five ballads dealing
with the glorious struggle of 1798 against unbearable tyranny and diaboli-
cal outrages. I know of no book which will give the young people of
Ireland of every generation a truer and a more vivid account of the
bravery of the days of '98 than the Memoirs of Myles O'Byrrw, who fought
through the campaign.
AT THE YELLOW BOREEN.
KEY C. Moderate. Air; "1-oeAti
c:t :1 js :-.ro:m |m :-.f:n jr :r :r |r :- :r >
( At the lyel - low bo - reen, Is my Iheart's se-cret queen, A- )
II
m :ro :m | s :- .1 : t
lona on hor soft bed a-
: )
Each
s :s :m |m :-.f:m ir :r :r |r :- :r
tress of her hair, Than the' King's gold more fair, The
79
s :
dew
s :
man
1 :t 1 1 : s : 1 is :- : - | s : -
from the grass might be sweep - - ing.
r.rt
I'm a)
s :1 |t :t :d'
of Teige's race, Who has
r1 :r" :t |1 :-.s:s )
watch'd her fair face ; And a- j
S I
way
S !
oh,
:s |s
:t id1 :-
from her ev - er I'm sigh
|t
ing,
And,
m : m | m : f : m
my heart's store, Be not
r : r : r | r : - .r : r )
mev'd ev - er - more, That for)
grev
s :1 :t |1 :s :1
you a young man should be
s :- :- |s
dy ing. |j
•2. Should my love with me come,
I would build her a home,
The finest e'er told of in Erin ;
And 'tis then she would shine,
And her fame ne'er decline,
For bounty o'er all the palm bearing.
For in your bosom bright
Shines the pure sunny light,
As in your smooth brow grateful ever ;
And, oh, could I say
You're my own from this day,
Death's contest would frighten me never.
TR. FROM THE IRISH BY DR. PETRIE.
This nice air I got from that home of Irish melody, the Macroom district
in Co. Cork.
80
SAILING IN THE LOWLANDS LOW.
KEY P. Moderate.
Dun - more we quitted,
.t
.s :m .s
Cow - hides and wool, and live
d :m .d |1,
Twen - ty young Wild
1 .s :n .d |r
Sailing for the Low
REFRAIN —
Geese
:r
lands
d ,r :n .f |s
Michaelmas gone by,
1 :-. |s
car - - go !
d .r :m .f |s
Rea-dy fledged to fly !
d
Low.
: s
The
1 :1 Is
Low - lands Low,
:- .m If :f |m
The] Low - lands Low,
ling
:m .d |r :r
for the Low - lands
d
Low.
2. Shaun Paor's the skipper,
From the church of Crook — -
Piery keeps log for his father !
Crew all from Bannow,
Fethard and the Hook —
Sailing in the Lowlands Low !
REFRAIN-
3. These twenty Wild Geese
Gave Queen Anne the slip,
Crossing to Lewey in Flanders :
He and Jack Malbrook
Both are in a grip,
Fighting in the Lowlands Low !
REFRAIN-
81
4. Close lay a rover
Off the Isle of Wight,
Either a Salee or Saxon !
Out through a sea mist
We bade them good night,
Sailing for the Lowlands Low !
REFRAIN
5. Ready with priming
We'd our galliot gun :
Muskets and pikes in good order !
We should be riddled—
Captives would be none !
Death ! or else the Lowlands Low !
REFRAIN-
6. Pray, holy Brendan,
Turk or Algerine,
Dutchman nor Saxon may sink us !
We'll bring Geneva
Rack and Rhenish wine
Safely from the Lowlands Low !
REFRAIN —
P. J. M'CALt.
This is one of the ballads of a writer from whose treasures I hope to
draw more largely, and some of whose songs it would be hard to surpass.
They are all racy of the soil. The above version of the air, which differs
a little from Joyce's, was got in West Cork. I have added a refrain which
Mr. M'Call kindly sent me, and which, he says, he used hear his mother
sing. I agree that " it rounds off the tune admirably."
82
ROZHEEN DHU.
KEY fib-
:f,s,
Air : " 1l6ij*in "Dub."
sweet lit - tie
r .m :d :- .UJs,
rose cease
to pine
for the)
I '
(Oh!
< f , : - :dLr ,n If : n :r .d 1 1,**-1' : s, :Jj ^d >
( past, For the| friends that came {east - ward Shall )
{
r
:- .m
:r nr
thee at
d
last;
: - : d <r «ni
f :n
:r ,
see
•
They bring| bless - ings an
(
l,ta,.,
*
:1|<ti<d
X
: - .m : r mr
d :-
:f,
i
fa -
vours
the
past
ne-ver
knew
i
I
1,
pour
*
:si
forth
:d
in
r .n
glad
:d_jM :!,.!,
- ness on my
s, :-i,^
R6 - zhe
• in,
- in
,
f,
• —
1
1
Dhu
Breath.
2. Long, long, with my dearest, thro' strange scenes I've gone,
O'er mountains and broad valleys I still have toiled on ;
O'er the Erne I have sailed as the rough gales blew,
While the harp poured its music for my R6-zhe-in Dhu.
3. Tho' wearied, oh ! my fair one, do not slight my song,
For my heart dearly loves thee, and hath loved thee long ;
In sadness and in sorrow I shall still be true,
And cling with wild fondness round my R6-zh£-in Dhu.
83
4. There's no flower that e'er bloomed can my rose excel,
There's no tongue that e'er moved half my love can tell ;
Had I strength, had I skill the wide world to subdue,
Oh ! the queen of that wide world should be R6-zhi-in Dhu.
5. Had I power, oh ! my loved one, but to plead thy right,
I should speak out in boldness for my heart's delight ;
I would tell to all round mo how my fondness grew
And bid them bless the beauty of my R6-zhe-in Dhd.
6. The mountains, high and misty, thro' the moors must go,
The rivers shall run backwards, and the lakes overflow ;
And the wild waves of old ocean wear a crimson hue,
E'er the world sees the ruin of my R6-zhe-in Dhu.
THOMAS FURLONG.
This version of the air is the traditional one that is found in Ring, Co.
Vaterford. It is a very sweet air. The words are a worthy translation
of a famous old Irish ballad, composed in the 1 7th century. It is allegorical.
Roseen Dhu is Ireland, and the famous Irish hero, Red Hugh O'Donnell,
addresses his native land as an anxious lover might his bride. The air has
)een pronounced by a competent judge as the sweetest and best version
Published. Pronounce the * z ' of Rozheen with a thick ' h ' sound,
have put breath marks where the traditional singers took breath. In
singing ' Rozheen ' make the word three syllables, the second syllable
seing sung on the grace notes.
THE PATRIOT MAID.
KEY C.
Air: " A]\ truitun rnoc."
< : m .s 1 1 : 1 .i
( An j I - rish
:1 .s |d' :- .m |f : s .1 | s
girl
heart and soul
:m .r •>
, I >
(Id
• lM «i
Id
:d |d
i :d' .r1
%
(| love
the
dear
old land ;
i
>
(K
• ml
in
:d'
m' :r'
Id1 :s
(I hon -
our
those
who
i» her
'cause Lift
f
\ 1 voice,
:t .s
or
Id'
pen,
or
d1
hand.
I :d' .r1
\
And
M
(1 may
1
I
live
to
m1 • r1
see her
Id1 :s
free From
I
>
II —
(Ifor -
:t .s
Id'
lord
and
d'
knave ;
1 :m .s
}
eign
But
HI
: 1 .s
Id'
:n
f :s .1
|s :m .r
(1 Heav
- en for
-bid
I'd
ev - er
be The
1
<ld
i ro r
Id
:d
d
1 ||
(' mo -
ther
of
a
slave,
II
85
God bless the men who take their stand
In Ireland's patriot host ;
I'd give the youth my heart and hand
Who serves his country most ;
And if he fell, I'd rather lie
Beside him in the grave,
Than wed a wealthy loon, and be
The mother of a slave.
3. Thro' many a blood-red age of woe
Our Nation's heart has bled ;
But still she makes her tyrants know
Her spirit is not dead.
God bless the men who for her sake
Their blood and genius gave ;
God bless the mothers of those sons
Who nurst no dastard slave !
4. Some on the scaffold place of doom
For loving Ireland died ;
And others, to the dungeon-gloom,
Are torn from our side ;
But God the Just, who ne'er designed
His image for a slave,
Will give our country might and mind
To raise the true and brave.
Betsy Gray was a County Down lady of remarkable beauty and talents.
She joined the Insurgent force under General Henry Munroe on the Hill
of Ednavady in June, 1798. Magnificently mounted she inspired the pike-
men by her daring and enthusiasm. A ballad descriptive of her bravery
and heroic death will be found in the Wolfe Tone Song Sheet. At a meeting
of United Men she was urged by her lover, Willie Boal, not to actively
participate in the struggle, and give expression to the sentiments im-
mortalised by an unknown poet in these lines. Wolfe Tone Song Sheet
is to be had from Ryan & Co., 50 Middle Abbey Street, Dublin.
86
I BUILT ME A BOWER.
KEY B)?. Moderate. Air : «' An jAifiAm jeAt b&n."
{•«.£
d
built
me
&
f i s,_f, :
bower in
m, If, ' :s, ^
life's (green - wood, j
< : -d
r
:m :
d .t.
i, j
•1, :
f,
s, :- 1
1 A
pal-
ace
of
blooms
for
my
soul,
(:n T
d
:s,
:1|
f, :
s, -f, :
ni(
f , : s, }
I And
there
on
the
maids
all
un -
seen would ^
rail
pp.
f:d Ir
< I [dream
:m
'neath
:d_J,
S|
bliss
-.f, :
- ful
MI
con-
f, :- ]
trol,
love's
con spirito.
J ;«,-*«
S|
:d
:d
n
r :
m
f :s -
< Till I set
up
the im -
age
of Al - ice
< :d
r
:m
:d .t,
Si :
- -S|
f, S, : -
^ Su-
preme on
my
heart's
burn-ing
throne ;
(:«_*
d
!S,
= 1,
f, :
s,.f.
«l
f, :s,
( Then long
in
my flow'r
wov •
en
pal - ace
rail. pp.
5 : >d
r
:m
id t,
S, :
- .f,
:mi
1 1 I —
* I
bowed to
that
im -
age
a -
lone.
8?
2. Oh ! fair was my bird of the mountains,
Oh ! sweet as the thorn's scented spray,
Oh ! pure as the light of the fountains
That dance down the green hills in May.
A chapter of joy- woven story,
A voyage o'er bright fairy sea,
A May-tide of bloom and of glory,
Were the days of our love-time to me.
3. But the chapter oft ends in sorrow,
The voyage has its tempests and gloom,
And the May-tide, though bright be each morrow,
Must pass, like our lives, to the tomb ; —
Oh ! the dreams of my love-time are humbled,
The blooms from my green bow'r are fled,
My idol lies shattered and crumbled,
My Alice, my sweet flow'r, is dead !
EGBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
This version of the beautiful old air is the one which is well-known and
sung around the Ballingeary district, Co. Cork. It ends in a very peculiar
way on a " fan."
88
CAHAL THE HUNTER.
KEY F. Smoothly. Air : " UAim-fe Am 60-0^-6."
•
j : .,d I d ..r : m .,f I s _., 1 : t .,1 s ..f : r .,t, | d^t, : s, .,s, )
( The! hoarse Autumn wind down the val - ley was sweep-ing, The>
f In :r
( | leaves of
:r .d |r,s.- :f<r«t
the forest hung
d :r .r 1m :m .r
high on its wing, The
\
<|d .,r :m .,f |s .,1 :t .,1 Is .,f :r .,t, |d .,t| ;s, .,s, >
( jtor - rents sur- charged from the) moun- tains came leap - ing To )
m :r .d Jr^s.- :f ^<t|
join the fierce raid of the
thunder clouds burst . o'er the
(|t_* :r'.,
t I lightning she
I' It .,1
lightning shaft shiv - er'd the
d :- .t, |d : .,d £
dark Storm-king. The)
breast of Lough Swil - ly, The)
s .,f :r .,t, |d .,r :d .t,t ^
oak on its shore, And the)
t .d' :
:t .,1
ech - oes a - wak - ened a
s .,f :r ,,t, |d Mt|
fit - ful re- veill -
Andy
m :r .d |r,s.
died far a - way
_«|
in the
d :t, .t, |d
hills of Ross-core.
89
2. Young Eily sat lone in her ivy-crowned bower.
For Cahal, the chief, of the dark-flowing hair ;
But the pulse of her heart had out-counted the hour
That told of their meeting ; no Hunter was there :
The big pearly tears on her dark eyelids glisten,
The throb of her bosom rose loud o'er the breath,
As she bends by fast-fading embers to listen,
When the tramp of his charger is heard on the hearth.
3. She flies thro' the night. It roars hoarser and higher,
She hears the deep bay of his dog o'er its swell ;
When riderless, foaming, his dark steed sweeps by her —
The chief that bestrode lies stretched in the dell !
His last gush of life tinged the foam of the fountain,
A spear-shaft still drank at the source of its tide ;
And his own, that oft pierced the red deer of the mountain,
Lay shivered, and told that not tamely he died.
4. A hunter of Eire, was Cahal O'Connor :
The Lord of the valley sought Eily O'Moore ;
He sought her in guile, but ere stoop to dishonour,
She wandered a huntress on mountain and shore.
And Cahal, thus doomed, was the friend of her childhood,
And the wand, as the sceptre, had passed from his race,
No castle was his, but a cot by the wildwood,
A wolf-dog, a steed, and a spear for the chase.
5. The stormwraith, still, thro' the valley went sighing,
The wolf-dog lay crouched on the rocks at his head,
When the dawning disclosed where the Hunter was lying,
And the bride of his bosom, young Eily, was dead !
The death-wail was chanted, the mourners arrayed them,
And laid them to rest in a cloister so grey ;
But the walls of that shrine and the yew trees that shade them
Like the race of the island bow down to decay.
JOHN BOYLE (" MYLO ").
1822- J 885.
There are ten verses in this ballad. It is found in Hayes's Ballads, Vol.
II. The air is one of the best known amongst the traditional singers of
Munster. This version should be sung smoothly and flowingly and feelingly.
It is a most sweet and beautiful air if properly sung.
90
SUMMER IN ERIN.
KEY Ab
.S| :d .t, II, : s, .1, :d .t,
The hills are] glow-ing with bloom and
li : S| .,f| :ni| .S| |
bios - som, The trees are)
And not a cloud shows its snow-y bos - om A-gainst the
B.C.
.f :m .r
the
the
1,
sway-ing
arch of
:d .t.
d
sun is
high,
sum-mer sk$r ;
s .,1 :s .f :n .d
na - turo lifts her soul in
d :t, .d :1, .1,
ad - vent of peer - less
(If .r :m,f.s,f:m .d
( |bur-thened with grief and
1,
glad
•l
May,
1,
sad
(II, .f :m .,r :d .t. Id
(| hea-vy and far a -| way.
d ,r : m .f
All
S| . PI ,t : s .HI
ness To greet the
;- .nnfis .n
Yet I am
.,f, :m, .s, >
3, My heart is )
2. Yea ; far away where the sun is tipping
The fleecy fringe of a mountain mist,
Where ferns wave and the streams go tripping
With plumes of amber and amethyst.
I love the sun, but this cloudless glory
Falls on my heart, and I long again
To see the sky growing grey before me
And hear the rain in an Irish glen.
91
3. My heart, my heart, o'er the waves goes rushing
To where the whin with a crown of gold
Decks all the knolls and the heather's flushing
On every mountain and glen's unrolled.
And all the bushes with blooms are bending,
And th' air is full of the fragrant hay,
And every river its voice is lending
To swell the chorus that welcomes May.
4. I've heard the music of cities pouring
In praise to God, but my memory told
Of notes of joy to the Maker soaring,
More sweet than ever their organs rolled.
I mind me still of the smoilin's singing,
I'm hearing ever the blackbird's tune,
And the lark's full hymn in my ear is ringing
In mirth or misery, night or noon.
6. Oh ! God, who gave me these thoughts to brighten,
The hours of toil will, I know, restore
Some day these joys of my youth to lighten
My heart, and bring me content once more.
Oh, none can know what it is to treasure,
In far-off lands all an exile's pain,
And naught can picture his heart's full pleasure
To feel his feet on his land again.
WILLIAM ROONEY.
This is a beautiful song for schools — words and air equally sweet.
92
KATE OF KENMARE.
KEY G. Bright. Air : " Tatter Jack Walsh.'
0!
in : r : m I d : m : d
man-y bright eyes full of
1 :d.d Id :t, :s, |f, :in, :f,
(Where the! pure soul looks out and the
t, :S| : 1| I ta, :ta, )
good-ness and glad - ness,)
s, :d :d | ms :- I
heart loves to shine, )
:s
And
< :d.d
1 Have I
m :r
:d
, :
(
:d
And
man-y checks pale with the
d : t, : S| I f i :i'i| : f|
wor-shipped in si - lence and
d : m : s | s : m : d
hope in its gleam-ings, or
ta : ta
soft hue * of sad
: ta, )
- ness, )
s, :d :d Id :-
felt them di - vine !
: s )
ins )
:s If :f :f |m IT :d
< :s I
1 Ne'er]
fash-ioned a being
d : m : s | s
love in its dreamings,
t, :d :r \m
fault-less and fair
:f.f In :r
|d
:d
As thej lil - y-cheekod beau-ty, the
I ta, : ta, >
rose of the Ruachtach)
The
m,
Is, :d :d |d :-
fawn of the val - ley, sweet) Kate of Ken - mare !
2. It was all but a moment, her radiant existence,
Her presence, her absence, all crowded on me ;
But time has not ages, and earth has not distance,
To sever, sweet vision, my spirit from thee !
Again am I straying where children are playing,
Bright is the sunshine and balmy the air,
Mountains are heathy, and there do I see thee,
Sweet fawn of the valley, young Kate of Kenmare !
3. Thy own bright arbutus hath many a cluster
Of white, flaxen blossoms, like lilies in air,
But, O ! thy pale cheek hath a delicate lustre
No blossom can rival, no lily doth wear.
To that soft cheek flushing, to thy lip brightly blushing,
O ! what are the berries that bright tree doth bear ?
Peerless in beauty, the rose of the Ruachtach,
That fawn of the valley, sweet Kate of Kenmare !
4. O beauty ! some spell from kind nature thou bearest,
Some magic of tone or enchantment of eye,
That hearts that are hardest from forms that are fairest
Receive such impressions a 3 never can die.
The foot of the fairy, though lightsome and airy,
Can stamp on the hard rock the shape it doth wear ;
Art cannot trace it, nor ages efface it —
And such are thy glances, sweet Kate of Kenmare !
D. F. MCCARTHY.
There are seven verses in this song. They may be found in the author's
works. This bright air should make the song a favourite. The song itself
is one of MacCarthy's happiest bits of verse.
THE OUTLAW OF KILMORE.
KEY G- Smoothly and sweetly. Air : " A 11 CiA]\AijeAc
{
d :t, :
Far in
S|
the
t| : tj :
moun-tains
d
with
r :- :
you,
my
r :
E -
m
vc
- loen,)
,
s : s :
S
f :s :
f
m :- :
r.d
t, :
•l
:f. >
*
I would
be
ten - der
and
true,
my
E -
vo
- leen ;>
1
s, :- :
Then
-
t, :- :
climb
d
the
:: m :
oun-tains
r
with
d :
me.
-
:" !
x
cres.
t
r : t, :
d
r : m :
f
s :- ":
1
t :
1
:s )
\
Long have
I
dwelt by
the
for
est
riv
-
er side,/
dim.
J
f :- :
m
f :s :
f
m :- :
r.d
t, :
S|
: s, )
1
Where
the
bright rip -
pies
flash
and quiv-er
wide ;)
( f :- :
m f :s :
f
n :- :
r.d
t, :
s,
:fi 1
1
There
the
fleet hours
shall
bliss -
ful
ev -
01
glide)
p-
rit.
\
s, :- :
O'er
—
t, :- :d
us, sweet
r : it) :
Gra Gal
r
Ma-
d :
chree
—
:" [
2. There on my rocky throne, my Eveleen,
Ever, ever alone, my Eveleen,
I sit dreaming of thee ;
High on the fern-clad rocks reclining there,
Though the sweet birds their songs are twining there,
Thee I hear, and I see thy shining hair,
Still, still, sweet Gra Qal Machiee.
95
3. Hunted and banned I've been, my Eveleen,
But my long sword is keen, my Eveleen,
To keep all danger from thee ;
The flash of this sword is my foeman's warning light,
And I Hve 'mid the wild hills scorning might,
While my love grows eve and morning bright
For you, sweet Gra Gal Machree.
4. Deeply in broad Kilmore,* my Eveleen,
Down by the clear stream's shore, my Eveleen,
I've made a sweet home for thee ;
Yellow and bright like thy long, long flowing hair,
Flowers the fairest are ever blowing there —
Fairer still with thy blue eyes glowing there,
Brightly, sweet Gra Gal Machree.
5. Then come away, away, my Eveleen ;
We will spend each day, my Eveleen,
Blissful and loving and free.
Come to the woods where the streams are pouring blue,
Where the eagle is ever soaring through ;
I'll grow fonder each day adoring you
There, there, sweet Gra Gal Machree.
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
* Kilmore, a district near Mallow and Buttevant, Co. Cork.
This air, a most sweet one, is taken from Dr. Joyce's Ancient Irish
Music. The words were written for it by his brother, one of our best
ballad writers. The cause of Irish music has suffered a great loss in the
death of Dr. Joyce, which took place recently. I recall with gratitude to
his memory how willingly he granted me permission to utilize and publish
this and others of his airs.
96
FANNY.
KEY C.
Air : " The Wind
that Shakes the
Barley.''
< :d' Id1
j
:- :1 |l_i
s :n d1 :-
:1 I 1 :s
:n )
(Where ^An
- - ner flows by fai
ry rath
And)
J S :-
:n |s :-
: 1 is : -
• _ 1 pj ;_
<S I
( tower
and grey
rocks| man
y.
One )
( d1 :-
:t |d' :-
:r' ro1 :-
: n1 fn? : -
:r' >
(. Sun -
day noon
in wood -
land path
I \
( d1 :-
:1 |t :1
:s 11 :-
:- H :-
:t )
( met
my blithe
some' Fan
' n^
Her )
( Id' :-
:t |d' :-
: r1 m
: ni1 |n' : -
:r' >
( I hair
was like
the yel
low blooms
That)
( d1 :-
:t |d' :-
:r' ro :-
:- IK :-
:t )
( deck
the mea
dows ear
- ly;
Her)
1 d' :-
< eyes
:t |d' :-
like heav'n,
:r- In :-
when) spring
/7%
: m1 | m1 : -
il - lumes,
They)
( d' :-
:1 |t :1
:s 1 :-
:- |1 :-
II
( shone
so kind
and clear
!|
2. We sat to hear the river's tune
'Neath trees all mossed and olden,
And talked and laughed that autumn noon
With thoughts full sweet and golden ;
I built a palace in my brain,
As fond I gazed upon her,
And in its bright halls she did reign,
My queen of love and honour !
3. The palace towers may all depart,
And cruel fate may sever,
But in my brain and in my heart
Her form shall live for ever ;
At beauty's shrine the worshippers
Judge fond and rash and blindly ;
Yet ne'er was form more fair than her's,
And ne'er beat heart more kindly.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
97
THE MUNSTER WAR-SONG.
KEY C. Moderate: Air : A Derry air (Pigot Coll )
£ \
(Can the
(: m .m
(Thatyou
J'L*
( To
depths of the o
coan af-
d1 :t
_ _ _
ford you not graves,
come thus to per - ish a
far o'er the waves ;
d1 :t :d' |r'
red - den and swell
the wild
m1 :-.r':dU|l
tor - rents that
:s
flow
d1 :t :1 |s :ro :ro im :1 :1 |1 :
val - ley of ven-geance, the | dark A - her - low ?
2
The clangour of conflict o'erburdens the breeze,
From the stormy Slieve Bloom to the stately Galtees ;
Your caverns and torrents are purple with gore,
Slievenamon, Glencoloe, and sublime Galtymore I
The Sun-burst that slumbered embalmed in our tears,
Tipperary ! shall wave o'er thy tall mountaineers I
And the dark hill shall bristle with sabre and spear,
While one tyrant remains to forge manacles here.
The riderless war-steed careers o'er the plain,
With a shaft in hia flank and a blood -drip ping mane,
His gallant breast labours, and glare his wi'.d eyes ;
He plunges in torture — falls — shivers — and dies.
Let tho trumpet ring triumph ! the tyrant is slain,
He reels o'er his charger deep-pierced through the brain ;
And his myriads are flying like leaves on the gale,
But, who shall escape from our hills with the tale ?
Ji. P. WILLIAMS.
98
THE FIDDLER.
KEY C. Pleasantly. Air : " Among the Heather."
( : .n
r .1
j 1
.t Id1 :m .r
( My
name is
Mick
Mol - loy, In
( d .t,
:d
•n I
s .m :r -d
( clear and
clou -
<*y
wea - ther, My
( |r .1
: 1
.t
d1 :d" .r1
( 1 fid - .die,
kit,
and
I Roam
(In' .r'
( | Ire - land
round
.1
to -
|t .1 : -s
ge - ther. And
(Is .s : s
( 1 wel - come warm
.1 ,t
we
meet Where -
( 1 .r1
: r1
.m1
|p> .d1 :l ^
( e'er we
may
be
chan - cing, CeAt>
rim .d'
( 1 mi - U
: t
.d1
- ce
| 1 : s .m
sweet And
5 r .1
: s
.1
|m .r : .11
( dan - cing
, dan
- cing,
.
dan - cing.
CHORUS—
( : .s
S ..S
: s
.1 ,t | d1 : 1 .s
\ Come
», joy - ful - heart - ed boy, Come,
(11 .r'
( I maid with
blue
eye
| r1 .d1 : 1 .8
glan - cing, A -
n n .d1
:t
.d1
| 1 : s .n
( 1 round poor Mick
Mol
- loy Go
(ir .1 :8
( 1 dan - cing, dan
.1
- cing,
|m .r : .||
dan - cing.
99
2. My fiddle can speak so well
There's none need miss its manin',
I'm never when by mysel'
Of want of friends complainin',
I've but to touch a string
With nimble finger glancing,
And off on airy wing
My heart flies dancing, dancing.
CHORUS.
There's no ould ancient tune
Of bird, or bard, or fairy,
But I can lilt or croon
With dreamy touch or airy.
And while the gay notes swell,
And rise or fall entrancing,
All own their magic spell
By dancing, dancing, dancing.
CHORUS.
The lady from her hall,
The farmer from his farming,
The neighbours one and all, —
As at a wizard's charming — •
When down I draw my bow —
Retiring and advancing,
Ply nimble heel and toe,
All dancing, dancing, dancing.
CHORUS.
Let foreigners brag and crow
That dancing's their devotion,
'Tis little the creatures know
Of poetry of motion.
Their polkas and quadrilles
Are nothing else but prancing,
An Irish jig's and reel's
The king and queen of dancing.
CHORUS.
100
6. Sure, fretting's a mistake,-
And trouble — who need feel it ?
There's not a pain or ache
That music would not heal it ;
A cure for every ill —
Life's brightest joys enhancing ;
Oh ! nothing care can kill
Like dancing, dancing, dancing.
CHORUS.
7. Oh ! Love's a vision vain,
That flies you while you follow ;
And wealth's the way to Pain ;
And Fame's a bubble hollow ;
And Rank's the root of strife ;
And politics romancing —
There's no delight in life
To equal dancing, dancing.
CHORUS.
8. And now I'll end my song,
They're wanting me in Munster,
Arid Connaught's waiting long,
And hearts are low in Ulster ;
But ere the round year rolls
I'll here again be chancing,
To cheer your hearts and souls
With dancing, dancing, dancing.
CHORUS.
F. A. FAHY.
101
bni'oin bAn ino suou.
Air : " Billy Byrne of Ballymanus."
1. I am a wandering minstrel man
And Love my only theme,
I've strayed beside the pleasant Barm,
And eke the Shannon's stream ;
I've piped and played to wife and maid
By Barrow, Suir, and Nore,
But never met a maiden yet
Like bjAi-oin ban wo fc6p.
2. My girl hath ringlets rich and rare,
By Nature's fingers wove —
Loch-Carra's swan is not so fair
As is her breast of love ;
And when she moves in Sunday sheen,
Beyond our cottage door,
I'd scorn the high-born Saxon queen
For "bi\it>in bAti mo fc6j\.
3. It is not that thy smile is sweet,
And soft thy voice of song —
It is not that thou fliest to meet
My comings lone and long !
But that doth rest beneath thy breast
A heart of purest core,
Whose pulse is known to me alone,
toAix>in bAti tno
EDWARD WALSH.
For air see following song.
102
DIARMID MOR
KEY C- Quickly. Air : " Billy Byrne of Ballymanus.'*
In1
.r1
The
d'
:f
win - try sun with
f .m :j- jn |d :d
Lira - er-ick's bat - tered
d :
towers,
: r
cheer - less gleam Gilds
:n..f
And
s : s
far a
d1 .,t : s .
cloud of
s : s
Id'
way
:- .r1
down
Is .1 :t .
dark -
Id1
m1 ; f ' .m1 |r'
Shari - non's stream
d1 :- |
lowers ;
: m1 .r1 |
~A~ I
:n .f
And
:- .r1
there they glide
up-
(id
;s .f |B :t .
d1
;f .m1 |r» :m' .r' )
the tide. The >
.r
ships that
bear
him
o'er
d' :d>
In
:f
S
storm - y
wave
with
Sars
The
:- .f
field brave, My
rail.
L_m. :r -PI Id :d
gal - lant Diar - mid
Mor.
103
2. One summer eve, long, long ago,
He said by wandering Lee,
Its rushing waves should backward flow
Ero he should part with me ;
But war came down with sullen frown,
And — called from Shannon's shore
He left his bride that eventide —
My gallant Diarmid Mor.
3. He heard its call and sped away
To aid his native land ;
Can Aughrim's field or Limerick say
They saw a truer hand ?
Heart, arm, and glaive he freely gave,
As did his sires before ;
And now he flees across the seas
My gallant Diarmid M6r.
4. By Lee's green banks the flowers shall bloom,
When summer decks the grove ;
But when unto my heart shall come
The smiles of my true love ?
O, oft and drear shall flow the tear,
Till some glad bark has bore
My love again back o'er the main,
My gallant Diarmid M6r.
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
This is a very fine and a very popular air. Billy Byrne was a country
gentleman who threw in his lot with his down-trodden peasant country^
men in the Wexford Rebellion of 1798. The atrocities of the English
" garrison " and, later on, of the yeomen, was more than his generous
nature could stand. His home still stands, occupied by a fine worthy family
who hail from the Glen of Imaal. Over the hall-door is a slab recording
Billy Byrne's fate. It is worth a visit. It stands on the road between
Aughrim and John Redmond's mountain home at Aughavanna, Co.
Wicklow.
104
THE DHREENAUN DHOUN.
KEY D. Slowly.
:n .,r d .,r :m .s :1
.t d1 .,1 : s >ni : ni .yd)
Oh, my love he is
|p .,m :r .d :d
fair - er than a £
d :- :s .1,H
soft sum - mer
Iji ji 1 1 ji
day, His >
r1 .d',1 :s ,m^ :r<m< st
breath is far
11 :1 :t .,1
sweet - er than )
s :- rs.l.tl
new . - . mown
Id' i d' r' • w' d'
hay, His >
r1 .d',1 : s .m : r < m < s \
hair shines like
11 : 1 ;t ..1
| vived by the
d .,r : n .s : 1 .t
gold when re - >
s :- :n .r >
sun, And the >
d1 .,1 : s .m : m .,d )
name that they
IP MM :r .d :-
call him's the >
d :- ||
1 Dhree - naun
Dhoun.
105
2. My boy he is gone to cross over the main,
May God send him safe to his true love again,
For I wander all day, until night-time comes on,
And I sleep on the leaves of the Dhreenaun Dhoun.
3. If I had a small boat on the ocean to row,
I would follow my darling wherever he'd go,
I 'd rather have my true love to sport and to play
Than all the gold treasures on the land or the sea.
4. Impatient I'd wait for my love to return,
And for his long absence I ne'er cease to mourn ;
I will join with the small birds when the summer comes on
To welcome the blossom of the Dhreenaun Dhoun.
I may explain that the Dhreenaun Dhoun means the sloe-bush. In full
bloom it is a lovely sight and a beautiful natural figure of purity and
beauty. This version of the air is the best I have seen. It should be
sung sweetly and tenderly.
106
THE HEATHER GLEN.
EY P.
Modera
.S,
fo.
d .,d
:n
Air : " An SmACcin cjion."
.d |n .s :- .s, >
There
blooms a bon
- nie flow - er
r
^
[Up
the
:n
hea -
.r ,d
ther
It, .r : -
.r )
Tho' )
glen;
ld
| bnght
,d
in
:n
sun,
.d
in
In .s : -
show - er
4 }
1
.s ,n
:d
.r
Id :,
.S, )
just
as
bright
a
gain.
I [
11CV -
er
:m
can
.d
pass
In .s :-
by it.
.S, )
i ;
nev -
.,d
er
:n
dar'
.r ,d
go
It, .r :-
nigh it,
.r )
My j
d
heart
,d
it
:n
won't
.d
ba
IN .s :-
qui - et
• }
|
CHORUS.
Up
.s ,n
the
:d
hea -
.r
ther
Id :
glen.
II Sing }
d1
0!
.t
the
bloom -
.t
ing
H .s :-
hea - ther,
I
107
fid'
.t
:1
.t
|1 .s
llO!
the
hea -
ther
glen,
(id1
.,t
:1
.,s
|m .1
( | fair -
est
fai -
riea
gath - er
Jl lure
.ro
in
:d
mor -
.r
tal
Id
men ;
(id1
(|nev -
er
can
.t
pa:s
|1 .3
by it;
<,d'
( | nev -
.t
er
dar'
.t
go
|1 .S
nigh it,
LI
( 1 heart
it
won't
be
|m .1
qui • et
HUP
.m
the
:d
hea -
.r
ther
Id
glen.
,t
Where
.1
To
.S
I
.1 ,t
My
•I
2. There sings a bonnie linnet,
Up the heather glen ;
The voice has magic in it
Too sweet for mortal men !
It brings joy doon before us,
Wi' winsome, mellow chorus
But flies far, too far, o'er us
Up the heather glen.
CHORUS— Sing O!
3. O might I pull the flower
That's blooming in that glen,
Nae sorrows that could lower
Would make me sad again !
And might I catch that linnet,
My heart, — my hopes are in it •
O heav'n itself, I'd win it,
Up the heather glen.
CHORUS — Sing O !
DR. GEORGE SIGERSON.
KEY Q. With feeling
( :s, m :-
1" Good
108
THE CROPPY BOY.
Air : *' CAilin 65 A
m |m :- :r.m|f :- :m |r :-
and true ! in this house who dwell,
r :- :r |r :d :r
strang - er bou - chal, I
m :f
pray
m |r :-
you tell
il
II
PI :f
priest
s, :-
speak
:s
at
:d
To a)
: s,.s, >
Is the)
|s :- :n.d|t, :- : 1| 1 1, :- :t,.d
home ? or mayj he
be seen? I would)
|d ^r :m |r :ji :r
word with! Fa - tl
Id :-
ther Green."
2. " The Priest's at home, boy, and may be seen ;
'Tis easy speaking with Father Green ;
But you must wait till I go and see
If the holy father alone may be."
3. The youth has entered an empty hall —
What a lonely sound has his light foot-fall !
And the gloomy chamber's chill and bare,
With a vested Priest in a lonely chair.
4. The youth has knelt to tell his sins ;
" Nomine Dei," the youth begins :
At " mea culpa " he beats his breast,
And in broken murmurs he speaks the rest.
6. " I cursed three times since last Easter day — •
At Mass-time once I went to play ;
I passed the churchyard one day in haste,
And forgot to pray for my mother's rest.
109
6. " At the siege of Ross did my father fall,
And at Gorey my loving brothers all,
I alone am left of my name and race,
I will go to Wexford and take their place.
7. I bear no hate against living thing ;
But I love my country above the King.
Now, Father ! bless me, and let me go
To die, if God has ordained it so."
8. The Priest said naught, but a rustling noise
Made the youth look above in wild surprise t
The robes were off, and in scarlet there
Sat a yeoman captain with fiery glare.
9. With fiery glare and with fury hoarse,
Instead of a blessing he breathed a curse : —
' 'Twas a good thought, boy, to come here and shrive,
For one short hour is your time to live.
10. " Upon yon river three tenders float,
The Priest's in one, if he isn't shob —
We hold this house for our Lord the King,
And, amen, say I, may all traitors swing ! "
11. At Geneva Barrack that young man died,
And at Passage they have his body laid.
Good people who live in peace and joy,
Breathe a prayer and a tear for the croppy boy.
CARROLL MALONE.
110
THE BRIDGE OF GLANWILLIAN.
KEY E. Air : "Ce6 t)pAoit>eAccA."
<:n.f|s :f :±J
<rho'the|lin - nets sing
II
m :f : rtmtr I d :t, :m >
sweet from the 1 wild-wood, Young)
Kath - leen no
s :f :s.,f
warm wind that
s :-.f :m.f
ne'er dry her
r<n«r : d : - .d | d :
blithe war - bling ' hears,
:n.,f)
And the)
m :f :rAr|d :t, :n.,f )
plays o'er the ' moor - land Can )
I
rtntr:d :-,d
fast - fall - ing
:- :d
tears ;
And
m
though
m
heart
s .d1
: f : s .d1
gay laughs the
•P 1
is alT
:- .t :s.f
d1 jr'jd'.MisJ.mJIrwr :d
:d.d,
Still her)
:n.f )
As she)
: m .f >
sun - light a -
ta :-d':d'
sad and for -
n :f :r,n4r
'round her,
d1 :-
lorn
d :t,
a - ra
d :-
turn.
d :t,
kin - dred,
d :-
Mourne.
sits
S
by the
:- -f :n .f
ford of Glen -
r«n«r : d : - .d
Der - mot's re-
1 m . *•
n it : r<n<r
| fray with his
r«n«r:d :-.d
A .;
lin .f )
|| For he' a'
:n .f >
wait
s.d'
ing her
:- .t :s .f
gone
1 hard
to the
:- ,f :n .f
The >
II
- rid - ing
clans - men of
m
2. " There I rode side by side on the causeway,
With your true-love so gallant and leal,
As he charged 'mongst the foremost and bravest
In his morion and bright jack of steel.
I could hear the loud clang of his horse-hoofs,
As he swept o'er the red bridge's crown,
And many a bold Saxon trooper
'Neath the sweep of his long sword went down.
This day for thy Dermot of Mourne
Is a bright day of deathless renown.
3. " Then weep not, fair maid, by Glenara ;
In triumph thy love will return,
His plume waved to-day ' midst the foremost
Of the hard-riding clansmen of Mourne.
His name shall be sacred amongst us
And a watchword in foray and fray ! "
Then that fierce clansman glared o'er the moorland,
As the wolf looketh out for his prey,
And he dashed through the ford like an arrow
On the track of his foeman away.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
This ia a very beautiful traditional version of a sweet air. I got it in
the Macroom district of Co. Cork. It should *be sung fairly slowly and
with expression and feeling. As the verses are ten-line ones I have repeated
the music of the seventh and eighth lines for the ninth and tenth. This
conforms to the practice of old Irish singers.
112
'pe n-emnin i!
KEY E.
P
<: .3, Id :d ,,r |n :s
( In I Dru - id vale a
m :r
lone I
d
lay,
crcs.
j:s ,1
< Op -
ta
: l.s.m |r :m_
with care, to
ta : 1 |s
weep the day —
f '
My
s :m
death I
d1 ;t .d1
owed one
1 ; s,m r |m \
sylph - like she, )
:- .d |d :- .r
'pe
m !d,l|.S| |1| )
n • eminn \ i )
2. The spouse of Naisi, Erin's woe ;
The dame that laid proud Ilium low —
Their charms would fade, their fame would flee,
Matched with my fair, 'pe n-eipinn i 1
'p6 n-eijMnn i I
3. Behold her tresses, unconfined,
In wanton ringlets woo the wind,
Or sweep the sparkling dew-drops free,
My heart's dear maid, 'pe" n-eijMnn i 1
. 'pe" 11 eipinn i 1
113
4. Fierce passion's slave, from hope exiled,
Weak, wounded, weary, woeful, wild —
Some magic spell she wove for me,
That peerless maid, 'pe" n eijMtin i !
'pe n-6ijMtin i !
6. But O ! one noon I climb a hill
To sigh alone — to weep my fill,
And there Heaven's mercy brought to me
My treasure rare, 'p6 n-6ij\inn i !
'p6 ti-6ij\inti i !
EDWARD WALSH.
This is a most sweet and beautiful melody. The words are an excellent
translation of a famous song in Irish by " Liam Dall," or " Blind William,"
one of our best Irish poets. The air is taken, by permission, from Dr.
Joyce's collection.
114
THE FLOWER OF FINAE.
KEY!.
t| I S|
Sheel - in,
il
(Is :f .r :d .,r
(. I moun tains is
Air : " An cuninn IOAC Ati oi-6ce u-o."
d :d _
Brightl red is the
t, : d : r«m«f
sun on
the
d :d : r .d
cool gen " tie
d :-
stealing,
s :jr :.,||
waves of Lough)
:d
*i
breeze from the
IIs
: s
While fair round its
f :
f
:s .f
m
:r
:d
t, :
s,
is -
lets
the
small
rip
- pies
play,
fair -
d
er
:r.d
than
t,
all
:d
is
:r.ni
f
s :
Flow'r
f
the
of
But
nae.
2. Her hair is like night and her eyes like grey morning,
She trips on the heather as if its touch scorning,
Yet her heart and her lips are as mild as May day,
Sweet Eily Mac Mahon, the Flow'r of Finae.
3. But who down the hillside than red deer runs fleeter ?
And who on the lakeside is hastening to greet her ?
Who but Fergus O'Farrell, the fiery and gay,
The darling and pride of the Flow'r of Finae.
4. One kiss and one clasp, and one wild look of gladness ;
Ah ! why do they change on a sudden to sadness —
He has told his hard fortune nor mote can he say,
He must leave his poor Eily, the Flow'r of Finae.
115
5. For Fergus O'Farrell was true to his sire-land,
And the dark hand of tyranny drove him from Ireland ;
He joins the Brigade, in the wars far away,
But he vows he'll come back to the Flow'r of Finae.
6. He fought at Cremona — she hears of his story ;
He fought at Cassano — she's proud of his glory ;
Yet sadly she sings " Shule Aroon " all the day,
" Oh ! come, come, my darling, come home to Finae.".
7. Eight long years have passed, till she's nigh broken-hearted,
Her reel and her rock and her flax she has parted ;
She sails with the " Wild Geese " to Flanders away,
And leaves her sad parents alone in Finae.
8. Lord Clare on the field of Ramilies is charging —
Before him the Sasanach squadrons enlarging —
Behind him the Cravats their sections display —
Beside him rides Fergus and shouts for Finae.
9. On the slopes of La Judoigne the Frenchmen are flying,
Lord Clare and his squadrons the foe still defying,
Outnumbered and wounded, retreat in array ;
And bleeding rides Fergus and thinks of Finae.
10. In the cloisters of Ypres a banner is swaying,
And by it a pale weeping maiden is praying ;
That flags the sole trophy of Ramilies' fray ;
This nun is poor Eily, the Flow'r of Finae.
THOMAS DAVIS.
116
LAMENT OF THE IRISH MOTHER.
KEY C. Slowly. Air : " A SpAilpin A JMIII.'
jid'.ta
1 :ta :-.! Is
why did you| go
:-.! '.t
when the
d1 :-
flowers
:m ,
were )
( Oh!
f If
:m :m .f
S
. 1 tal . e f
• 1 t D ' A
ni.ni : -
fn!r ,
( (spring - ing And
win •
ter's wild
tempest
had )
r'd'
I
d :- :d
vanished a-
d
way,
:- rd'.ta
When the
1 :-
swal -
.ta:l )
low was >
I
S
come
:-.! :t
and the
d1
sweet
: - : m .m 1 f : m
lark was) sing - ing
:m ,f )
, From the)
(
S
:ftal:s .f
PI
:- fm :r
d ?-
.d :d )
i
morn to the
eve
of the
beau
ti - ful >
(
d
:- :n.f
S
:d' :-.r'
m'.d1:?'
: m1 .m1 .
1
day ? Oh !
why
did you
g°
when the )
/^
i
r1
sum
- mer was
t .,1
:s :m .f
ing, And the
s .d1 : -
heaven
:rl ,
was )
com -
(
m1
:-.r' id'.t
d1
: - : d1 .d1
d1 :-
:s .1 )
i
blue
as your
own
sunny
eye,
W. en the j
,
ta
:ta :-.!
S
:- .1 :t
d1 :-
.m :m )
1
bee
on the
bios
som was
drow -
si - ly \
i
f .m :- ;m .f
humming — Ma
S
voor
: ltal : s .f
m .m :-
voor neen,
tn :r *
Oh! >
- neen, ma
\
d
:- .d :d
d
:~ II
(
why
did you
die ?
II
117
2. My hot tears are falling in agony o'er you.
My heart was bound up in the life that is gone ;
Oh ! why did you go from the mother that bore you,
A chara ma chuishle ! why leave me alone ?
The primrose each hedgerow and dingle is studding ;
The violet's breath is on each breeze's sigh,
And the woodbine you loved round your window is budding
Oh ! Maurye ma voorneen ! why, why, did you die ?
3. The barebell is missing your step on the mountain,
The sweet-brier droops for the hand that it loved,
And the hazel's pale tassels hang over the fountain
That springs in the copse where so often you roved.
The hawthorn pearls fall as though they were weeping,
Upon the low grave where your cold form doth lie,
And the soft dews of evening there longest lie sleeping —
Ma voorneen, ma voorneen, oh ! why did you die ?
4. A Chara Machree, you are ever before me —
I scarce see the heaven to which you are gone,
So dark are the clouds of despair which lie o'er me,
Oh, pray for me ! pray at the Almighty's throne !
Oh, pray that the chain of my bondage may sever,
That to thee and our Father my freed soul may fly,
Or the cry of my spirit for ever and ever,
Shall be — " Oh, ma voorneen, why, why did you die ? "
MBS. MARY C. F. MUNSTEB (" TINY ").
1835-1892.
This is one of our most beautiful airs. It was taken down from the sing-
ing of a traditional singer at Ring, Co. Waterford, by Miss O'Reilly, of Mac-
room. It finds a fit partner in this moving ballad. They are here linked
for the first time. It is only in an island of faith and love and poetry
one could expect an elevating ballad of this kind. How different from the
Imported English effusions ! There are three more verses which may bfl
found in Hayes's ballads.
118
THE MOUNTAINS.
KEY p. Briskly. Air : " The Rapparees.'
<:d
d :- :
m |m :
- : s
s : -
:f
r :-
:t, >
1 My
spurs
are rusted^ my
coat
is
rent,
Myy
(Id :- :*
( 1 plume is
Is :-
dank
:s
with
s :- :- |
rain ;
; M i ro ^
And the )
1 1 this
:- :f
- tie
|r :-.r:r
down and the
m :-
bar
ley
d :-
beard
Are >
(If :- :r
( 1 thick on my
Id :-
hor
:»i
se's
d :- :- I
mane;
:s :s >
But my )
(Is :- :H
( 1 rifle's as
bright
:t.t
as my
1 :-
sweet -
:1 |s,:-
heart's eye
And my )
(| arm
is
strong
:t
and
free,
What)
JIB :- :n |d' :-
1 1 care have I
it.tll :-
for your] King
:1 1
and
s :-
laws,
:m.m>
I'm an)
l 1 out
:- :d |r :-
lawed rap
:m
pa-
s :- :- |
^"\.
n :-
Click, >
ree.
f Id
I Si : —
1 1| *~
: t
d :-
:d |
d :-
:d )
\ \ click your
glass
- es,
friends,
with
mine,
And)
(In
:r jd
|r :-
:r
to
r :- :-
me;
I'
m- I
( 1 give your grasp
411
:s :m
|d' : t
I'm
]
•• : d1
:1
land's
s :m
:r i
Click,)
( | Eng - land's foe,
Ire
friend,
lid :s, :B,
( | click, I'm a
Id :-
rap -
:d
pa -
d :- :- | :
ree.
119
The mountain cavern is my home,
High up in the crystal air,
My bed is the limestone, iron-ribbed,
And the brown heath smelling fair.
Let George or William only send
His troops to burn or shoot,
We'll meet them upon equal ground
And fight them foot to foot.
Click, click your glasses, friends, with mine,
The midnight's made for glee ;
Stout hearts beat fast for Ireland yet,
Yes — I'm a rapparee.
3. Hunted from out our fathers' home,
Pursued with steel and shot,
A bloody warfare we must wage,
Or the gibbet be our lot.
Hurrah ! the war is welcome work,
The hated outlaw knows,
He steps unto his country's love
O'er the corpses of his foes.
Click, click your glasses, friends, with mine,
In the coming days I see
Stern labours for our country's weal,
Yes. — I'm a rapparee.
This is a fine, bold, rousing air and a defiant song. The Rapparoes'
deeds of daring are entwined in our country's history, and so the song
commemorates another " fact " in the story of our native land. I am
obliged to the friend, already mentioned, who gave me an opportunity
of putting on record this type of a class.
FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW.
KEY F. Lively.
r :-
:r |p :-
:d
1, :-
:t, Id :-
»- I
Lift
Mac Ca
hir
Oge,
your face,
>
Grey
said vict
o -
iy
was sure —
r :-
:r |f :-
:s
1 :-
:s If :-
:n )
Brood -
ing o'er
the
old
dis - grace,
That)
Soon
The Fire
brand he'd
se - cure ;
Un -
|r :-
| black
:r |p :-
Fitz - will -
:d
iam
1, :-
stormed
:t, Id :-
your place,
:n >
And)
til
he met
at
Glen -
ma - lure,
D.C.
|r :-
| drove
:r |m :-
you to
:d
the
r :-
fer
n!
: II
Feagh
Mac Hugh
0'
Byrne !
CHORUS —
ill :-
1 Curse
:t |d' :-
and swear,
•
1 :-
Lord
:t |d' :-
Kil - dare !
! \
[In :-
1 1 Feagh
:H In :-
will do
:r ,d :-
what] Feagh
:r |m :-
:s >
will dare: —
f
i| Now,
Fitz - will -
:t
iam
I1 '-
,\ have
it | d I •"
a care — •
1 }
rim :-
11 Fall.
: m | m : -
en is
:d
you
|r :-
r| star,
:- 1r :-
low!
! \
121
1 :-
H
On
51
1 1 Feng!
il
t |d' :-
with hal
; n |n : -
we go ;
:t |d' :-
Mac Hugh
bert,
for
has
out
ro : n : n
Fol - low me
In :-
up
:d
to
by
r1 :-
given
Car
with sword !
:r |m :- ;a
the Lord !
the word —
:- |r :- :
low!
2. See the swords of Glen Imayle
Flashing o'er the English Pale !
See all the children of the Gael
Beneath O'Byrne's banners !
Rooster of a fighting stock,
Would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock ?
Fly up and teach him manners !
CHORUS.
2. From Tassagart to Clonmore,
Flows a stream of Saxon gore !
Och, great is Rory Oge O'More
At sending loons to Hades !
White is sick and Lane is fled !
'Now for black Fitzwilliam's head — •
We'll send it over dripping red
To 'Liza* and her ladies !
CHORUS.
Queen Elizabeth.
P. J. M'CALL.
I am indebted to Mr. M'Call for this fine version of the air, which ia
the one to which he wrote his song. I append his note on the song : — " It
is a tradition that this air was first performed by the pipers of Feagh
Mao Hugh as he marched to attack Carlow after his victory over Lord
Deputy Grey at Glenmalure (A.D. 1580). Cahir Ogue was Brian Mac Cahir
Cavanagh, whom Fitzwilliam had driven out of his possessions,"
122
LAMENT OF
KEY B[?. Fairly slow.
( The night ii
GARQDH EARLA.
Air:
Uo-tfioc.
I
:d .r
-,r, |r
•dniy f i .1,
With thun-ders
com - ing, with black clouds] loom
li *>f| :1| -S| : f i .,f| |fi
boom - ing, and wild winds] moan ;
x>m - ing. )
1 »f|,S|
( The
| -r |r
The fierce wolfs! yell
:d
c .M
( Our
ing from Cor-rin
I ' 1 S " I I
Our fate seems] tell - ing with mourn-f ul
.djfflf, .1, I
swell - ing
,
tone ;
I di .)
- iner. )
'
.f^s,:!, .1, If
The dark cave's) o'er
.r :r .d 11^
With mad-d'ning| cho
Yet love beams! clear
fe'l -ll |lL_J
On death's brink] near - Iy, by Mul - la's| shore !
:m .,r :r .r
us, deep floods be-
•s,
rus down rough rocks
:d .r :f, .r,
- ly, tho' we sit
•8
d .,r
fore
pour.
rl • ^1 •!
drear - Iy, >
123
2. What dreams were mine, love, ere hope's decline, love,
In war to shine, love, for Innisfail ;
Aye, to defend her from those that rend her,
And cloud the splendour of the dauntless Gael ; —
I reared each castle, I roused each vassal
From sloth and wassail, to grasp the spear,
And aye through gory red fields of glory
Bright triumph bore me for many a year.
3. And, oh ! I quailed not while true hearts failed not,
But blood availed not to set her free,
For those whose might, love, should still e'en smite, love,
Grew faint in flight, love, and false to me ; —
My power is broken, and each proud token
Of Erin woken has died away ;
For each endeavour will fail for ever,
While brave hearts sever, and friends betray !
4. We've now for vassal and lordly castle,
And blithe friends' wassail, this cave of gloom,
With cold winds sighing round the embers dying ;
Yet still defying, we'll meet our doom.
One joy will nourish, though power may perish,
That joy we'll cherish — we'll love the more,
And love beams clearly, though we sit drearly,
On death's brink nearly, by Mulla's shore !
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
I am glad to have found, after much searching, a song to match this
quaint old sweet Irish air, which was taken down from the singing of
Bridgie Cronin, a young girl who lives at Toames, near Macroom. I wed
the air to a very good classical Irish song in No. 4, p. 29, of my " £uinn HA
Smol" series.
124
THE PATRIOT MOTHER.
KEY G.
Come,
s, .m :m .m :- .r,r|r .d :d .d :- .d >
tell us the name of the] reb- el - ly crew Who)
lift - ed the pike on the
II
:d .d
Cur - ragh with you ; Come
.s, I
ome, >
s, ,m :m .m :- .r,rir .d :d .d :- ,d,d)
tell us the trea - son, and| then you'll be free, Or right)
.,1, : s, .S|
.t
quick-ly you'll swing on the
r .,d :d .d
high gal - lows tree.
<|s ,f :
( | lean - av !
:f .f
lean - av ! the shad-ow
m .m :•
of shame
"A
.r
Has
d .m
nev-er
S, ,,N
s .sls :f an
yet fall - en on
one
:m
:r .r
oh ! may the food from my
:r .r :r ,S| >
of your name ; And)
r .,d :d .d :- .d,d)
bos - om you drew, In your)
II
t, .,1, :s, .s, :1| .t,,t,|r .,d :d
veins turn to pois - on, if you) turn un - true.
2. " The foul words — oh ! let them not blacken your tongue,
That would prove to your friends and your country a wrong ;
Or the curse of a mother, so bitter and dread
With the wrath of the Lord— may they fall on your head I
125
I have no one but you in the whole world wide,
Yet false to your pledge, you'd ne'er stand at my side :
If a traitor you lived, you'd be farther away
From my heart than, if true, you were wrapp'd in the clay*
" Oh ! deeper and darker the mourning would be
For your falsehood so base, than your death proud and free.
Dearer, far dearer, than ever to me,
My darling, you'll be on the brave gallows tree.
'Tis holy, a ghrau, from the bravest and best —
Go ! go ! from my heart, and be join'd with the rest.
A leanav, machree ! A leanav machree !
Sure a ' stag * and a traitor you never will be."
4. There's no look of a traitor upon the young brow
That's raised to the tempters so haughtily now ;
No traitor e'er held up the firm head so high,
No traitor e'er show'd such a proud flashing eye.
On the high gallows tree ! on the brave gallows tree !
Where smil'd leaves and blossoms, his sad doom met he !
But it never bore blossom so pure or so fair,
As the heart of the martyr that hangs from it there.
MBS. KEVIN IZOD O'DOHERTY.
("EVA.")
The above air is one that some people sing to Denny Lane's song " On
Carrighoun," instead of its proper air, " The Foggy Dew." I have a note
on the subject in its proper place. This present song and the air match
each other well, and are linked together by the old singers of Co. Cork.
" Eva " of The Nation was born at Kelly's Mills, Co. Galway, about four
miles from Portumna. She died about 1910, at an advanced age. Miss
Kelly was Jier name.
CAOCH O'LEARY.
KEY C. Plaintively. Air : " The Wind that Shakes the Barley."
id1 Id1 :-
One' win
- :1 |1 :s :m d1 :- :1 I 1 :s
:m
Wher
ter's day, long, long a - go,
I was
m |s :- :1
a lit - tie
s :- :- |m :-
fel - - low
:s
A
d1 :- :
pi
t Id1 :- :r'
per came un -
n1 : - : m1 | ni1 : -
to our door,
Grey-
d1 :- :
head
1 |t :1 :s
1 :- :- |1 :-
yel - - low,
it
And
ed, blind, and
d1 :- :
oh!
how glad was
/T\
ro : - : ro1 | ni1 *. -
my young heart,
Tho
d' :- :
earth
t |d' :- :r' |n' :- :- U :-
and sky looked drear - y,
:t
To
d1 :- :
see
t |d' :- :r'
the strang - er
m :- :m' |ro' :-
and his dog —
:r'
Pooi
d' :- :
Pinch
1 |t :1 :s
1 :- :- |1 :-
Lear - y.
II
and Caoch O'
2. And when he stowed away his bag,
Cross-barred with green and yellow,
I thought and said, " In Ireland's ground,
There's not so fine a fellow."
And Fineen Burke, and Shaun Magee,
And Eily, Kate, and Mary,
Rushed in, with panting haste, to see
And welcome Caach O'Leary.
127
3 O God be with those happy times !
O God be with my childhood ;
When I bare-headed, roamed all day —
Bird-nesting in the wild-wood.
I'll not forget those sunny hours,
However years may vary ;
I'll not forget my early friends,
Nor honest Caoch O'Leary.
4. Poor Caoch and Pinch slept well that night,
And in the morning early
He called me up to hear him play
" The Wind that Shakes the Barley " ;
And then he stroked my flaxen hair,
And cried, " God mark my deary ! "
And how I wept when he said " Farewell,
And think of Caoch O'Leary ! "
6. The seasons came and went, and still
Old Caoch was not forgotten,
Although we thought him dead and gone
And in the cold grave rotten ;
And often, when I walked and talked
With Eily, Kate, and Mary,
We thought of childhood's rosy hours,
And prayed for Caoch O'Leary.
6. Well — twenty summers had gone past,
And June's red sun was sinking,
When I, a man, sat by my door,
Of twenty sad things thinking.
A little dog came up the way,
His gait was slow and weary,
And at his tail a lame man limped —
'Twas Pinch and Caoch O'Leary.
7. Old Caoch, but, oh, how woe-begone !
His form is bowed and bending,
His fleshless hands are stiff and wan,
Ay — Time is even blending
The colours of his thread-bare bag —
And Pinch is twice as hairy
And thin-spare as when, first I saw
Himself and Caoch O'Leary.
123
" God's blessing here ! " the wanderer cried,
" Far, far be hell's black viper ;
Does anybody hereabouts
Remember Caoch the Piper ? "
With swelling heart I grasped his hand ;
The old man murmured, " Deary,
Are you the silky-headed child
That loved poor Caoch O'Leary ? "
9. " Yes, yes," I said — the wanderer wept
As if his heart was breaking —
" And where, a vie machree ! " he sobbed,
"Is all the merry-making
I found here twenty years ago ? "
" My tale," I sighed, " might weary ;
Enough to say — there's none but me
To welcome Caoch O'Leary."
10. " Vo, vo, vo ! " the old man cried,
And wrung his hands in sorrow,
" Pray let me in, a sthore machree,
And I'll ' go home ' to-morrow.
My peace is made ; I'll calmly leave
This world so cold and dreary ;
And you shall keep my pipes and dog,
And pray for Caoch O'Leary."
1 1 . With Pinch I watched his bed that night ;
Next day his wish was granted ;
He died, and Father James was brought,
And the Requiem Mass was chanted.
The neighbours came ; we dug his grave
Near Eily, Kate, and Mary,
And there he sleeps his last sweet sleep.
God rest you ', Caoch O'Leary.
KEEGAN.
129
MAIRE DHOON ASTHORE.
Air : " 5j\A-6 mo 6]Aoi-oe.>
In valleys l®ne I plucked the flowers
And wove them in her hair,
And never in the greenwood bowers,
Looked forest queen as fair.
She gave one silent glance at me,
With love-light flowing o'er —
Oh ! well that love's returned to theo,
My Maire Dhoon Asthore.
2. The sloethorn woos tfce poplar brown,
Where shines the sunlit hill — •
Its blossoms waft an odour down
O'er meadow-slope, and rill.
Her hand is as that blossom white,
As pure her bosom's core ;
My well of joy, my life's delight,
My Maire Dhoon Asthore.
3. I've strung my harp to many a lay,
With soothing magic sound —
I've sung to lords and ladies gay,
Throughout old Ireland's ground.
But now I find the tones are vain,
The ancient songs to pour
Thy name alone that fills the strain,
My Maire Dhoon Asthore.
J. K. CASEY (" Leo.")
N.B. — For air see page 30.
1-6
130
THERE IS A STREAM.
KEY C. Stately Air: " C&itin HA
: .d
There
is
m .f | s ': - .m
a stream 'mid
d1 :t .s |1
Hou - ra's dells
That )
r
1 dan -
:s
I- -f
:n .f
r :d |
fleet - ly,
:d )
That >
ces
down-ward
Id .r
:m .f
rors
Is
rocks
:- .ro
and
d1
:t .s 11
:- .r ,
And)
1 mir -
hea - ther - bells
| sings
:s .f
by
IN
wild
:- .r
woods
d :d |
sweet - ly,
j d' )
With )
id'
:t .d1
/r\
|r'
:t .r1
d1
:t .s |1
:- .r
1 droop
- ing
birch
and
Dri
- naun Dhun
Its f
r
:s
I- -f
:m .f
r
:d 1
:d }
ver
nal
banks a-
dorn - ing,
And |
Id .r
* ni .f
Is
love
:- .m
with
d'
:t .s 11
:- .r ,
MyJ
there
my
sweet smiles won
lr .•_
:-
1- -f
* r jn
d
:d 1
II
| fond heart
in the
morn - ing.
131
2. God bless the May that brought to me
The love that nought can sunder !
God bless the odorous Drinaun tree
That we sat fondly under !
The skies were blue, the clouds were bright,
The valleys shade and splendour,
And Annie's eyes were filled with light
Of love all true and tender.
3. And oft within that valley lone
We met on May-days after,
While aye the stream went murmuring on
With sounds like fairy laughter ;
'Tis there a rill, but far below
It winds, a calm bright river, —
Thus may our firm love forward go,
Increasing on for ever ?
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
The above is a most sweet and peculiar air. It was taken down from
the singing of Kate Cronin who lives at CUI|AIN nA tx>bAp, near
Inchigeela, Co. Cork. It is an air altogether out of the common run
of airs. I found it very hard to match it with a song. The Irish song
for it is found in " ]Tuinn IIA Sinol," No. 3, p. 11.
132
ALLEY KELLY O !
KEY F. Lively. Air: " Up the Foggy Mountain.'*
clr :- :r |r :d :r
( I Up the fog - gy
d
f :- :- |f :- :s >
moun - tain, With-)
the air
valley
:- |d :- :d
O!
Be
- :r |r :d rj*
the sum - mer
( | side
:- :s |f :- :
f :- :r |f :- :s
foun
:- :s >
tain I >
met
my Al
ley
Kelly
( | neck than wood - rose
whi
O !
ter,
Her)
Is '- :ro d :- :- |d :- :r >
the glow - ing
cherry
O!
You'd)
clr :- :r
( I find n
r :d :r
no maid-en
t ••- =r |f :- :s ,
bright
er
FromT
Shav
s If :- :r ir :- :- |r :- ;-
na - mon to 1 Kerry O 1
133
2. Her hair in streams of glory
Fell curling down so grandly O !
When by that mountain hoary
My love stood smiling blandly O !
I thought the Queen of Faery
That highland valley haunted O !
When 'neath the green trees airy.
I sat me down enchanted O !
3. My heart was flaming wildly,
My voice with love was trembling O !
Her words came low and mildly,
The heart's sweet tone resembling O !
I told her by the water
While sang the wild birds clearly O 1
That up the hills I sought her
And that I loved her dearly O !
4. Within my heart I blessed her,
She looked so fondly smiling O !
And earnestly I pressed her
To be my own beguiling O !
And still to that dear fountain
Within the airy valley O !
I oft stray o'er the mountain
To meet my Alley Kelly O !
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
131
SHEER SMUEENTHE.*
KEY C- Easily. Air: "Emir's Farewell."
<| -t, :d.r
N. •-
,r | m .1 : s .m
r .d :
li | .d :ni .f )
( I shed no
tear
and I sing no
sor -
row, I pass my)
(is :- .1
|s .m
; d »PI
r
noise,
:-
I .t, :d .r >
([days
'mid the ci - ty's
But I'm )
(In :- .r
( I him - g'ri
|m .1
ng ev - er
: S .PI
r .d
•' li >s
the
|1, .t, :d .r >
to
greet
mor - row That)
rail.
m/. A tempo.
(in :- .f
(| bears n
|m .r
:d .r
to the
d
old -
:d
en
Id .s :1 .t >
joys. Here friends are)
ae back
rid' :- .t |t .1
( I kind and the
: 3 .m
world is
s .m
pleas
:d
- ant,
I .s :1 .t )
But day and )
{Id- :- .1
(lev' - n
, It .1
: s .m
long a-
r
gain
:-
] .s :s .s >
To fly a- >
ing I
Mt :- .r
(| way f
1 Ir'.d'
bu -sy
— - —
.
s m
r— — •
:d
- ent
1- .t, :d.r >
rom the
pres
And )
^=r: rail
•^^
j|n .1 :s_jt, |r .d
(| press the turf
of my
d
na
:d
tive
Id .||
glen. II
135
'Tis a lonely place that comes up before me,
A place of ferny hills and streams ;
I feel the breath of its breezes o'er me,
I hear its echoes in all my dreams.
'Tis calling, calling when summer's reigning.
In springtime's promise, in autumn's prime,
Or icy's winter's rough hand is chaining
The river's rush, still I hear its chime.
3. Old tunes come stealing, with memory laden,
Old songs I heard in the far-off days
That call back many a boy and maiden
Whose lives are running in sundered ways.
They make me sad, but not all the pleasure
Of earth could e'er be so dear to me
As the thoughts that pulse through each mellow measure
Of those snatches of olden melody.
4. Like a prisoned bird I am always thinking
Of the myriad places I knew of yore,
I long to look on the day god sinking
O'er Ard-na-gaoithe and Cuan-an-6ir.
Speed sun and moon, and the glad hour bring me
That gives me back all my heart holds best,
My childhood's mountains once more to ring me
And the sounding streams of my own dear West.
WILLIAM ROONEY.
136
NED OF THE HILL.
KEY E|?. Smoothly and feelingly* Air: "e&tnotiti A' Cntnc.'-'
f :m
d
:- :l|-t|
d :- :d .r
m .d1 : t j
( Oh!
dark
is the
ev' - ning and
si - lent the )
(
1
;-
:-
S
:m .r Id :
: r .ro >
*
hour,
Who
is the) min
strel by)
I
f
yon
; —
der lone) tower
:m
? His
d :
harp
all so )
r
d
;-
:d .r
m
d' :t
1 :
:t .1
'
ten
-
der - ly
touch
- ing with
skill ;
OhT )
(Is :
( | who
m
should
: r
it
d :
be
- :r.n|? :
but young) Ned
:d.r )
of the)
!
d :
Hill!
-
:s
Who
T ;
sings,
ft 1
: QI
'La - dy
s :
love
m :s )
won't you )
i
1 :
come
t
with
:- .1
me
s :
now,
IS
Oh!
s :
come
-.n :r ,
and live )
<|d :
( 1 mer
-
i T jn
ri - ly
un
deTthe
bough,
:n.r >
. Andl'llf
5 Id :- :l,.t,|d
( Ipil
• u .r jm :a' : t >
low thyl head .where the| light fai - ries j
tread, If
r : - : d .r
Ned of the
d
Hill.'
137
s : m : r
thou wilt but
d : - : r .ni
wed
r .m )
with )"
2. Young Ned of the Hill has no castle or hall,
Nor spearsmen nor bowmen to come at his call ;
But one little archer of exquisite skill,
Has shot a bright shaft for Ned of the Hill,
Who sings, " Lady love, won't you come with me now ?
Oh ! come and live merrily under the bough,
And I'll pillow thy head where the light fairies tread,
If thou wilt but wed with Ned of the Hill."
3. 'Tis hard to escape that fair lady's bower,
For high is the window and guarded the tower ;
" But where there's a way there is always a will"
So Eileen is off with young Ned of the Hill !
Who sings, " Lady love, thou art mine, mine now ?
Oh ! we will live merrily under the bough.
And I'll pillow thy head where the light fairies tread,
For Eileen is wed to young Ned of the Hill ! "
SAMUEL LOVER.
The above is the traditional version of the air as sung in my native
County of Waterford. It is a beautiful bit of Irish music.
138
I'VE COME UNTO MY HOME AGAIN.
KEY G. Moderalo. Air : «' A|\eip A'|- tne £
• »S |
I've
m .,r
come un
- to
•f | in .,r
my home a
: m .d
- gain, and
t, .,1,
• sl
•i.
It,
:? .,r
find my
- self
a
lone
The
piu lento.
id ,t,
1 friends I
: s,
.f| ,H1|
If, ,f,
qui - et
there are
left
in
d .,d
:d
.,d
Id
: .s,
per - ished all
and
gone;
My
1 iii
:m
.,f
|m .r
t * 1
' fa - ther's house
is
ten - ant -
less, my
td .t,
ear - ly
love
•A
lies
It, .d
low,
But
jiu lento
d .,t,
one re
:s,
.fi ,ni|
of
If, .,s,
all that
: S| ,t|
made my
- mains
d .t,
youth - ful
:d
spir -
it
Id
glow.
1 ^
II My
d .d
: m
of
Is .,s
:s ISN .PI
love liea
in
the
blush - ing
west, drest
139
II
m .,r
pleas - ant
piu lento.
d .t,
know her
II
m
wild
d
dis
d
is
d
own,
winds
•t,
tant
.,t,
my
.t,
my
:f
robe
:m
wa
.S
of
.f
- tors
»l .»»|
for their
:m
fan
IS,
bil
: s,
last
:d
is
.f
her
.1,
lows
land
|f .m
And
}
green,
| in ,r
sing to
• j-mrt,
her
•t,
and
!
Is,
queen,
:
•s,
The
}
In ->r
face that
: rmrti
o'er
.t,
the
1
It,
:d
She
}
come ;
1 f, ,f,
main - ing
love,
<t,
my
}
Id .|
home ! II
2. And when I lift my voice and sing unto thy silent shades,
And echo wakens merrily in all thy drowsy shades,
There's not a rill, a vale, a hill, a wild wood or still grove,
But gives again the bursting strain, and yields me love for love.
Oh ! I have seen the maiden of my bosom pine and die,
And I have seen my bosom friend look on me doubtingly,
And long, oh ! long, have all my young affections found a tomb,
Yet thou art all in all to me, my own, my island home !
GERALD GRIFFIN.
There is not in this or in any other collection a sweeter air than this.
It was taken down from the singing of Diarmuid O Lehane, a young
man who lives at Ballingeary, Co. Cork (1906). He has a fine traditional
method of singing. This air, in spirit and swing, fits admirably into
Gerald Griffin's beautiful song to which it is here linked for the first
time.
140
PAUSTHEEN FIUNN.
KEY Bp. Pleasantly.
My
:m.r
My
s, :- :d.d|d.t,:-
Paus .- theen Fiunn is
d :- :r_.dJd.S|:-
heart laughs out in
:d
my
.
her
m :- : r. d | r :-
soul's de - light —
t, :- :d |s, :-
blue eyes bright
The
m.r
Her
CHORUS —
I
0!
S| :-.d : d | d.t, : - :d
bloom of the ap-ple her
d :-.t,:s, |f, :-.r,:s,
neck like the March swan's in
m :-
bo -
d, :-
white
m, :-.f,:s, |d.s,:- :s.
you are my dear, my | dear,
:r.d|r :-
som white,
:- Id, :-
f, |s, PI,:-
my dear,
f :d, m, :-.f,:s, 1 1, :-.d:r
( O ! vou are mv dear. and i
i i- — i i - 1
you are my dear, and my
You
d :- :- |d :- >
fair love ; )
m, :-.f,:s, 1 1, :-.s,:f, s, :-.d:r |n :- >
are my own dear, and my fond - est hope here ; )
( :r d :-.t,:s, | f , r-.r.is, Id, :- :-
( And O t that my cot - tage you'dl share,
Id, :-
love 1
141
2. Love of my bosom, my fair Paustheen
Whose cheek is reel like the rose's sheen ;
My thoughts of the maiden are pure, I ween,
Save toasting her health in my lightness.
CHORUS;
3. Were I in our village where sports prevail,
Between two barrels of brave brown ale,
My fair little sister to list my tale,
How jovial and happy I'd make me !
CHORUS.
4. In fever for nine long nights I've lain
From lying in the hedge-row beneath the rain,
While, "gift of my bosom ! I hoped in vain
Some whistle or call might awake ye !
CHORUS.
From kinsfolk and friends, my fair, I'd flee,
And all the beautiful maids that be,
But never I'll leave sweet gra machree,
Till death in your service o'ertake me !
CHORUS.
EDWARD WALSH.
This is the most singable version of the air that I have seen. It is
the version sung by the traditional singers of the Co. Waterford. The
translation by Walsh is also the most singable of those made, as well
as the simplest.
142
THE STORMY SEA SHALL FLOW IN.
Moderate Air : " Soipcin 6|\nAn."
f:
(
Mr
( I hi
.,s,
The
t, .d
storm-y
:r
.m
|f . :s .f
< I
( I
high
r
I,
s
.1, :tj _ J,
land
sea shall flow
|s, ,s,
val - ley
in, Our
:s, .r
through, Ero
.r
my
false
:s .,s
faith - ful
.r
to
\T
Ow
fe « 1 < fe :
d' ,t .l__,,t
en. Trove
love
and you, My
)
>
(Ir .r
( I heart w
:s
(I
( I
wea
sad and
_L 'r
ry
lone
^ ;d' ,t . 1 ,t )
ly, Each >
I f e < 1 t fe : s .,s,
night and day, Till
>
>
.d
: r
.m
.1
our kind
chase
ac - cents on
:s
iy
.f
Have
my
|s, .s,
grief a
way.
H3
2. For my dear mother left me — •
Cold, cold in death she lies —
Ah, how drear fortune reft me
Of all my heart could prize !
My father far would wander
Unto some foreign zone,
And I was left to ponder
Upon my grief alone.
3. Then came a sure sweet token
Such sorrows might, not last :
In joy you ne'er had spoken,
You spoke when joy had passed.
Then the stormy sea shall flow in,
Our highland valleys through,
Ere I, my faithful Owen,
Prove false to love and you.
ROBERT D. JOYCE> M.D.
This is the traditional version of the air as taken down from Danny
Warren, who is perhaps the best traditional singer of Co. Cork. I link
it for the first time with Dr. Joyce's nice song. It is a lovely air.
THE ROSEMARY CROWN.
KEY F. Moderate. Air : " cill
: mr
d :1, :1, |d :r :n
Wait- ing in sor - row and
ing —
m : m : n | m : r : d
ait-ing thro' gloom-i - est
d :1, :1, |d :r : m
Clad in the robe of the
m : d :r |d :d :d
Crav-ing for beau- ty and
m : r : m | s : 1 : t
Cen - tti - ries lift - ed the
1 : 1 : 1 | s : m : r
hurl-ed wrong's pin - na - cles
d :1, :1, |d :r : m
still ho - ly Ire - land is
m :d :r |d :d :d
wear-ing the Rose - ma - ry
r :- :- |-
night,
: - | s MI
cy press —
d :- :- |- :-
light ;
d1 :- :- |t :1
na
down —
1
wait
- : - s
ng,
m.r )
~{
•'i
tions, And)
And)
Crown.
2. Oh, the fullness of joy in the hoping
The rich light which fancy had dreamed,
When once, for the lapse of a moment,
The sunlight of Liberty streamed.
145
How we planted the flag on our towers
And waved it o'er mountain and town ;
But alas ! still the cypress was blooming —
Alas ! for the Rosemary Crown.
3. And lonely, and lonely, and lonely,
A watcher still sat by the sea,
With face as the white marble pallid,
And eyes gazing mournfully ;
With hands lifted up in appealing
That God would His mercy send down,
And the leaves of the laurel be shining,
Where rested the Rosemary Crown.
4. Wo gave her the song of the poet,
We gave her the work of the brain,
Cast the glory of heaven around her,
Yet still all our work was inane.
*' She is dead," said the scoff of the stranger,
A laugh for the cynic and clown ;
Ah ! little he knew the wild passion
Long hid in the Rosemary Crown.
6. Now, the love and the hope of a world,
Daar Mother ! thy children have brought,
The hard-handed strength of the soldier,
The blade of the mind full of thought.
The earnestness martyrs have taught uo,
The strength of their glorious renown — •
To the graves of the dead .shall be borne
The leaves of the Rosemary Crown.
6. Weep not ! 'tis the hour of the dawning — •
Weep not ! we are ready to save —
Nor reck of a newer heart broken,
Nor reck of another fresh grave.
O'er the graves we have marched in the past time,
Still praying the dew to fall down,
Till the leaves of the bay shine as fairly —
As darkly the Rosemary Crown.
J. K. CASEY ("Leo").
146
BOUCHALEEN BAWN.
KEY E. Moderate.
<:s
( Oh,
f :s_.f imjc d :s,
pray have you heard of
: d .PI r
my Bou
:d
- cha
:d >
- leen )
i\A '^
( 1 Bawn ?
: ni .PI
Can you
S
tell
me
;ta.l
at
S
all
:P1
of
my )
( 1 i ou
:f
- cha
- leen
S
Bawn
:-
Have you
S
come
by
:ta.l )
the )
(Is :n
( \ " rath " on
:r -d
f
hill
:f
of
Knock-
S
awn :
:-
:s )
Or i
the
Jlf :s_f
I I what can
: PI .r
you
d
tell
of
:d .PI
my
r
Bou
:d
- cha
:d >
- leen )
•:
2. The pulse of my heart was my Bouchaleen Bawn ;
The light of my eyes was my Bouchaleen Bawn.
From Drinan's rei wave to the tower of Kilvawn,
You'd not meet the like of my Bouchaleen Bawn.
3. The first time I saw my own Bouchaleen Bawn,
'Twas a midsummer eve on the fair green of Bawn,
He danced at the " Baal-fire " — as light as a fawn,
And away went my heart with my Bouchaleen Bawn.
4. I loved him as dear as I loved my own life ;
And he vowed on his knees he would make me his wife,
I looked in his eyes, flashing bright as the dawn,
And drank love from the lips of my Bouchaleen Bawn.
147
5. But, Christ save the hearers ! his angel forsook him —
My curse on the Queen of the fairies — she took him !
• Last All-Hallow's Eve as he came by Knock-awn,
She saw — loved, and "struck" my poor Bouchaleen Bawn.
8. Like the primrose, when April her last sigh has breathed,
My Bouchaleen drooped and his young beauty faded ;
He died — and his white limbs were stretched in Kilvawn,
And I wept by the grave of my Bouchaleen Bawn.
7. I said to myself, sure it cannot be harm,
To go to a wise man, and ask for a charm ;
'Twill cost but a crown, and my heart's blood I'd pawn
To purchase from bondage my Bouchaleen Bawn.
8. I went to the priest, and he spoke about heaven :
And said that my failings would not be forgiven,
If ever I'd cross the grey fairy-man's bawn,
And try his weird spells for my Bouchaleen Bawn.
9. I'll take his advice, tho' God knows my heart's breaking,
I start in my sleep and I weep when I'm waking,
Oh, I long for the blush of eternity's dawn
When again I shall meet my Bouchaleen Bawn !
JOHN KEEGAN.
This is a tender charming air and ballad. They are linked for the
first time.
148
KATE O' BELASHANNY.
KEY P.
<: .1
( Seek
s .,d
up and
:m .,d |
down, both
s .,d :f .,1 >
fair and brown, We've)
1 Is .,d
1 | pur - ty
: m
lass -
,,d |r
es ma -
ny
:f
0;
,1 >
But )
( s .,d
:m
,,d | m
,,S
:d'
.,S )
( brown or
fair,
one girl
most
rare,
The >
J 1 1 -,f
: r
,s |m
.,d
:d
.3 )
(. \ Flow'r of
Bel
a - shan -
ny
0.
M >
||d' . "s
( | straight is
she
.,s 1 d'
as pop
.,s
- lar
: m
- tree,
.,3 )
Tho' >
1 d' ...
( not as
: m
ai -
.,3 |f
sy sha
- ken
: r
o,
And >
( 1 d1 .,t
:1
-,s 11
.,t
:d'
.,1 i
(. | walks so
proud
a - mong
the
crowd
, For >
(IS ,f
( | queen she
:m
might
be ta -
ken
:d
o.
1
CHORUS —
r -1
( From
s ,,d
top to
toe, wher -
S .,
e'er
d :f
you go,
,1 i
The >
(Is .,d : m
( | love - liest girl
.,d | r
of a -
ny
:f
0,—
i-i
(Is .,d :n
( | chone ! your mind
•,d | PI
I find
un
- kind,
Sweet )
511 ,f
( | Kate of
:r
Bel -
•,s J m
a - shan
-,d
- ny
:d
O!
11
149
2. One summer day the banks were gay,
The Erne in sunshine glancin' there,
The big cascade its music played
And set the salmon dancin' there.
Along the green my joy was seen ;
Some goddess bright I thought her there •
The fishes, too, swam close, to view
Her image in the water there.
CHORUS.
3. My dear, give ear ! — the river's near,
'And if you think I'm shammin' now,
To end my grief I'll seek relief
Among "the trout and salmon, now ;
For shrimps and sharks to make their marks,
And other watery vermin there ;
Unless a mermaid saves my life, —
My wife, and me her merman there.
CHORUS.
4. 'Tis all in vain that I complain ;
No use to coax or chide her there ;
As far away from me as Spain,
Although I stand beside her there.
O cruel Kate ! since that's my fate,
I'll look for love no more in you ;
The seagull's screech as soon would reach
Your heart, as me implorin' you.
CHORUS.
Tho' fair you are, and rare you are,
The loveliest flow'r of any O, —
Too proud and high, — good-bye, say I,
To Kate o' Belashanny O !
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
150
FEAGH MAC HUGH.
LEY E(?. Lively.
:m Im " :r_ :d |d : 1,
Feagh Mac - Hugh of
:d
the
moun
:s,
tain,
\
. Or (seek you the Lif
- fey or
Dod
-
der,
)
1 :
r
:d
|d :
1,
:d
|r
._
r .r
\
Feagh
Mac -
Hugh
of
the
glen—
WTho's notf
Ask in
the
bawns
of
the
Pale,
)
m :
r
:d
|d :
1,
:d
Id
:r :
m
)
heard
of
the
Glen -
ma -
lure
Chief
And
the
Ask
them
whose
cat -
tie
they
fod -
der,
Who
)
f :
m
: r
|r :
d
: 1(
1*1
:_ I'
f
)
feats
of
his
hard -
rid -
ing
men ?
1
Or
drinks
with -
out
fee
of
their
ale.
From
)
m :
S
: s
Is :
1
: s
Is
:n :
d
^
came
you
the
sea -
side
from
Car -
men,
Or
Ard -
da -
mine
north
to
Kil -
main -
ham,
He
>
m :
S
: s
U :
S
:n
|r
• _
r .r
)
crossed
you
the
plains
from
the
west —
No
rules, like a
king,
of
few
words,
And the
)
m :
S
: s
Is :
1
:s
Is
.,,, . »
d
\
rhym -
er
you
met
but
could
tell
you,
Of
March
- men
of
sev •
en
score
cas -
ties
Keep
1
f :
m
:r
|r :
d
;1,
Is,
; —
Lein -
ster
men,
who
is
the
best.
watch
for
the
sheen
of
his
swords.
J51
CHORUS
m :r
:d
Id :
1,
: 1,
1 1, :S|
Feagh
Mac -
Hugh
of
the
moun - tain,
ni : r
:d
Id :
1,
:d
|r :-
Feagh
Mac -
Hugh
of
the
glen —
11 : r
:d
Id :
1,
:d
Id :r
heard of
the
Glen -
ma
- lure
chief And
/TN
rit.
f :m
:r
|r :
d
: 1|
Is, :-
feats of
his
hard -
rid
- ing
men ?
:r.r)
lo's not-*
Who's not
3. The vales of Kilmantan are spacious —
The hills of Kilmantan are high — •
But the horn of the Chieftain finds echoes,
From the waterside up to the sky.
The lakes of Kilmantan are gloomy,
Yet bright rivers stream from them all — -
So dark is our Chieftain in battle,
So gay in the camp or the hall.
CHORUS.
4. The plains of Clan Saxon are fertile,
Their Chiefs and their Tanists are brave,
But the first step they take o'er the border,
Just measures the length of a grave ;
Thirty score of them forayed to Arklow,
Southampton and Essex their van —
Our Chief crossed their way, and he left of
Each score of them, living a man.
CHORUS.
6. Oh, many the tales that they cherish,
In the glens of Kilmantan to-day,
And though church, rath, and native speech perish,
His glory's untouched by decay ;
Feagh MacHugh of the mountain,
Feagh MacHugh of the glen — •
Who has not heard of the Glenmalure Chief
And the feats of his hard-riding men ?
CHORUS.
T. D. :
Kilmantan is the Irish name for Wicklow. Feagh MacHugh was a
celebrated Wicklow Chief of the sixteenth nentnrv.
152
THE WEXFORD INSURGENT.
KEY D. Boldly.
( :d' Is :-.m:m |m :r :m Is :s :m | m :- rd'dS
( The| he - roes of Wex-ford havej burst thro' their chains, And the)
{Is : - m : m I m : r : m
fl voice of the free - man is
loud
i— .li : li 1 1| '.— id' )
o'er the plains, The )
<is :-.m:m |m :r :ro Is :s :m |m :- :d'd')
(| Sas - nachs are bro - ken, their) horse-men have fled, And the)
s :m :in |m :r
pride of their host on
tld'
the
:r
< roused is the blood of the
pride of the con - flict when
ho - roes of Bar - gy and
, , ,
moun-tain lie dead.
n1 id1
bold Shil - ma - leer
For )
:d
jn :d )
The )
foe - men are near ; And the)
d1 :t
Ban - try are there, In the)
|s
r :-.:r | m : m :r
shock ev-er fore - most, in
flight in
the rere.
2. Oh ! soon will the hearths of the traitors be lone,
And their halls but re-echo the shriek and the groan,
And the red flame shall burst thro' their roofs to the sky,
For the hour of our freedom and vengeance is nigh.
The men of the mountain are down in the valo,
And the flags of Shelburny are loose to the gale —
And tho' gentle the Forth, yet her sons never slight,
For the mildest in peace are oft boldest in fight".
153
3. The cold-blooded Sasnach is low on the hill,
Like red rock he presses, as lone and as chill —
There pulseless and cold, the pale beams of the moon
Show the deep-riven breast of the fallen dragoon.
And low lies his charger, his bosom all torn.
And from the dark helmet the horse-hair is shorn,
And the hearts of the great, and the brave, and the proud,
Have been trampled in death when the battle was loud.
4. Oh ! long in fair England each maiden may mourn — •
The pride of her bosom will never return ;
His heart's blood is scattered — his last prayer is said —
And the dark raven flaps his wild wings o'er the dead.
Yes, long she may call him from battle in vain —
The sight of her lover she ne'er shall regain ;
All cold is his bosom, and crimson his brow,
And the night wind is sighing its dirge o'er him now.
THE O'S AND THE MAC'S,
KEY F. Allegretto. Air : " The Priest in his Boots.
5 :d.r In :m :m |m :-.m:m
^ They may | talk as they please of their
m :f :r | d :t, : 1, )
men eel - e - bra- ted, Whose)
:r :r |f :-.m:r
eeds are re - la - ted in
m :m :ro |m :m :m
mer - its in - fla - ted and
d :1, :d | m :- : d.r >
ev - er - y tongue, Whose)
m :f :r |d
worth ov - er - ra
:t, :1, »
- ted In )
5 r :m :r |f :s :1
( sto - ries are told, and in
s : m :d |r :-
ep - ics are sung.
**i
But)
f 1 :1 :f |s :s :n
t E - rin has sons who have
f :f :r |d : t,
an - nals more fa - mo us
And)
( r :r :r |f :m :r
( rec - ords of deeds more sup-
d :1, :d |m :- :
port - ed by facts,
An"d)
( 1 :1 :f |s :s :n
( lit - tie the brag of the
f :r :r |d : t, :1, >
a - lien need shame us, While)
f r :.m:r |f :s ;1
( proud - ly we boast of our
s :ro :r |d :- I
O's and our Mac's. |
CHORUS —
j : d.r m : m : m | m : m ; m
(Oh,hur- rah for the land that su
m :f :r |d :t,
3h he - roes can nour-ish,
11 1
God)
155
r : r : r | f : - JM : r
send her the com - fort that
d
sad
iy
:d
she
|PI :
lacks,
Arid)
Pi M11 : Pi I PI '. Pi ' Pi
ne'er may the Mac's and the
m :f :r |d : t, iM,)
O's cease to flour-ish Till they)
r :-.ro :r |f :s
raise a new stock of
the
s :m :r | d
O's and the Mac'
2. Their origin's lost in the midst of past ages ;
Their prowess the pages of history fills ;
They ranked high as poets and statesmen and sages,
When Britons ran naked and wild on the hills.
And when over Europe, by pagans victorious,
Faith's light was put out like a taper of wax,
Who made it once more shine unsullied and glorious
But the monks and the nuns of the O's and the Mac's?
CHORUS.
3. When the nations bowed down to the Danish marauder,
And groaned 'neath his taxes and shrank from his blows,
In Erin alone he got little soft sawder,
But sweeping hard knocks from the Mac's and the O's.
And when the false Saxon would injure and scorn her,
They routed his hosts, and repulsed his attacks,
And for three hundred years crushed him up in a corner,
To beg for bare life from the O's and the Mac's.
CHORUS.
4. Alas for poor Erin ! 'twas trusting betrayed her,
Or else they had made but short work of the foe,
And never had stooped to a heartless invader,
Whose reign has been ruin, whose smile has been woe.
But shot down in valley, and hunted in highland,
And thinned by the bullet, the gibbet, and axe,
Still vainly 'twas sought from the homes of our island
To root out the stock of the O's and the Mac's.
CHORUS.
156
5. And when cruel laws through the worldwide nations,
As exiles and wanderers forced them to roam,
Their genius soon won them the loftiest stations,
And riches and honours denied them at home.
And often in joy 'mid the cannon's loud rattle,
They laid their old foes on the broad of their back5!,
While* high o'er the rush and the roar of the battle
Rang out the wild yell of the O's and the Mac's.
CHORUS.
6. They're scattered to-day to the ends of creation,
But their faces are lifted, their hope soaring free — •
To raise the old land from her deep degradation,
And crown her once more fairest queen of the sea.
Oh ! God speed the day when they'll meet the invader,
And make him his grip of poor Erin relax ;
No longer to crush, and no more to degrade her,
While lives the old stock of the O's and the Mac's.
CHORUS.
F. A. FAHY.
THE IRISH MAIDEN'S LAMENT.
KEY P. Fairly quick.
Air: "The Foggy Dew.
On
And
cres.
:1 .t
The
d
Cor -
many
d .r
ng
a
N
: d1 .t
1
: s .m
Dhoun
the
heath
is
stream
comes rush -
ing
q .r |m ; a* .t i ; s .m |r )
rig Dhoun the heath is brown, )
|r
brown,
down
d .r
m .r
: in .d
H, -d
:t,.r
d
Aurd
Ow
:d
na
- na
D.C.
Id
Lee,
- bwee.
The
To
clouds
swell
are
the
dark
an
o'er
gry
5 ;d -r rc -i
( The clou<
d'
moan
:d'.t
- ing
H
blast
t .d1
is
r1 .d1 :t_.l |
sweep - ing
fast
157
dim.
J :m .se
( Thro'
1 :- .t |d' .t : 1 .se
many a leaf - less
1
tree,
And
d
I'm
: d .r |m
a - lone
;d'.t
for
1
he
: s
is
gone )
:d .r
My
m .r : PI .d 1 1, .d ; t| .r
hawk has flown, o -
d :d |d
chone ma - chree.
2. The heath was green on Corrig Dhoun,
Bright shone the sun on Aurd na Lee,
The dark green trees bent trembling down,
To kiss the slumb'ring Ownabwee ;
That happy day, 'twas but last May,
'Tis like a dream to me,
When D6nal swore, ay, o'er and o'er,
We'd part no more, asthore machree.
3. Soft April showers and bright May flow'rs
Will bring the summer back again,
But will they bring me back the hours
I spent with my brave Donal then ?
'Tis but a chance, for he's gone to France
To wear the fleur-de-lis ;
But I'll follow you, mo D6nal Dhu,
For still I'm true to you, machree.
DENNY LANE.
We have Denny Lane's authority for the fact that he wrote this sweet
song to the air of " The Foggy Dew," and to none other. It is hardly
fair to sing his song to another air, when that other air is certainly much
inferior in merit to " The Foggy Dew." I knew Denny Lane and his
family very well, and I hope that by drawing attention to the above
fact I may induce people to sing this pretty song to its correct air. The
other air to which I refer may be found on page 124, wedded to a song,
«vhich suits it very well.
158
AN OLD IRISH HILL IN THE MORNING
Air : ' Cuifle mo
( :s,.S|
s, :
- .1,: tai
Is, :
s, :
B|
d :
t, :
d
I PI : r
)
( I am
wea
- ry and
sick
of
the
sights of
the
town,
>
CPI Is :
f :r
|d :
t, :
B|
f, :
PI, :
PI,
1 m, : -
V
( Tho'l haugh-ty its
man-
sions
and
high
its
re
- nown,
>
f.:f|
S| :
-.l,:ta.
Is, :
-.s,:
S|
d :
-.t,:
d
I hi * T*
I
1 Oh,
if
some good fai -
ry would
but
set
me
down
\
( : PI .PI
s :
f :r
Id .
t, :
S|
s, :
:
-
Is, :-
( On an
old
Ir - ish
hill
in
the
morn
ing!
\ '. d
r :
PI :f
Ir :
s :
s
s :
-.f:
PI
| PI : r
J
< My
soul
ev - er
sighs
for
a
sight
of
the
sea,
)
i * d
t, :
d :r
If :
r :
t,
d :
-.t,:
sl
If
}
( By
dear
old Kin
- var -
a,
or
down
by
Kil
- kee,
)
i:for
where Mo-her's cliffs
-.s,:s, Id :
in their| ma
-.t,:d
- jes-ty
| PI ; r
\
free
<:n is :
( Flingl back
f :r
o - cean
Id :
bil -
ti :
lows
S|
in
s, :
scorn
- :
•
'y
CHORUS—
<:d
r :
Pi :f
Ir :
s :
S
s :
-.f:
PI
| PI : r
)
< An
old
Ir - ish
hill
where the
crag
is
so
steep,
>
159
f • f\
t, :d
:r
If :
r :t,
d :
-.t,:s.
\ The
air is
so
sweet
, and the
hea -
ther so
( Oh,
s, :-.
glad -
l,:ta,
ly I'd
Is, :
la -
bour and
d :
sound
-.t,:d
- ly I'd
( On an| old Ir
:r
- ish
hill
t, :s,
in the
S, :
morn
- :-
deep,
m _ IT:
sleep
ing I
These Saxons are hard, and their senses are cold,
And all that they care for, or think of, is gold,
What will cover their backs, or their stomachs will hold,
Or what their shrunk shanks is adorning.
I miss the glad look and the grip of the hand,
The heart on the lips, and the welcome so bland,
The C6ad mile fdilte, and best in the land,
On an old Irish hill in the morning.
CHORUS —
An old Irish hill where the torrents that leap
Are types of the hearts that a vigil there keep —
Oh, light be their labour, and sound be their sleep
On an old Irish hill in the morning !
3. Some day when the summer-clouds swim in the sky,
I'll bid the stiff Saxon a merry good-bye,
And blithe over ocean and land I shall fly,
To the green pleasant land I was born in ;
I'll give the go-by to all sorrow and strife,
I'll take from the valley a rosy-cheeked wife.
And whistle " Moll Roe " for the rest of my life,
On an old Irish hill in the morning.
CHORUS —
An old Irish hill where the dreamy mists creep,
A cabin of love 'mid the heather to peep —
Oh, gladly I'd labour and soundly I'd sleep
On an old Irish hill in the morning !
160
4. But if the day come for the bold mountaineer
To strike for the hearths and the homes we hold dear,
And ringing on high on the startled air clear,
The blast of the bugle gives warning —
Oh, where could our boys make a sturdier stand,
To strike a stout blow for the cause of our land,
Than massed in their might on the sides green and grand
Of an old Irish hill in the morning !
CHOBUS—
From an old Irish hill — oh ! like eagles we'd sweep,
And chase the false foe through the valley like sheep, — .
Oh, a harvest of hope for our Erin we'd reap,
Oa an old Irish hill in the morning !
v P. A. FAHY,
161
AT EARLY DAWN.
F.
.d,r
At
PI .PI
ear-ly
: PI ,r_,
dawn I
Air
s .s ": 1 .s,m
once hf d been Wliere
An IAO."
.r :d .d )
j?Ainno
d
Leno'e b'ue wa-tf rs)
d
: .s
1 :
flow,
When
sum-i
S .,P1
:d' .PI
r
lamp of
light to
glow-
II
PI .,r :d .PI
town, and tower, And
PI .PI :PI .r,m
met a ma,id in the
.S : 1 .d1
bid the
: .s
As
s .,PI :d' .in
wide-spread fields I
s .s : 1 .s ,n
green- wood shade, At the
PI .,r :d .m
groves be green, The
.S
by
:1 .d1
bower, and
*
stray,
d .r :d .d
dawn -ing of the
day!
2. Her feet and beauteous head were bare,
No mantle fair she wore,
But down her waist fell golden hair
That swept the tall grass o'er;
With milking-pail she sought the vale,
And bright her charms' display,
Outshining far the morning star,
At the dawning of the day !
3. Be s'de me sat that ma'd divine,
Whore grassy banks outspread —
" Oh, let me call thee ever mine,
Dear maid," I sportive said.
" False man, for shame, why bring me blame ? "
She cried, and burst away — •
The sun's first light pursued her flight,
At the dawning of the day 1
WALSH.
1-7.
162
TH£ ROVER.
KEY D. Pretty quick. Air: " Ati SpAilpIn FA
: d' .,
( : Q
( N
No
I'll
: d1 ,,t
Nor on
: d .r
1 .,t : 1 .s | n :r .f
more — no more in
n : d
Cash - el
d .
|d .r :n .f
Nor
f '**
( There,
< IB
< To
( But
sell my health a -
1 .,t ; 1 .s |n ; r .f
days of fairs rove
n :n |r :r
join the mer - ry
n : - .n | d1 : d1 .t
mount - ed farm - ers
rak
n
up
d
ma
1
II, I
town >
:" 'T I
mg, >
:d
, l
'
and down,
,}
id
king.
.s |n
: 1 .s
: r
seek and hire me
l_^t : l_.s | n - : r .f
now I'm hired, and my
came in throngs)
d1 :- |t ,
o ver, >
n :d I 1,
jour - ney's long,
: d .r In : n | r : r
The I jour • ney of the
Ho
Id
ver I
163
2. I've found, what Rovers often do,
I trod my health down fairly ;
And that wand'ring out on morning dew
Will gather fevers early.
No more shall flail swing o'er my head,
Nor my hand a spade-shaft cover,
But the Banner of France will float, instead,
And the Pike stand by the Rover !
3. When to Callan once, with hook in hand,
I'd go for early shearing,
Or to Dublin town — the news was grand
That the " Rover gay " was nearing.
And soon with good gold home I'd go,
And my mother's field dig over,
But no more — no more this land shall know
My name as the " Merry Rover ! "
4. Five hundred farewells to Fatherland !
To my loved and lovely Island !
, And to Culach boys — they'd better stand
Her guards by glen and highland.
But now that I am poor and lone,
A wand'rer — not in clover —
My heart it sinks with bitter moan
To have ever lived a Rover.
6. In pleasant Kerry lives a girl,
A girl whom I love dearly ;
Her cheek's a rose, her brow's a pearl,
And her blue eyes shine so clearly !
Her long fair locks fall curling down
O'er a breast untouched by lover —
More dear than dames with a hundred poun*
Is she unto the Rover !
6. Ah, well I mind, my own men drove
My cattle in no small way ;
With cows, with sheep, with calves, they'd move,
With steeds, too, west to Galway.
164
Heaven willed I'd lose each horse and cow,
And my health but half recover —
It breaks my heart, for her sake, now
That I'm only a sorry Rover.
7. But when once the French come o'er the main,
With stout camps in each valley,
With Buck O'Grady back again,
And poor brave Tadhg O'Dalaigh —
Oh, the Royal Barracks in dust shall lie,
The yeomen we'll chase over ;
And the English clan be forced to fly —
'Tis the sole hope of the Rover !
Peasant Ballad, 1797.
Translated by DR. GEO. SIGERSON.
This version of the air is, I think, the best. It was taken down by
Jer. O'Connor, Cork, from the singing of O'Connor Kelly, a native speaker
and an excellent tenor traditional singer from Ballyvourney, Co. Cork.
1G5
THE RED LUSMORE.*
CEY D.
Lively.
Air: "The
Blooming Meadows."
5 ' '
s, :-
:d
Id :
- :r m :-
: s
|f :r
-:d i
( The
snow
is
on
the moun -
tain
high,
The)
(
t
: -
:s, 1
s, : 1
, : S|
t, :- :
- 1
t, :1,
: s, \
1
bloom
is
on
the
hea
-
ther ;
But)
<
S
:d
:d 1
d :-
: r
m : r :
d 1
r : m
: f ,
1
laugh -
ing
Spring
will
soon
be
nigh,
And )
I
s : -
Sum -
:m |f_j_r
mer's gold
- en
d :- :
wea
- 1
d :-
ther.
:*,
Then )
f
d
: -
: s |
s : 1
: t
d1 :- :
r1 1
in1 :r'
i d' )
i
man -
y a
vale
we'd
wan
der
o'er
Whose)
5
t
: -
: s |
s : 1
: s
t : - :
d1 1
r1 :t
: s |
i
streams
leap
glad
and
fleet
-
ly,
And )
f
V :- :s |
s : 1
: t
d1 :- :
r1 1
in1 : r1
: d1 )
t
1
ir an -
y a
glen
of
red
lus
- more
That*
j
t
: 1
:s I
f :r
• ^1
d :- :
- 1
d :-
II
1
sh»nes
in
June
so
sweet
-
iy.
1
2. What makes me love the lusmore gay,
With all their bright bells round them T
My dear one's lips are red as they,
And sweet as bee e'er found them ;
And, oh ! it shines by torrents hoar,
In haunts of sprite and fairy,
Where many an hour in days of yore,
I dreamt of one like Mary.
3. While purple decks its gorgeous bells
I'll never seek a new love ;
In Summertime, where'er it dwells,
I'll wander with my true love ;
And I will tell her o'er and o'er
Of vows, my fond vows, meetly,
In fairy glens of red lusmore,
That shines in June so sweetly.
' Foxglove. ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
166
THE PRETTY GIRL MILKING HER COW.
KEY D.
Air : "
CAilin x>eAp c^ufoce nA mbo."
P-
<:r_,m
( 'Twas
f
eve,
:1 :f
and tho
m
star^
:s
be -
:m
gan
r :d )
peep - ing, )
(: r .m
( Though
f
suo
:1 :f
• set still
I'l
crjn -
:s
soncd
:m
the
r : - >
west, )
< : r .ro
( When
f
sounds
:1 :f
through tho
m :s .f
hushed ar
: PI .,r I r : d )
camo ] creep - ing, )
1 That
f
ruf
: - .m : r
- fled the
i,
poaoo
: r
of
: r .i1!
my
r :- )
breast. )
cres.
i'-LS
I My
f
form
: s ;1 .t
in the
d1
twi -
. 1
: i
light
con -
r' :r )
ceal - ing )
r:r ,m
f
sat
:s :1 .t
d1
down
on
my
r' :- )
plough, )
< i
ray - so:f
pm'.r1
d1
sang,
:1 .,t :d!
f
sad -
:fl ,f
:m .,r
r :d ,
feel - ing, )
j While
full of
ness
and
i:¥
f
pret
: - .n : r
- ty girl
i,
milk -
: r
ing
.' r .,ni
cow.
her
167
2. " Swoet land, that my forefathers bled for,
When strangers to trample thee thought ;
Ah ! what was their valiant blood shed for ?
Far better they never had fought.
Thy sons think no more on thy glory,
Like slaves to the tyrants they bow ;
And I can but weep at thy story,
And sing it while milking my cow.
3. " It is not that riches I sigh for —
I only repine at thy shame —
Thy glory and freedom I'd die for,
And smile upon Death as he came.
I'd prize the bold hand that would right theo,
And spurn him with diadem'd brow
Whose base heart would injure and slight thee,
Though a poor maiden milking her cow.
4. " Oh ! blest be the sons of the stranger,
Who, nursed on thy beautiful breast,
With thine shared the strife and the danger
For thee, bleeding isle of the west !
When the child of thy foe would befriend thoe
Nor wrong to thy bosom allow,
Why should not the blessing attend thee,
Of the poor girl milking her cow ? "
6. She ceased as the shadows fell deeper,
And homeward returned with her pail,
But I felt like some strangely- waked sleeper
At the tones of that eloquent wail.
Oh ! sure if thy sons but relented
Sweet land, 'twere not late, even now,
To wash out the woes so lamented
By the fair maiden milking her cow.
M. J. BARRY.
168
COLLEEN DHAS CROOTHE NA MO.
KEY
D.
P
(IT
jn f :1 :f
m :s
:m r :d :r n >
{ Tl
ie gold rain of
eve was de - scend - ing ; Bright)
•If :1 :f
1 1 pur - pie robed
m :s :
moun - tain
m
and
r :- :r .m *
tree, As >
< f
:1 :f
m
: s .,f :
M .,F
r :d : 1 .,s >
I I
through Glen
Mor - neen
wa*>
wend - ing, A )
ores.
,|f :-.m :r
( 1 wan - d're* from
i,
:r
T .m
r :- |r.m >
Sea. H'Twasthe)
o'er the
blue
III
: s : 1 .t
3 of a
d1 :1 :
west - look -
ing
r :r :r .m >
moun - tain, Its )
ill
:s :1 .t
d1 :1 :
bright with
the
r : - : nH.r' )
glow, Where )
>od - y slope
jjd1
:1 .,t :d'
f
:s ..f :
in .,r
r : d : 1 .,s )
( 1 sang by a
mur - mur -
ing foun - tain An )
llf :-.m:r
< 1 col - leen dhas
li :r :
croo - the
T .,tn
na
mo.
2. Dark clouds where a gold tinge reposes
But picture her brown wavy hair ;
And her teeth looked as if in a rose's
Red bosom a snowflake gleamed fair.
169
As her tones clown the green dell went ringing,
The list'ning thrush mimicked them low,
And the brooklet harped soft to the singing
Of cAitin -oeAf cptn-oce 11 A mbo.
3. " At last, o'er thy long night, dear Erin,
Dawns the bright Sun of Freedom ! " sang she;
" But thy mountaineers still are despairing —
Ah ! he who 'mid bondsmen was free ;
Ah, my T)iAfvmuit> the patriot-hearted,
Who would fill them with hope for the blow,
Far, Erin, from thee is he parted,
Far from CAiUn -oeAf cjAtn'oce IIA mbo "
4. Her tears on a sudden brimmed over,
Her voice trembled low and less clear ;
To listen, I stepped from my cover,
But the bough-rustle broke on her ear ;
She started — she redden'd — " A fcoif\in !
My 'OiAfvmui'o ! Oh, can it be so ? "
And I clasped to my glad heart sweet tttAipin,
171 o 6Ailin -oeAf cj\ui-6ce HA mbo.
DR. SIGERSON.
There are several versions of this air. I printed an East Cork version
in " Vuinn n& Stnol." Perhaps the worst version is the one that is gener-
ally linked with the song "Terence's Farewell." The version which I
give here is the one I used to hear my parents sing fifty years ngo. It
is the one that was whistled by all the boys and lilted 'by all the girls
when I was a youngster in the Co. Waterford.
KEY D.
170
A LEGEND OF THE SHANNON.
Air : " Cold and rough the North Wind blows."
: .s
1 :- :1 |s :
- :.l f :- :r |d :-
:d )
On
Shan - non's fair
ma- jest - ic tide
The)
r :-
:r Id :t,
:d
r :- :- |f :-
: s )
moon
with queen -
iy
splen - - dour,
Looks)
1 :-
down
:1 |s :-
in her
:1
me-
f :- :r |d :-
rid - ian pride,
• ^ ^
While)
Ir :-
:r |d :t,
:d
r :- :- |r -.-
:1' I
vas
sal stars
at-
tend her ;
Light)
r :-
:m |f :-
: s
1 :- :s |f :-
: s )
ze
phyrs danc
ing
o'er the wave
Scarce)
I1 :"
1 break
its peace
:d'
ful
r1 :- :- |1 :-
slum - bcrs,
i d' )
Whik)
Iri :-
:1 Is :-
:1
f :- :r |d :-
:d >
IE -
- cho from
each
rock and cave
Sings)
r :-
:r |d it.
:d
r :- :- |r :-
||
forth
her mag
ic
num - - bers.
II
2 But why doth yon frail shallop bear
Across the Shannon water,
At such an hour, Teresa fair,
De Burgo's only daughter ?
171
Why flies she thus, alone and free,-
From home and kindred speeding ?
Why seeing, sigh, yet, sigh to see
Portumna's tower receding ?
Ah ! sure 'tis love alone could teach
The maiden thus to wander ;
Yes ! see upon the moonlit beach
A youth awaits her yonder ;
With bounding heart and eager glance
He views Clanrickarde's daughter
Like some aerial being dance
Across the rippling water.
The brave O' Carroll, he for years
Had dared the Saxon power,
And taught the force of Irish spears
On battlefield and tower ;
But one sad day saw fall his best
And bravest kerns around him—-
Insatiate for revenge, the next
'Mid Burgo's clansmen found him
5. 'Twas then Teresa's soft blue eye
First wrought its magic power ;
Teresa's love now bids them fly
For aye from yonder tower.
" Now, hie thee, love," O'Carroll cried,
" By yon fair moon I swear thee,
Far, far away from Shannon's tide
This faithful steed shall bear thee."
" For this I braved thy father's wrath,
He swore my heart should sheen thee
But I had plighted thee my troth
And I had died or won thee.
Then hie " — but, hark ! Teresa fair,
What peril now hath found her ?
Oh ! see, 'mid shrieks of wild despair,
The waters close around her.
172
7. As to the serpent's witching eye
The victim bird is borne —
Quick as from out the warring sky
The lightning flash is torn,
So dashed into the dark cold wave
Teresa's frantic lover ;
But while with hands outstretched to save
The tide rose calm above her !
8. Though Time has since flown fast away
The Shannon roJJs as ever ;
And oft upon a moonlit bay
That hems the noble river,
The midnight wanderer has espied
A steed, while o'er the water
The tiny bark is seen to glide
That wafted Burgo's daughter.
B. 0.
173
AMONG THE HEATHER.
KEY C. Moderate.
<:s d1 :s |1 :t
( One ev' - ning walk - ing
d1 :-
out,
Is
i
o'er - }
I
d'ta :1 |s :
took a mo
f
dest
r
col
:d
leen,
I- :s .d' ,
When thef
I
d1 :s |1 :
wind was blow -
t
ing
d1 :-
cool,
Is
And
the >
j
d'ta :1 |s :
f
r
:d
1-
: s .d1 |
(
liar - vest leaves
were
fall
ing ;
" Is our)
1
d1 :s |1 :
t
d1
t "~
|s
:1 ,
1
way by chance
the
same ?
Might
we f
,
d'ta :1 |s :
f
r
:d
1-
: m .f >
<
tra - vel on
to -
ge
- ther ?
"
" Oh, I f
i
s : -.1 |s :
keep the moun -
PI
tain
s :-
side,"
Id
She
:n ,
re - )
f r :m If :
S
m
:d
II
1
plied, "a - mong
the
hea - ther."
At the request of Mrs. W. Allingham I give above the .air as found
in William Allingham's published book, Irish Songs and Poems. I prefei
the traditional version, which I give on next page. It is a very pretty
air, Singers can take their choice.
174:
AMONG THE HEATHER.
KEY C- Pleasantly.
{ : •
PI
One
r .1 : 1 ,t |
ev' - ning walk-ing
d'
out,
I
.r
o'er
.1
i
d
took
a
:d
mod -
.PI
est
Is
col -
.PI
leen,
:r .d
When the
i
1
wind
.1
was
blow -
•*.
ing
Id1
cool
: d1 .r1
And the
\
I
PI1
har -
.r1
vest
leaves
.1
were
It
fall -
.1
ing:
:s .s
" Is our
!
5 s
.S
:B
.1 ,t
Id1
: 1 .s >
( way
by
chance
the
same ?
Might we >
!
1
tra -
.r1
vel
on
.PI1
to
If
geth -
er?"
: 1 .s
"O, I
I
I
PI
Ikeep
.d1
the
:t
moun -
.d!
tain
U
side,"
:s .PI
She ro -
}
<
r
.1
: s
.1
In
.r
.
\ i plied,
"a
mong
the
hea -
ther."
2. " Your mountain air is sweet
When the days are long and sunny,
When. the grass grows round the rocks,
And the whin-blooin smells like honey j
175
But the winter's coming fast,
With its foggy, snowy weather,
And you'll find it bleak and chill
On your hill, among the heather."
3. She praised her mountain home,
And I'll praise it, too, with reason,
For where Molly is, there's sunshine
And flow'rs at every season,
Be the moorland black or white,
Does it signify a feather,
Now I know the way by heart,
Every part, among the heather 1
4. The sun goes down in haste,
And the night falls thick and stormy ;
Yet I'd travel twenty miles
To the welcome that's before me ;
Singing hi for Eskydun,
In the teeth of wind and weather !
Love'll warm me as I go
Through the snow among the heather.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
The above air, which is very sweet and beautiful, was taken down
from the singing of Kate Coakly, who lives at Rahalisk, five miles from
Macroom.
176
FINEEN O'DRISCOLL THE ROVER.
KEY C. Air : " The Groves of Blackpool."
( An
s
old cas - tie
:f |N :f
:r
Id
:r
towers o'er the bil - lows That
:m >
That >
s : m : d
thun - der by
|d : m
s : 1 : f | m : f
there dwelt as gal - lant
s : m : d | d : m
ev - er grasp' d hilt in
d1 :t :d' I r1 : d1
Eight state - ly tow'rs of
: t : d! | r'
: s
green
H :-
land,
And
i
: r
Id :,r
: m
I
a
ro - ver
As
*
: o
|1_ :-
: t
t
the
hand.
i
: t
I 1 : s
: m
*
the
wa - ters
Lie
f
:t
H :-
: d' .r'
,
more
Bay,
"And
*
XTs
: t
I 1 ,d' : -
: 1
>
(:d!
1 Th
an - chor'd in Bal - ti
m1 : d1 : m1 | r1 : d1
o - ver their twen - ty score sailors Bold
s :m :d |d :m :s |1
Fin - een the Ro - vor held sway.
Cnonus —
s :_! : f | m : f .- r Id :_r : m
Then ho ! for Fin - een the i'vo - ver
177
s :ro
Finn - een
:d
O'
I d : m
Dris - coll
: s
the
U
free,
As
s : 1 : f
straight as the
s : m
strong as
:d I
in :f
mast of
d : m
wave of
: r | d ' : r : m
his gal - ley And
: s
the
H
sea !
2. The Saxons of Cork and Moyallo,
They harried his lands with their powers ;
He gave them a taste of his cannon,
And drove them like wolves from his towers ;
The men of Clan London brought over
Their strong fleet to make him a slave ;
They met him by Mizen's wild headland,
And the sharks gnawed their bones 'neath the wave.
Then ho ! for Fineen the Rover !
Fineen O'Driscoll the free ;
With step like the red stag of Beara,
And voice like the bold-sounding sea !
3. Long time in that old battered castle,
Or out on the waves with his clan,
He feasted and ventured and conquered,
But ne'er struck his colours to man.
In a fight 'gainst the foes of his country
He died as a bravo man should die,
And he sleeps 'neath the waters of Cleena,
Where the waves sing his cAoine to the sky.
Then ho ! for Fineen the Rover !
Fineen O'Driscoll the free ;
With eye like the osproy's at morning,
And smile like the sun on the sea !
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
178
THE SACK OF BALTIMORE.
KEY E.
Air : " Ccnp IAOI nA Sj\eAO."
• ll
The
1, :- :t, Id
Sum - mer sun
:- :r n :- :1 1 1 : -
is fall - ing soft
:t I
On )
1 '-
Car
: s |m :-
bry's hun
:r
dred
isles.
1- :-
The)
d :-
Sum
:t, |d :-
mer sun
:r
is
m :- :f
gleam - ing
still
Thro')
r :d :t,.t,|d :-
Ga-briel's rough de-files.
Old
1, :- :t,
In - ish
Id :-
- er
:r >
kin's)
crum
bled fane
:t
Looks
1 :- :s
like a
|m :-
moult
ing)
in :1
. :- 1- :-
And
d :- :t,
in a
Id :-
calm
and )
bird;
II
I!
m :- :f |m :
sleep - y swell
1 :- : s 1 1
hook • era lie
:r r :d :t,t,|d :- II s )
The
cean tide is heard.
- :t d1 :- :t |t :-
up - on the beach ;
:- :t |d' :- :t 1 :rn
chil
dren cease
their play ;
The )
Th"e)
The )
179
i!
t :-
house
1 :
full
s |
sips leav _,
1 H :
holds kneel
of love,
- :t
s :-
dai
: 1 | m :
ly la
-
d :-
on
:t, Id :
that co
-
r :d
town of
:t,.t,|d :
Bal-ti-more.
-
their
I 3
to
:t
and
;r
bour
;r
«y.
d1 :-
lit
1 :-
pray—
d1 :-
peace,
o er —
m :-.
creek
:t |t :-
tie inn
:- :t j
The )
:t |t :-
and rest —
:f In :-
there lay
The
2. A deeper rest, a starry trance, has come with midnight there ;
No sound, except that throbbing wave, in earth, or sea, or air.
The massive capes and ruined towers, seem conscious of the calm ;
The fibrous sod and stunted trees are breathing heavy balm.
So still the night, these two long barques round Dunashad that glide,
Must trust their oars — methinks not few — against the ebbing tide ;
Oh ! some sweet mission of true love must urge them to the shore —
They bring some lover to his bride who sighs in Baltimore !
3. All, all asleep within each roof along that rocky street,
And these must be the lover's friends, with gently gliding feet —
A stifled gasp ! a dreamy noise ! " the roof is in a flame " !
From out their beds, and to their doors, rush maid and sire and dame
And meet, upon the threshold stone, the gleaming sabre fall,
And o'er each black and bearded face the white or crimson shawl —
The yell of " Allah I " breaks above the pray'r, and shriek, and roar—
O blessed God ! the Algerine is lord of Baltimore !
THOMAS DAVIS.
180
WIN NY.
KEY G. Air : " Moll Roe."
Her
d : - .d : d | r : m : d | t, : d : r
blue eyes they beam and they twin - kle, Her
il
m : - .d : d | f : r : m | f : - : 1
lips they make smi • ling more fair ; On
m
check
:- .d :d
and on
Ir
brow
there's
d
no
it,
wrin
:d
kle,
: r
But
I
R
thou
- sands of
If
curls
:r :
in
t,
her
Id
hair.
:-
:s
She's
}
S
:- .m ;n
If
:r :
d
It,
:d
^:r
>
lit
tie, you
don'
t wish
her
tall -
er,
Just
>
Is
1 half
j — .in * ni
thro' her
If
teens
:r
is
m
her
If
age;
:-
And
}
I"
|la-
dy or
If
ba
: - .r :
- by
d
to
It,
call
:d
her,
:r
Were
f
In
| some
:m :m
- thing to
If
puz
:r
- zle
a
Id
sage.
:-
!
2. Her walk is far better than dancing ;
She speaks as another might sing :
And all by an innocent chancing,
Like lambkins and birds in the Spring.
181
Unskill'd in the airs of the city
She's perfect in natural grace ;
She's gentle, and truthful, and witty,
And ne'er spends a thought on her face.'
3. Her face, with the fine glow that's in it,
As fresh as an apple-tree bloom —
And, oh ! when she comes, in a minute,
Like sunbeams she brightens the room.
As taking in mind as in feature,
How many will sigh for her sake !
I wonder, the sweet little creature,
What sort of a wile she would make.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
On giving me permission to use her husband's copyright songs, Mrs.
William Allingham requested me to use the airs which he published with
them. I have done so. In one case, namely, in the song, " Among the
Heather" (p. 174) I have given an alternative version, as I considered
it a better one than William Allingham 's. For the song " Winny " I
would hava preferred to use the air "An ^AiriAin geAt bAn," which is
iound on p. 86 of this series.
182
THE CONVICT OF CLONMEL.
KEY P.
n
S|il|it,
d :d :-
hard is
my
t,.d :- :r
for-tune, And
m :- :d.r)
vain my re-)
How
1
t.
pin
- ing !
The
d : d :- .s(
strong rope of
t, :d :-.r)
fate For this >
mrd
{
n :- :
young
d .r
neck is
Id
:- :m .f
s : - .f : PI )
strength is de- )
\ twining, My
I
f
part
: s :
- ed,
- .f
My
m :r :- .drd| t, : s, :s,«l|«t,)
cheek sunk and) sal - low, While I)
/o
/
d
:d :
" *sl
t,
:s :- .f
mfm : d :- .r )
-
Ian -
guish
in
chains In the
gaol of Cluain-j
I
d :-
meala.
2. No boy in the village
Was ever yet milder,
I'd play with a child
And my sport would be wilder.
I'd dance without tiring
From morning till even,
And the goal-ball I'd strike
To the lightning of Heaven.
183
3. At my bed-foot decaying,
My hurl bat is lying,
Through the boys of the village
My goal-ball is flying ;
My horse 'mong the neighbours
Neglected may fallow, —
While I pine in my chains
In the gaol of Cluainmeala.
4. Next Sunday the " pattern "
At home will be keeping,
And the young active hurlers
The field will be sweeping.
With the dance of fair maidens
The evening they'll hallow,
While this heart, once so gay,
Shall be cold in Cluainmeala.
J. J. CALLAISTAN.
Convicts have been peculiar objects of sympathy in Ireland. They
often suffered for faith and fatherland. This air is the one to which the
song is wedded amongst the old singers in Co. Cork.
184
A FENIAN BALLAD.
KEY F. Slow.
f : >r
( Come
d .t,
all ye
:s( .,1| t, .,d :r .,t, )
brave U - ni - ted Men, Who'd)
( d .,t| : S|
( right your ooun
- try's
s, : .11 |
wrong ; I'll )
f f .,P1
( sing to
:f
you
a
s .f :r .,t, )
verse or two which )
f d .,d
( won't de
:f
- tain
you
r : .ro )
long. In >
< f ,m :f
t old Ive - lea -
ry -
s .,f :r ,t, »
by - the - Hills my >
1 d .,d :f
1 1 youth - ful days
passed
r : .r )
by ; The >
( d .t, :s,
( Fam - ine came
-i,
and
t, .,d : r .,t, >
fills the Gills*— I >
fid ,t, :s,
( j saw my fa -
.S,
ther
s, : .11
die.
2. The bailiff with the " notice " came — the bit of ground was gone —
I saw the roof-tree in a flame — the crow-bar work was done.
With neither house nor bed nor bread, the Workhouse was my doom,
And on my jacket soon I read : " The Union of Macroom."
* Cills, i.e., churchyards.
185
3. My mother died of broken heart ; my uncle from the town
Brought for her a horse and cart and buried her in Gleown.
I joined the " Red-Coats " then — mo leir ! what would my father say ?
And I was sent in one short year on service to Bombay.
4. I thought to be a pauper was the greatest human curse,
But fighting in a robber's cause — I felt it ten times worse :
I helped to plunder and enslave those tribes of India's sons,
And I spent many a sultry day blowing Sepoys from our guns.
5. I told those sins to Father Ned — the murder and the booty ;
They were no sins for me, he said, I only did my duty.
And when that " duty " here was done a journey home I made ;
I found my friends all dead and gone — I joined the Pope's Brigade.
6. I got but medals on my breast for serving in this campaign ;
And next — I'm found in the far West a soldiering again —
With famous Captain Billy O, I joined the 'Fenian band,
And swore, one day, to strike a blow to free my Native Land.
7. Back in this sinking isle again, where vultures drink our blood,
Friends are scattered, starved, or slain — I'm told I'm cursed by God,
That I could swear my life-long days to serve from Pole to Pole
In any other cause but this with safety to my soul.
How can it be by God's decree I'm cursed, outlawed, and banned
Because I swore, one day, to free my trampled Native Land ?
O 'DONOVAN ROSSA.
I link this excellent ballad to a very sweet variant of the air, " RACA
bfieAj; mo cum." The ballad enshrines another " fact " of Irish history of
the last century. The fifth and sixth lines of verse 7 may be sung to the
same part of the air as the third and fourth lines. The air should be
taken somewhat slowly.
186
EILEEN O BRIN
KEY
Air : " Ui mo S^A-O f o Ap AH At>Ainn."
p *
: S| .f | j i'i| .f i : S, .1, I taj : 1| .1) [ s\ : m .,r >
She is I gone, she is gone.whereshalllDer - mod find rest From the)
I She is
i!
d .ta, : s, .f. I nil .ft : Si .d
grief of his ' spir - it, the
rage of his
: s, .s, )
renst? Since the)
!l
B| . &j .1|
child of his
"i -f| :s, .1,
chief -• tain no
ta, :l|.l,
more may ho
8|
view
:JH •>* i
As '
:
d .ta, :s. .f
fair as the
PI i -f| : S| .thd
morn - ing and
dim.
r : m ,,r
pure as its
d :_d_ .d_
dew. She is
dim.
m ,,f : s .f Im : r .d t, : s, .f6| Is, : m_ ,n_ •>
gone ! Now at| eve, by the Lif - fey's gay|tide, Who shall)
II
m_.,f : s .f
lead the aged
m :r .d
war - rior and
t, .d :r .,m
watch by his
d
side ?
Oh
187
hate
:s, .f,
to thee,
Tyr -
s, ,1)
rell, for
black is
•i
thy
|
sin,
•'ill •! I
Who hast)
Id .
.f
nipped in its
rail.
MI .f i : s, Uhd
bloom-hood the
r :m -,r Id
flow'r of O' Brin.
2. Young Armoric loved her, and once as she hung
O'er her harp, and the wrongs of green Erin she sung,
He vowed by her beauty, the strength of the land
He would marshal for freedom, or forfeit her hand.
Poor Eileen was silent ; still trembling she played,
While the tears in her dark eye her bosom betrayed :
Ah, madd'ning the thought ! that the foes of her kin,
And her country, should rob us of Eileen O'Brin.
3. As here in the depths of the dark tangled wood,
When the throstle, sweet bird, rears his promising brood,
The spoiler, to mark them, is oft wont to come
Ere he, merciless, plunders their moss-covered home ;
So Tyrrell, while ruin his heart had long planned,
Watched Eileen, to see all her beauties expand,
Then, fiend-like, that heart which he never could win
He tore from the homestead of Torlogh O'Brin.
How smooth was the Liffey- — how blooming the lawn !
When she went forth as playful and light as a fawn ;
Young Armoric greets her — no more could he say,
The ambush are on him — he falls — she's away !
We missed her at twilight, and swift in her track
Our kerns rush fiercely to conquer her back ;
But in vain — she's secured the strong castle within,
And the accents of woe fill the home of O'Brin.
6. We trusted the stranger — we've dwelt on his plain ;
Our safeguard his honour — 'tis black with a stain ;
Yet he recks not, but laughs in the face of our wail,
For they wrong, then insult us, those lords of the Pale.
188
Glendalough ! Oh, thy deep sunny valleys for me,
And thy mountains that watch o'er the homes of the free,
Where chieftains as brave as e'er battle did win
Would bow to the beauty of Eileen O'Brin.
6. But we've lost her — up Cuallane— thy warriors awake !
Glenduff, send thy bravest to fight for her sake —
O'Brin ! see your name is dishonoured — repay
The tyrant whose minions forced Eileen away ;
O'Tooles and O'Dempseys your weapons unsheath —
Come down, let your war-cry be " Vengeance or death,"
Nor cease ye one moment, when once ye begin,
Till the life-blood of Tyrrell atone to O'Brin.
MLRO.
This air is taken from Petrie. He says of it : " It is a beautiful arid
most ancient melody." It is one of the fine airs which Petrie got from
James Fogarty, an intelligent farmer, of more than ordinary cultivation
of mind, who resided at Tibroughney, Co. Kilkenny, near Carrick-on-Suir.
Fogarty said that the song sung to it was a beautiful love-song for a person
crossing the seas. As he also believed that it had a political tinge ; in all
probability it was a Jacobite ballad. Fogarty lived in Tibroughney up
to 1852 when he had to emigrate. This beautiful song, to which I link it
for the first time, will be found worthy of it. I do not know the author
of it.
189
MY LOVE IS ON THE RIVER
Air : " CA mo 5j\At> fo AJ\ A 11
1. Sliav Gua's highlands shade meadow and
And guard the green islands of the golde'a Suir ;
The Tur brightly sallies from their coomj, wild and fleet,
And sings thro' the valleys that blooir. at their feet.
More bright to-day than they e'er g'none before,
Shine castle grey, and green heigko, and shore —
Oh ! the splendours that quiver o'er wildwood and lea,
While my love is on the rivet in his light boat with me.
2. Swift as foot of the beagle from the hills doth he hie ;
Bright as glance of the eagle, the glance of his eye ;
When the Green Flag's unfurled he is straight as the tree ;
Never heart in the world could be fonder of me.
Outlawed and lone lived he many a day,
In his cold cave of stone 'mid the hills far away ;
But truth conquers ever and my love he is free
On the Suir's golden river in his light boat with me.
3. Sweet songs are ringing from the birds of the grove,
But sweeter the singing of my own gallant love ;
Oh ! his brave words first found in me sadness and pain,
But they soon strewed around me bright flowers again.
And he never more from my arms shall be torn :
The fair chapel door shall receive us next morn ;
And the green woods shall quiver to our bridal bell's glee,
For my love is on the river in his light boat with me.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
For air see previous song, p. 1 86, the title of which is also the title
)f this song. R. D. Joyce wrote the song for this air.
190
THOU ART NOT CONQUERED YET.
KEY Eb« Passionately. Air : From Petrie,
P
( : s,
d .,r : PI .f
|s : f .r
d .t| : S| | S|
1
( Thou
art not
con - quered
yet, dear land,
>
5 ' si
d .,r : PI .f
I s .1 : f .r
d :- |-
}
t Though
pale thy
once - bright
cheek,
'
( :s,
d ,,r : PI .f
|s ' : f .r
d ,t| : S( | S|
,
( Al -
though thy
lips of
gold - en song
>
j • S|
d .,r : n .f
| s .1 : f .r
d :- |-
)
< Now
mourn - ful •
ly do
speak.
>
cres.
X . HI f
\ . PI .1
s : s .1
| ta : ta .d1
ta : s jn | f
I
i AI -
though thine
eyes have
dimmed their hue,
)
( : PI .f
s i d'
| d1 .,m! : r1 .t
d1 : - .t [ s
.
i And
with cold
tears are
wet,
j
mj
dim.
( ;B .1
ta : ta.d1
| ta : 1 .s
f : r .,d 1 t,
j
\ Yes,
mo - ther, thy heart beats
proud - ly still
I
P
< Thou
d .,r : PI .f
I s .1 : f .r
d :- |-
yet.
1
art not
con - quered
191
2. Thy limbs are bound in fetters strong,
Thy heart is beating fast ;
For, oh ! the gloomy pall of death
Is ever round thee cast.
The stars bring thee no light, asthore,
Thy glorious sun is set ;
Yet, darling, hold thy flagstaff firm :
Thou art not conquered yet.
3. Seven centuries a stranger's hoof
Has trod thy beauty down,
His hand has torn with ruffian grasp
From thy fair head its crown.
But crownlees as thou art to-day,
Yet never can forget
How bravely you have borne the past
Thou art not conquered yet.
4. The poet brought unto thy feet
His gift of precious song,
And round thee in a haloed ring
How thick thy martyrs throng.
Two nations at thy fallen throne
In bonds of love have met,
Thy flashing eyes unto them speak :
Thou art not conquered yet.
6. Now, in thy proud mute eloquence
The wide earth well may know,
The river of thy oenturied thought,
Its caravel of woe.
But we who cling to thee, dear love,
No tears our eyelids wet —
We only swear, before high Heaven,
Thou art not conquered yet.
J. K. CASEY ("LEO")
This fine air from Petrie is full of pathos and passion. Its strains
find fit expression in " Leo's " splendid ballad.
192
O'DONOVAN'S DAUGHTER.
KEY A. Lively. Air : "The Ju!co of the Barley.1
Mi I HI, :f, :s, |d :-r:d
One I mid-sum-mer's eve, when the '
f:m.f
I And the
s :ro :s |f :m :f
bag - p' - per's tone call'd the
t, :s, :1,
Bel - fires were
|s, :PI,
light - ed,
1
m : - .PI : r
maid - ens de -
| r :r
light-ed,
I
f:m.f
s :m :s |f :ro :f
joined a gay group by the
r :t, :s, | s, :m, \
Ar - a - gl'n's wa - ter >
.f
And
m :r :d 1 1, :d :r
iiunced till the. dawn with O'
d :s, :d |d :d
Don - o - van's Daugh-ter
2. Have you seen the ripe monadan glisten in Kerry,
Have you mark'd on the Galtees the black whortleberry,
Or ceanabhan wave by the wells of Backwater ?
They're the cheek, eye, and neck of O'Donovan's Daughter.
3. Have you seen a gay kidling on Claragh's round mountain,
The swan's arching glory on Sheeling's blue fountain,
'Heard a weird woman chant what the fairy choir taught her ?
They've the step, grace, and tone of O'Donovan's Daughter 1
4. Have you marked in its flight the black wing of the raven,
The rosebuds that breathe in the summer breeze waven,
The pearls that lie under Lene's magic water ?
They're the teeth, lip, and hair of O'Donovan's Daughter 1
193
5. Ere the Bel-fire was dimmed or the dancers departed,
I taught her a song of some maid broken-hearted.
And that group, and that dance, and that love-song I taught her
Haunt my slumbers at night with O'Donovan's Daughter.
6. God grant 'tis no fay from Cnoc-Firinn that woos me,
God grant 'tis not Cliodhna the queen that pursues me,
That my soul lost and lone has no witchery wrought her,
While I dream of dark groves and O'Danovan's Daughter !
7. If, spell-bound, I pine with an airy disorder,
Saint Gobnate has sway over Musgry's wide border }
She'll scare from my couch, when with prayer I've besought her,
That br.ght airy sprite like O'Donovan's Daughter.
EDWARD WALSH.
194
THE MEN OF THE WEST.
KEY F. Boldly and proudly. Air : " eoJAti coip."
( :S|.S||d :d :d |ro :r :d m :-
(while we] hon - «ur in song and in sto
:- Is :-
The >
5
s : m : d J d : r : m
1. ••-
:- 1 :
S| I
i
names of our pa - tri - ot
men ;
Whose )
5
d :d :d | m :r :d
val - our has cov - ered with
s :-
glo
:- 11 :- :
- ry
d' )
Full )
,
s :m :d | r :d : r
d :-
._ | .
S )
\
man - y a moun - tain and
glen.
For-)
CHOBUS —
I
<
s : m : s | s : m : s
get not the boys of the
d1 :-
:1 |d« :-
Who >
hea
ther,
give you "The gal - lant old West,"
boys,
Where
( Is : m :d |d :r :m
( |mar-shalled their bra - vest and
1, :-
best,
:- 1 : :s, >
When)
ral - lied our bra - vest and best,
When
I
d : d : d | m : r : d
Eir - e was bro - ken in
SI
•
Wex -
:- 11 :-
- ford,
And >
Ire - land was bro - ken and bleed
ing,
Hur-
(
s :ro :d | r :d : r
d :-
:- 1 :
||
1
looked for pe - venge to the
West !
1
rah for the men of the West I
195
2. The hill tops with glory were glowing,
'Twas th' eve of a bright harvest day,
When the ships we'd been wearily waiting,
Sailed into Killala's broad bay ;
And over the hills went the slogan ;
To waken in every breast
The fire that has never been quenched, boys,
Among the true hearts of the West.
CHORUS.
3. Killala was ours ere the midnight,
And high over Ballina town,
Our banners in triumph were waving
Before the next sun had gone down ;
We gathered to speed the good work, boys,
The true men anear and afar ;
And history can tell how we routed
The redcoats through old Castlebar.
CHORUS.
4. And pledge me, " The stout sons of France," boys,
Bold Humbert and all his brave men,
Whose tramp, like the trumpet of battle
Brought hope to the drooping again.
Since Eire has caught to her bosom
On many a mountain and hill
The gallants who fell so they're here, boys,
To cheer us to victory still.
CHORUS.
5. Though all the bright dreamings we cherished
Went down in disaster and woe,
The spirit of old still is with us
That never would bend to the foe ;
And Connacht is ready whenever
The loud rolling tuck of the drum
Rings out to awaken the echoes
And tell us — the morning has come.
196
CHORDS.
So here's to the gallant old West, boys,
Which rallied her bravest and best,
When Ireland was broken and bleeding,
Hurrah, boys ! Hurrah for the West.
WILLIAM ROONE?.
If Rooney had left after him no song but this it would immortalize his
name. It stamps him as a man of true poetic talent and patriotic soul.
Words and air make a magnificent rallying song which every rising genera-
tion of Irish children ought to be taught. I believe I am correct in saying
that the great John McHale, Archbishop of Tuam, was fond of singing this
air at every social gathering of his priests to Irish words, known as " Got AH
C6ij\."
19?
THE SADDEST BREEZE.
KEY F. Plaintively.
d -r
in :s
If.
in :r .t, d .tj :s,
•f,
Is, :s,.l, >
The
sad - dest breeze in all the
land, It j>
ta, .s
:d .t,
Is, :
•i
s, :-
|
:d .r 1
blew
a
cross
the
sea ;
It >
HI
: s
| f -in :
r .t,
d .t, ; s, .f,
1
s, :s, .1, >
drove
a
brave
ship
from the
strand, And )
ta, .s
:d .t.
is, :
B|
s, :-
1
:BI .1, )
bore
my
Hugh
from
me;
And \
ta,
:- .s,
I ta,._d :
r .m
f .in :d .t
1
d :d i
long
i
sat
be - side the
rill To )
r
: s
I fe .s :
1 .fe
s :-
1
:s.f >
weep
my
fate
a
lone,
Till i
in
:- .d
|f .m :
r .t,
d .t, : s, .f
, 1
m, :s, 1, )
leaf
and
flower
from
wood and
hill With i
ta, .s
, :d .t,
Is, :
•l
s, :-
1
II
sum
- mer
beams
were
flown.
II
2. The gladdest breeze e'er swept the vales
To-day blew from the sea ;
It swelled a good ship's snowy sails,
And brought him back to me ;
And now 'tis rushing wildly past
With wintry sleet and rain,
Yet e'en I love the cold, cold blast
That brought my Hugh again !
198
BOLD PHELIM BRADY, THE BARD OF ARMAGH.
KEY B|>. Plaintively.
:- .d |r :s :- .f
the lay
( Oh !
d
list
: I'l
to
:s
of
i»i :r :d 1 1, :s, :-
poor I - rish harp - er, And] scorn not
d| r : s
the strains of
'- , }
' his )
m :d :r |d :- :s,
old with-ered hand, But re-
mem-ber the fin - gers could)
m :r :d 1
: n : d .d | r
To| raise the merry strains of
:s :-.f)
ins of his)
il
m :d :r |d :- :m.f.|s.s:m :s |f :m :r )
dear na - tive land; It was) long be-fore the sham-rock our'
d.ro:- rr^dlt, : s, :-.s,
green isle's loved em - blem Was
m,m:d ; r .m \ f :- :n.f
Saxon li - on's paw I was
vil - lage and val - ley
' | m : d : r | d :
I Bard of Ar - magh.
_A\r :. :f.f>
crushed in its beau-ty 'neath the)
S- - in • Q If •m •i*r\
. .PI . s 1 1 . m . r .r}
called by the col - leens of the)
d : - : r<m<d| r : s : - .f )
Bold PheTlim Bra - dy, the)
*>
199
How I long for to muse on the days of my boyhood,
Though four score and three years have flitted since then,
Still it gives sweet reflections, as every young joy should,
That merry-hearted boys make the best of old men.
At a pattern or fair I could twist my shillela
Or trip through a jig with my brogues bound with straw,
Whilst all the pretty maidens around me assembled
Loved bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.
3. Although I have travelled this wide world over,
Yet Erin's my home and a parent to me,
Then oh, let the ground that my old bones shall cover
Be cub from the soil that is trod by the free.
And when sergeant death in his cold arms shall embrace me,
O lull me to sleep with sweet Erin go bragh,
By the side of my Kathleen, my young wife, O place me,
Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.
This lovely old ballad may be heard to-day on the streets of Dublin.
It is a very sweet bit of music. It should be sung with feeling and smoothly
and at moderate rate. The two notes in parenthesis are required for the
last lines of second and third verses, i.e., the word Loved and the syllables
Then /or(-get).
200
THE FLAG THAT FLOATS ABOVE US.
KEY D.
Lightly.
5 : s .m
d :m
.f |S
: 1 .t d1 .r1
: m1 .d1 | r1 : d1 .1
}
( The
slave may bend in ab
- ject fear, And
IIs
(I hug
:s .1
S
chains
: m .s
that
s .1 :
d1 | - : s .ro
him • The
i
the
bind
I!'
( | COW
:m .f
- ard
Is
run
:1 .t
his
d'.r1 :
base
in1 .d1 | r1 : d1 .1
i
ca - reer, Nor
rail.
( 1 light
:s .1
Is
free •
:m .d
r
find
d1 | - : s .ni
\
of
• dom
him. But
IIs—
M while
: d1 .r'
bove
: r' .n'
us
f :
floats
m1 | r1 : d'.r1
the flag of
}
a -
f m'
: r1
Id'.l
:s .1
S .1 !
d1 | - : s .m
i
( green
and
or
ange
blend -
ed, No
>
(Id
:m .f
Is
: 1 .t
d'.r'
: m1 . d' | r1 : d1 .1
^
\\ ty
- rant
knave
its
folds
shall drag, While
>
rail.
II"
( | our
stout
Is
arms
: m .d
r
fend
:d 1- I,
it.
de -
2. We ask for nought but what's our own,
From friend or foreign foeman,
We're one in love, in blood or bone,
And yield or bend to no man :
201
We fight the fight our father* fought,
Beneath the same old standard,
They nobly died as brave men ought,
While leading freedom's vanguard
3. Gaze on our standard as it flies,
By freemen's hands supported,
A prouder yet 'neath heaven's skies,
A fairer never floated ;
It waved o'er Brian and O'Neill,
O'er Sarsfield, Tone and Emmet,
It oft has braved the foeman's steel,
And foemen's blood begem it.
4. No hireling servile slaves are we,
To bend with meek submission
To the alien's grinding tyranny,
Or despot's fierce ambition ;
But for our own, our suffering land,
Our foreign foes defying,
We'll strike while we can raise a hand
And keep that banner flying.
6. A living rampart round it throng,
Ten thousand hands are ready
To strike a blow for motherland,
Calm, patient, firm and steady !
Then shout it out to foe or friend,
To those who hate or love us,
While life remains we will defend
The flag that floats above us.
WILLIAM COLLINS.
202
KEY P.
THE "HOLLY AND IVY" GIRL.
Air : " The Maid of Wicklow."
f : d .r m : m .,f : i'i .r In : 1
: d .r >
and my )
d .r >
( " Come, buy my nice, fresh! I - vy,
j m :m .,f :m .r r :- :
I Hoi - ly sprigs so
< m :m .,f :m .r
green ;
\
branch - es
1 :-
seen.
1 .s : m
Chris - tians,
1 :-
pray,
1 .s :m
Christ -mas Times,
|ii I-
i [
1 .t >
that )
I .t )
i have the fin - cst
j d1 :t .,1 :s .t
i ev er yet were
< d1 :t .,1 :s .t
Come )
:1 .,t )
( buy from me, good
< d1 :t ..1 :s .t
and )
And I'll I
:d .r >
and a j
( let me home, I
5 d1 :t .,1 :s .t
f wish you * Mer-ry
(In :r .d :t, .,d
( 1 Hap - py New Year's] Day.' "
2. " Ah ! won't you take my Ivy ? t!ie loveliest ever seen !
Ah ! won't you have my Holly boughs? — all you who love the Green •
Do ! take a little bunch of each, and on my knees I 11 pray,
That God may bless your Christmas, and be with you New Year's Day
203
3. " This wind is black and bitter, and the hailstones do not spare
My shivering form, my bleeding feet, and stiff entangled hair ;
Then, when the skies are pitiless, be merciful I say — •
So Heaven will light your Christmas and the coming New Year s
Day."
4. 'Twas thus a dying maiden sung, whilst the cold hail rattled down,
And fierce winds whistled mournfully o'er Dublin's dreary town ; — •
One stiff hand clutched her Ivy sprigs and Holly boughs so fair,
With the other she kept brushing the hail-drops from her hair.
5. So grim and statue-like she seemed, 'twas evident that Death
Was lurking in her footsteps — whilst her hot, impeded breath
Too plainly told her early doom — though the burden of her lay
Was still of life, and Christmas joys, and a Happy New Year's Day.
6. 'Twas in that broad, bleak Thomas Street, I heard the wanderer sing ;
I stood a moment in the mire, beyond the ragged ring — •
My heart felt cold and lonely, and my thoughts were far away,
Where I was, many a Christmas-tide, and Happy New Year's Day.
7. I dreamed of wanderings in the woods amongst the Holly green ;
I dreamed of my own native cot, and porch with Ivy screen ;
I dreamed of lights for ever dimmed — of hopes that can't return —
And dropped a bear on Christmas fires, that never more can burn.
8. The ghost-like singer still sung on, but no one came to buy,
The hurrying crowd passed to and fro, but did not heed her cry :
She uttered one low, piercing moan — then cast her boughs away —
And smiling, cried — " I'll rest with God before the New Year's Day."
9. On New Year's Day I said my prayers above a new-made grave,
Dug decently in sacred soil, by Li Hey 's murmuring wave :
The Minstrel maid from Earth to Heaven has winged her happy way,
And now enjoys, with sister-saints, an endless New Year's Day.
J. KEEQAN.
Keegan was born in Queen's Co., and died in 1849. His poems are
thoroughly Irish in feeling and sentiment, as they are full of purity and
tenderness (Hayes). The air is a sweet, tender bit of music.
204
TO-MORROW, COMRADES, WE.
KEY Eb-
f : -1| r ,,d : r .m f : f ,,f >
< To - mor - row, com - rades, we On the $
( m ,d .- :d ,,d
( battle plain must
d i ti .,d ^
ba, There to )
< 1, .r :r .in
f : m .r |
( 1 con - quer or
both lift )
( 1, . :ta,
( low, lie
1, : .d' i
low f The i
( d1 .,1 :f .1
C morn - ing star is
d1 :ta .1 ^
up, But there's )
f s .,m :d .m
( wine still in the
s :f .,s >
cup, And we'll )
5|1 -,f :s ,f .-
( I take a - nother
1, :r .d >
quaff, Ere we )
llr :n
( 1 go» boys,
f :f .s i-
go, We'll )
( 1 .,1 :S ,f .-
( take a - nother
d1 :d .,d )
quaff Ere we )
205
2. 'Tis true in manliest eyes a passing tear will rise,
When we think on the friends we leave alone,
But what can wailing do ! see, our goblet's weeping, too,
With its tears we'll chase away our own, boys, our own,
With its tears we'll chase away our own.
3. But daylight stealing on — the last that o'er us shone,
Saw our children around us play,
The next — oh ! where will we and those rosy urchins be ?
But no matter — grasp thy sword, and away, boys, away,
But no matter — grasp thy sword and away.
A. Let those who brook the chain of Saxon or of Dane,
Ignobly by their fireside stay,
One sigh to home be given, and one heartfelt prayer to Heaven,
Then for Eire and her cause, boys, hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah!
Then lor Eire and her cause, boy, hurrah ! *
• THOMAS MOORE.
206
THE
ENSIGN AND HIS BANNER.
KEY C-
Air: " Se6tA>6 riA 115
AlilMA.'
•
( They
1
said
I
Id1 :1 s :m |d
was too young to seek
: r .PI
For
}
\ fame
m .r
1 1 .s
: f .ro
r :- .d |1, :
They
}
or
mar
- tial
glo - - ry;
li said
1 .,t
Id'
was
:ta.l
s .f :m .r |d :
r .m
}
I
too
slight and weak
To
f :
(j brave
m .r
the*
|1 .s
tfjtl
- tie
r :- |p :
go - - ry;
But
}
bat
<| years
1 .d'
have
in
passe
•
d, and
r1 :- ,d' |1 :
I have got
S
A
}
!L, . :
1 .r'
jr1 .d
:r' .m1
r1 :- .d1 |1 :
t
And
}
dier's
mien
and
man ner,
sir •.
v| borne
d1
thro'
Id1
man
- ya
s .f :s .1*1 |d :
storm of shot
r .ro
My
}
t| con -
ro .r
quering
|1 .S
• f m
r :- IP ||
ban - ner. ||
I -
rish
2. The bloody breach of strong Namur,
It was the first I mounted —
And many a comrade's corse be sure
Within that breach we counted ;
There placed we high the Fleur de lys,
And Bill, th' old Dutch trepanner,
As fast he fled, looked back on thee,
Far higher still, my banner I
207
3. And since that mighty day of death,
With honour still I've borne it :
It waved in many a battle's breath,
And many a shot has torn it :
It saw on Steinkirk's fiery plain
Bravo Sarsfield beat the planner
Of all our woe, Dutch Bill, again,
My glorious Irish banner.
I had a sweetheart in Ireland
Before I crossed the water :
My comrades say some Saxon band
Has drenched her home in slaughter ;
Ah, cold she sleeps — God rest her soul ! — •
Beside the Banks of Anner,
And now I've naught, as seasons roll,
To love, but my green banner.
6. And now where'er my banner wave,
I'll think on that sad river,
Where lies my true love's gory grave,
And fight for vengeance ever ; —
With Ireland's woes in memory,
Some brave revenge I'll plan her,
And when I fall, my shroud shall be
My glorious Irish banner !
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
203
DRIMAN DHOUN DHEELISH.
Ki
{
i
i
I
:Y C-
:m.,f s .d1 : - :_d
O say, my bro
s :- :s .,1
kine, Where,
/"^ /O\
d1 .,t : s .f : m .,f
I'.t Id'.r' ;- :r'.,t d1 :- .t : s .1 \
wn |Drim-in, tho
t_M.l :s :-.!
where ar@ thy
r : - : d1 .t
a silk of the )
t : d1 : r1 ,t >
strong ones, last >
s :1 :r .,t, )
hope of thy
d : r :- .PI
long is the
line ? Too
f :- .s :1
slum - ber they
d'.,t :s .f :m .f
deep and too )
r : - : d1 .,r' ^
take, At th@)
r :d :- ,d )
don't they a- >
loud call of
wake ?
free - dom why
2. My strong ones have fallen — from the bright eye of day
All darkly they sleep in their dwelling of clay ;
The cold turf is o'er them — they hear not my cries,
And since Louis no aid gives, I cannot arise.
3. O ! where art thou, Louis ? our eyes are on thee — •
Are thy lofty ships walking in strength o'er the sea ?
In freedom's last strife, if you linger or quail,
No morn e'er shall break on th« night of the Gael.
209
But should the King's son, now bereft of his right,
Come proud in his strength for his Country to fight ;
Like leaves on the trees, will new people arise,
And deep from the mountains shout back to my cries.
5. When the Prince, now an exile, shall come for his own,
The Isles of his father, his rights, and his throne,
My people in battle the Saxons will meet,
And kick them before, like old shoes from their feet.
6. O'er mountains and valleys they'll press on their rout,
The five ends of Erin shall ring to their shout ;
My sons all united, shall bless the glad day
When the flint-hearted Saxon they've chased far away.
J. J. CALLANAN.
This magnificent rendering of the Irish song by Callanan is far more
virile and enthusiastic than Ferguson's version. The fine air and words
make a grand song. The Commissioners of "National" Education in
Ireland were once asked to sanction for use in Irish schools my booklets,
entitled " Vuinti HA Stnol." They refused, on account of this song.
If this song were eliminated they promised their sanction. I refused
to eliminate it. The Commissioners knew no Irish. I wonder who was
their Mentor and Censor of Irish literature ? Irish children evidently
can't be trusted that they won't become rebels, if they are allowed to
sing a Jacobite song in Irish.
210
KEY A.
GRA GAL MACHREE
Air: <: Paddy's Green Island."
When
m :d :d |r :d :d I 1, :d : 1, | s, :n, : f , >
morn-ing dis - clo - ses its I light on the ro - ses, Up-)
s, :d :d |m :r :d It, :r :r |r ^ :-.f)
on them re - po - ses the ' sweet hon - ey v dew ; Like)
m : d : d | r : d : d
nm :a :
( I buds of
their fair - est, thy
5 IB, :•
( I hon -
:s :m |r :d :-.
hon - ey the ra - rest to
d : m : s | s : m : d
eyes they are bright-er than
1, :-.d :1, |s, :m, : f , )
lips, O, my dear- est, Have)
m :d Id |d :- II n.r )
sweet-en them too. || Thine)
d : m : s | s : m :d >
stars of the night, or Than)
t, :r :m |f :s.f:-
gems of the sea ; Thy
•«J> I
; Thy >
( if :s :1 |s :m :(
( I A - pril skies' light, or tl
(In :d :d |r :d :d |l,.d:- : 1, | s, :m, : f , )
( [neck's like th' il- him - ing bright| lil-y as - sum-ing Its )
I
s, :s
|r :d
:d :d |d :-
first H*n-der bloom-ing, sweet Gra Gal Ma - chree.
211
2. I went to the greenwood, where streamlets serene would
Make music and sheen would enliven me more ;
Sweet visions they wrought me, sweet mem'ries they brought me,
Of thee who first taught me love's passion and lore.
The birds round me winging, their carols were singing,
Their voices outringing with rapture and glee ;
My heart then enchanted, by dearer tones haunted,
For thy loved words panted, sweet Gra Gal Machree.
3. O Love, I am thinking of thee from the blinking
Of morn till the sinking of day in the west ;
And thus each fair creature, each bright blooming feature
And aspect of nature brings joy to my breast ;
Each night through the airy sweet dreamland of fairy,
My soul still unweary is wandering to thee ;
And dream or reflection is one recollection
Of thy fond affection, sweet Gra Gal Machree.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
I am indebted to Dr. P. W. Joyce's collection for this air. Air and
ttords make a very sweet and pleasant song.
212
THE BRIGADE'S HURLING MATCH.
KEY F. Lively. Air :" The game played in Erin 50 bj\A£."
j Lr— m
( In"the|Soi
|n :s :t.
ejSouth's bloom-ing val - leys they
( :J._t|d' :t
(By their vine - s
r vine - sha-ded
|t
cots
at
:s
the
:Ll|t :1 :s |1 :s :n
But a ' game like our own the I
t, :1. :1. Hi :-
sing and they play
ro :fe :s |1 :-
close of the day :
r :d :t, |d :-
tal - ians ne'er saw —
The
m : 1| :1| |m :s :t,
wild sweep-ing hur - lings of
t, :1,
E - rin
II,
50
2. Our tents they were pitched upon Lombardy's plain ;
Ten days nigh the foemen our army had lain ;
But ne'er through their walls made we passage or flaw,
Till we showed them the game played in Erin 50
3. Our sabres were sharp and a forest was nigh ;
There our hurleys we fashioned ere morning rose high ;
With the goal ball young Mahon had brought from Dunlawe,
We showed them the game played in Erin 50 bjvac.
4. Our captain stood out with the ball in his hand ;
Our colonel he gave us the word of command ;
Then we dashed it and chased it o'er eskir* and scragh-f,
While we showed them the game played in Erin 50 bpAc.
5. The enemy stood on their walls high and strong,
While we raced it and chased it and dashed it along ;
They opened their gates as we nearer did draw,
To see the wild game played in Erin jo bj\A£.
* Eskir, a low little sand-hill. | Scragh [scraw] , a grassy surface.
213
6. On a sudden we turned from the ball's swift career ;
And rushed through the gate with a grand ringing cheer ;
Ah, they ne'er through our bright dauntless stratagem saw,
While we showed them the game played in Erin 50 b|\A£.
7. Their swords clashed around us, their balls raked so sore,
But with hurleys we paid them in hard knocks galore ;
For their bullets and sabres we cared not a straw,
While we showed them the game played in Erin 50 bj\A£.
8. The fortress is taken ! our wild shouts arife ;
For our land and King Louis they swell to the skies.
Ah, he laughed as he told us a game he ne'er saw
Like the wild sweeping hurlings of Erin 50 bjv&fc !
ROBERT DWYKB JOYCE, M.D.
" The story embodied in this ballad was told among the people of Cork
and Limerick sixty years ago (1850 A.D.) — how a company of the Irish
Brigade in the service of France captured a town in the manner related." — -
(Dr. Joyce). The above air is printed as I always heard it sung. It differs
in two notes from Dr. Joyce's version.
I WOULD I WERE ON YONDER HILL.
KEY BJ?.
Air : " SiubAl, A j\un."
:d d :- :
I would
s, :- :PI,
there I'd
P1| I — I Pl|
ev' - ry
dh6 thoo ma-
HORUS.
d t, :- :t
I were o
d :- :t,
sit and
tear would
d .ti : s, .t|
1, :- :PI,
n yon - dei
1, :- :r,
cry my
1, :-.t, :d.r
pii : - : S| |
hill, 'Tis )
T| : — ! FI >
fill, And)
PI :-.f,m:r.m ^
turn a
1, :- :-
slaun.
1, rjn, :-.ri|
Shule a-
d : t, : s,.Pi|
shule go
1, :-.t,:d.r
mill Iss go)
m, :- :- >
roon '
r,: - :- I
kewn,
rr\
PI ! — .IjPI '• T -PI )
voor - neen
Shule,
d :- :r
Shule go
Shule go dheen
"d ft, :-.!,
dh6 thoo ma
Shule,
m : m : r .r
sue - cir ag-us
dur - rus 'gus
d .m :s, .t,
e lig
1. :- :-'
slaun.
Hum, Iss go)
voor - neen
2. I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
I'll sell my only spinning-wheel,
To buy for my love a sword of steel,
Iss go dhe thoo mavgurneen slaun.
CHORUS.
215
3. I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red,
And round the world I'll beg my bread,
Until my parents shall wish me dead,
Iss go dhe thoo mavourneen slaun.
CHORUS.
4. I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,
I wish I had my heart again,
And vainly think I'd not complain,
Iss go dhe thoo mavourneen slaun.
CHORUS.
5. But now my love has gone to France,
To try his fortune to advance ;
If he e'er come back 'tis but a chance,
Iss go dhe thoo mavourneen slaun.
CHORUS.
This setting of the air is by Father Brennan, native of Cahirciveen
(" Oisin"). Singers will please note the change of time in two passages,
namely, in the 4th and 8th lines of the music. The song and air are both
beautiful. What a contrast to the mawkishly sentimental songs of the
modern concert hall ! Gavan Duffy says : — " The inexpressible tenderness
of the air and the deep feeling and simplicity of the words have made tho
ballad a popular favourite."
216
KEY
OUR NATIVE LAND
Air : " An
r : .U: d .t,
i The day is
:d .r :m«ba<se
dy - ing The eve is
l^-d' : t .1 : s .l,s
sigh-ing, Our barque is
( I ro .,r : d .ro : r < d < t, lf : . li.tj: d .t| >
1 I fly - ing bo - fore the wind ; The sun - set's)
.,t| :d .r :m«ba«se 1 .d1 : t .l^s:m .r )
- derv Up - on the )
splen - dour Falls soft and
ten
ii
d .1, :t, .Mt,:l, .1, II,
Up
,.|r^W
groen
flow -
hills we leave be- ' hind.
|Our tears are
:t .1 :1 .s
ing The while we'i
d .r,m:r .t, ll,
.d1 :t .1 :s .1 ,s
go - - ing, For love is
show - ing the moun-tainsl grand ;
i,t,:d .t,
The glens and
m
il
.,t| : d .r
mead - ows In lights and
1 .d1 :t ,l,s:m .r
sha - dows And the plea-sant
d .1, :t, .tjdt,:!, .1, II,
val - leys of our Na- tivel Land.
2. Oh ! akies, grow brighter !
Oh ! winds, blow lighter !
Let not the night or the deep sea hide
From our fond vision
That dream Elysian
217
That flings its beauty across the tide.
Ah ! poor hearts, beating,
There's no retreating ;
The winds are cheating with whispers bland ;
The hills are sinking ; .
Our souls are drinking
The last sweet vision of Our Native Land.
3. They say the gold land
Is a brave and bold land —
Alas ! the Old Land is sad and low — •
And the winds that fan her
Bright starry banner
Are never freighted with her children's woe.
We've read her story
Of light and glory
'Neath ruins hoary, antique and grand ;
And we will prove her
That we can love her,
And still be true to Our Native Land.
4. Each thought we knew, love,
Was but for you, love,
And so, old true love, a fond adieu ;
While night is shading,
We see thee fading,
Like sea nymph dipping 'neath ocean blue.
But love has painted
Thy face, sweet, sainted,
In hues all tinted with heaven's own hand ;
And in our spirit
We'll proudly wear it ;
And so be true to Our Native Land.
MICHAEL SCANLAN.
This version of the air was taken down from the singing of a traditional
singer in Cork, Miss Lynch.
218
"IRELAND OVER ALL.'
KEY F. Boldly and spiritedly. Air : " The Irish Champion."
f:
S|
PI, .,S,
:d .,« jr .,t,
:s, .1,
<
Come
should-er,
boys, to i should-er
now, The
|t,
.r
:d
.,t,
d :
.d
l| dawn
is
red
d'ning
o'er
The
f
-,r
:m
,,f
s .,tn :
f .S
<| hills
that
cir
cle
Ire « land's
brow, The
(In
.d
si,
,1,
s, :
•s,
(| seas
that
ring
her
shore.
And
<|m
1| hark
from
:m
out
.f
the
s .,ni '.
death - less
f .8
past Our
i: -
.d
thers
voi -
.1,
ces .
s, :
call-
f!
For
Hi.
land
:f
first,
.8
and
Ire - land
S, .1,
last — And
it.
.r
land
:d
o
ver
d :
all!
1
2. Old Ireland claims our loyalty
And none but her alone
Will ever reign, will ever be
High crowned upon a throne.
Then send your slogan on the blast,
Whatever may befal,
" Here's Ireland first, and Ireland last —
And Ireland over all 1 "
219
3. For this dear land our fathers fought,
For her our martyrs died,
And could we gain the goal they sought
We'd freely die with pride.
Then what tho' skies be overcast
Ring out your slogan call :
" Old Ireland first, and Ireland last—
And Ireland over all 1 "
Oh, were Lord Edward here to-day,
And Fearless Father John,*
Their spirits to our souls would say —
" Keep fighting, fighting on."
Unfurl your banner to the blast
And let your slogan call
Be " Ireland first and Ireland last,
And Ireland over all ! "
6. Then, shoulder, boys, to shoulder still
As through the weary night,
We'll stand till Freedom's banner will,
In glory and in might,
Float proudly in each mountain blast,
Though we around it fall,
Here's Ireland first, and Ireland last —
And Ireland over all.
P. KEHOB.
The writer of this song, P. Kehoe, Riversdale, Enniscorthy, applies to
Ireland the motto of the Americans : " America first, last,and all the time."
The song is a very fine one. In spirit and poetic merit it fcrirgs us back
to the Young Ireland period. We hope to soon see other productions
from the author's pen. On the recommendation of friends whose musical
and Irish taste is unquestioned I have wedded the song to one of our noble,
spirited airs — one which is well-known. In singing it let the jiggy style
be carefully avoided.
* Father John Murphy, who nobly and skilfully led the «' Rebels" of
1798 to many a victory.
220
REDMOND
KEY A.
O'HANLON.
Air : " Moll Roe."
: .s, d :-.d :d I
r : - .n :
It, :-.
a :r )
A shep - herd that
lives on
Slieve Gul - lion Came)
in :- .d :d |f :
down to the Coun
- .r :n
- ty Ty
1? :-
- rone,
And >
d :- .d :d |r :
told us how Red -
n :d
mond O'
It, :d
Han • Ion
. Won't)
In : - .n : n | f :
let the rich Sax -
r :t,
ons a
Id .:-
lone !
: .s ,
He)
s : - .n : n | f :
rides o - ver moor
- .r :d
land and
It, :d
moun- tain,
By >
Is : - .in : n | f :
night, till a stran
- ,r :n
- ger is
If :-
found,
:r.r >
Say-ing >
Is : - .in : n | f :
1 " Take your own choice
- .r :d
to be
It, :d
lod - ging
Right)
In : - .n : n If :
o • ver, or uri
- .r : t,
der the
Id :-
ground ! "
• .11
2. If you whistle out Whoa ! like a native,
He leaves you the way to go clear ;
If you squeeze out a Hew ! like a Scotchman,
You'll pay him a guinea a year.
But if you cry Haw ! like a Saxon,
Och, then, 'tis your life or your gold !
By stages Count Redmond O'Hanlon
Gets back what they pilfered of old 1
221
Old Coote of Cootehill is heart-broken ;
And Johnston beyond in the Fews
Has wasted eight barrels of powder
Upon him, but all to no use !
Although there's four hundred pounds sterling
If Redmond you'd put out of sight ;
Mind, if the heart's dark in your body,
'Tis Redmond will let in the light !
The great Duke of Ormond is frantic —
His soldiers got up with the lark
To catch this bold Redmond by daylight ;
But Redmond caught them in the dark.
Says he, when he stripped them and bound them —
" Take back my best thanks to his Grace
For all the fine pistols and powder
He sent to this desolate place ! "
5. Then here's to you, Redmond O'Hanlon !
Long may your excellency reign,
High ranger of woods and of rivers !
Surveyor of mountains and plain !
Examiner-chief of all traitors !
Protector of all that are true —
Henceforward, King Charlie of England
May take what he gets, after you !
P. J. McCALL.
This is one of P. J. McCall's delightful folk-songs taken, by permission,
from his Songs of Erinn. I append the -interesting note with which
he prefaces this song in his little book : " Redmond O'Hanlon of Orior,
for over a quarter of a century, kept the authorities of Ulster at bay.
The titles enumerated in the concluding stanza were assumed by him in
derision of those borne by the Duke of Ormond, who often proclaimed
him. His degree of Count was a real one, having been conferred on him
whili? serving in the armies of France, 1653-6. He was assassinated iu 1681,
having been shot through the heart when lying asleep."
222
LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS.
KEY.
mf.
<:d.r
m :-
.f :
m.r
Id :
s :
-,m
r :
-A:
i,
Is, :-
( Oh!
proud were the chieftains
of
green
In-
nis
- fail,
P
fim.r
d :-
.t,:
1,
Is, :
m, :
B|
li :
:
-
H, :-
I Iss
throo -
a
gon
eer
ria
vor
-
-
ra!
mf.
^
<:d.r
in :-
,f:
m.r
Id :
-.s :
in
r :
-.d:
1,
Is, :-
( The
stars
of
our
sky
and the
salt
of
our
soil,
(:m.r
d :-
.t,:
i,
l«Li
HI :
S|
1, :
- :
-
11, =-
( Iss
throo -
a
gon
eer
na
vor
-
-
ra.
<:l,.t,
d :-
.t,:
1,
Id :
r :
n
s :
-.1:
S
In :-
( Their
hearts
were as
light
as
a
child
in
the
lap,
mf.
<:r
d :-
.tiJ
1,
Id :
r :
in
1 :
- :
-
Is :-
< Yet
they were
"the
men
in the
gap"
T-
dm.
( And
f :-
now
.f :f
that the
|m :
cold
s :
clay
m 1 r : - .d :
theirl limbs doth
1,
en
Is, :-
- wrap.
<:m.r
d :-
ti
1|
Is, :
ni| i
B|
1, :
- :
-
Hi :-
v *Iss
throo
- a
gon
eer
na
vor
-
-
ra!
* 1f CJ\UA§ JAM oi-6i]> 'HA bpA]\]\A-6, i.e., What a pity there is no
of their company.
hei)
223
'Gainst England long battling, at length they went down,
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
But they've left their deep tracks on the road of renown,
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
We are heirs of their fame, if we're not of their race,
And deadly and deep our disgrace,
If we live o'er their sepulchres, abject and base,
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
3. Oh ! sweet were the minstrels of kind Innisfail !
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
Whose music nor ages nor sorrow can spoil ;
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
But their sad, stifled notes are like streams flowing hid,
Their caoine and their pibroch* were chid,
And their language, " that welts unto music," forbid ;
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
4. How fair were the maidens of fair Innisfail !
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
As fresh and as free as the sea-breeze from soil,
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
Oh ! are not our maidens as fair and as pure ?
Can our music no longer allure ?
And can we but sob as such wrongs we endure ?
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
Their famous, their holy, their dear Innisfail !
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
Shall it still be a prey to the stranger to spoil ?
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
Sure, brave men would labour by night and by day,
To banish that stranger away ;
Or dying for Ireland, the future would say — •
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
i.e., piobpeA6c, pipe-music.
224
8. Oh ! shame — for unchanged is the face of our isle •
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
That taught them to battle, to sing, and to smile ;
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
We are heirs of their rivers, their sea, and their land, —
Our sky and our mountains as grand —
We are heirs — oh ! we're not — of their heart and their hand ;
Iss throoa gon eer na vorra !
THOMAS DAVIS.
These words and air are grand and noble. It is one of those songs which
enthuse a nation and inspire people with the spirit of sacrifice and emula-
tion in showing their love for their native land.
THE WORK OF GOD.
KEY C. Moderate.
The
illn
{|£
.r
the
.d'
hope goes
Air : tl CAim fe Ajt An mbAilo re®-"
:s,f .n |f .,r :s .t, )
d .«
smile that breaks up - | on our
:d
world
.d
is
Id
I drear,
path When
.3
When
down 'nea.th
t .t :r. .,n
for - time's frown, And
225
f ,3 . - :t .d'.t .1
nought
but woo seems
s
near ;
.s
When
d1 .d1 :1 .d1
from a grief - charged
: r
.m
heart wo sigh For
s
trod ;
.d
That
of
f .,r :s .t,
pass - ing by. — That
d
God.
2. That word so softly, gently said,
That one wee word alone,
When joys that shone in days long gone
For evermore have flown ;
When not a friend at all is nigh
To break the scourging rod,
That word from some one passing by —
That is the Work of God.
3. And oh ! in every kindly deed
His holy Hand has part.
Each act we do to ease life's rue
Makes g'ad His Sacred Heart :
Then let us labour — you and I —
As up the hill we plod
To comfort some one passing by-
And share the work of God.
O'HioaiNs.
I-
226
THE RETURN -FROM FINGAL.
KEYC.
{
ro
Moan
: d .t,
1 Ir.t, :
d .r
ro
cav -
:d .t,
Hi :-
call—
}
ye
winds,
ye
erns
1
r .d
"Or
- ro,
Is :
or
r
ro !"
ro
to
:r
OUT
I ro .fe : s .i
1
sor - row,
{
m
WhHe
:d .t,
1 1. -t, :
d .r
m
one
:d .t,
H, :-
pall
}
we
bear '
neath
black
i
r .d
Brian
and
Is :
Mur -
r .t,
rough
from
Fin -
11, :-
gal.
}
{
t
Still,
:-
I 1 .1 :
s .fe
ro
wast -
:r
ed,
Is :r
wea - ry,
}
tho' \vound-ed,
{
m
On,
: r
Dal -
Is :
cass -
r
ians !
ro
to
:r
your
I ro .fe : s ,1
ey - rie,
I
1
t
Ea
: -
|1 .1 :
gles, cry
s .fe
ro
from
:r
your
|s :-
crag,
}
- ing
I
r .d
:t, .r
have
Is :
rent
t,
the
*j
Ra -
ven's
Hi :-
flag."
1
"We
2. How O'Brien's banshee cried,
Wailing, warning, ere that" morning,
When the Lochlan in his pride
Whitened all the ocean side.
227
Sea-kings stern from Norway's highlands,
Pirate chiefs from Orkney's Islands,
Lords of Leinster, Britain, Wales,
By the shore a thousand sails !
3. " On this day," great Brian cried
To the foeman, " Jew and Roman,
Christ, our Saviour, crucified.
Hold we truce till Easter- tide !"
Loud rang back their impious laughter,
" Fight comes first, thanksgiving after ! "
*' Perish then, with shameful loss,
Howling fiends before the Cross ! "
4. Plait and Donnell, brand to brand,
First in raging wrath engaging,
Heart pierced by each other's hand,
Fell together on the strand.
Then before the sword of Murrough
Fled the Dane ; till to our sorrow,
Anrud, Norman's champion dread,
Murrough met — and both lay dead.
5. But our rallying cry awoke,
" Kian, Kian, Desmond's lion ! "
And at Kian's dreadful stroke,
Reeled the Lochlan ranks and broke.
" Now with strains of martial glory
To the King to tell our story,"
But we found great Brian low ;
Och, ochone ! och ullalo !
ALFRED PEBCIVAL GRAVES.
This is a fine air and song, as yet but little known. It is sure to
become a prime favourite. The song is a splendid marching song, and
should be sung in marching time. I am indebted to Mr. Graves for
permission to include it in my collection.
228
A BALLAD OF IRISH FREEDOM.
KEY C. Majestically.
Air : " CAC ceim Ati fiA-d."
l!i
.,m
d
sing
.r
a
:d
song
.d
of
Id
Thral
.d *
- dom,
f
i i
r:
.r
m
.8
:1
.t
|r!
.d1
1
1
Of
men
in
sla -
v'ry
sleep
- ing;
>
,:
*
.1
S
,1
:m
•,m
|r
. ? *
)
*
Of
a
lien
rob -
bers
reap
- ing
,.
.m
S
.8
:1
.m
Is'
.lsm
>
«
The
harv -
est
of
the
years ;
J
c
.,n
d
.r
:d
.d
Id ,d
*
,
1
Of plea -
sant
hearths
do -
sertec
•
>
{'•
.r
Of
m
ruins
.8
a
vig -
.t
il
in
keep
.d1
- ing;
f
{:
r
Of
.r
And
.8
And
rail. ^
s .1 :m .r |m .r
grey - haired poo - pie weep - ing,
|d .d :d
I chil - dren pale
accel.
s « 1 • t :d' .,1
not a ray to
d |d
with fears.
1 1 .4"
break their
229
i : r' .t
d1
.,1
:t
•,s
|1 * t , d1
I
v grief, And
none
to
braid
the
raid - ing
i
( : r1 .t
( thief, But
d1
all
.,1
pro -
It
pared
to
H .1
crave re-
}
^
a fem,f.o
•
5: t ,1 .s ,m
S
.1 :
t
.r1
id1
l
(lief From him who'd lash
them
in
their
chains.
s
,.
n
.,d :
r
.d
|d .d *
>
<
God
for -
give
the
bondslaves
1
< Who
crouch
.s :
be -
1
neath
,t
the
I r1 .r1
ty - rant's
f
^ rail.
j:d' .,1
S
,1 :
m
,r
Hi
1
( heel, And
nev -
er
feel
one
free
>
<:r
d
>d :
d
.d
Id
•
( Thrill
cours -
ing
through their
veins.
|J
* Where the traditional singer took breath.
2. I sing a song of Waking ;
Of friends, long-severed, meeting ;
Of baffled foes retreating
In terror and amaze ;
Of hands, long-parted, clasping ;
Of voices raised in greeting ;
Of hearts in concord beating
With hope of future days.
230
Of men who strive as Brian strove,
To place their Isle all strife above,
Of men who bind their minds, their love,
To her — their Mother and their Queen—
Caitlin Ni Uallachain —
Who long has trod the ways of pain,
But who shall reign as fair
A one as eyes have ever seen I
3. I sing a song of Freedom —
Of swords in battle clashing ;
Of Gaels to victory dashing ;
Of broken Saxon pride ;
Of vengeance on the spoiler,
The gleam of pikeheads flashing ;
The shouts, like wild winds crashing,
Of men too long defied.
On they pour, with gory steel,
The fire of old once more they feel ;
A thundering roar ! — the foomen reel,
And then — the centuried War is o'er I
Victory on the mountains !
Victory in the valleys green !
And Caitlin Ni Uallachain
Free for evermore !
BRIAN O'HiaaiNS.
This is a grand air, worthy of the magnificent Irish song composed
by the famous West Cork poetess, tTlAipe tiui-oe. This fine Anglo-Irish
song was composed for it by Brian Na Banban. The strength, and spirit,
and dignity of the air is very striking. The Irish song is to be found in
" puinn tiA Stn6l,," No. 4. Brian Na Banban's song appears in Signal
Fires, published by Messrs. Whelan & Son, Ormond Quay, Dublin, to
whom I am very grateful for the permission given to use it for my
collection. To Brian O'Higgins I here express my indebtedness for
this and other songs of his which are to follow.
231
THE SNOWY-BREASTED PEARL.
KEY Eb- Tenderly.
( :s .l,t
d'.t :1 .s |d' :- .1
col-leen fair as May, For a
s .s :m .d | f .m :r .,d
sought by ev'ry way, Her heart to
s ,ro :r .d |r
year and for a day
d :- |-
gain.
(There's a
f :n.f
< I have
( :s J,t
(There's no
d'.t :1 .s |d' :- .1 Is .m :r .d |r
art Of tongue or eye, Fond [youths with maidens try,
f :m .f Is .s :PI .d | f .m :r .,d
( But I've [tried with ceaseless sigh, Yet tried in
d :- |-
vain.
:s .f
If to
.S
To
:s .l,t
And
:m -f
May the
m .s : 1 .d1 1 1
:- .s d'.t
|s
France or far-off Spain, She'd cross the wa-t'ry main,
.S I
i I'd|
1 .t :d'.m' |r'.d' :t
see her face a-gain, The seas
d'.t :1 .s |d' :- .1
if 'tis heaven's de-cree, That
s :- |-
brave ;
s .m : r .d | r
mine she may not be,
s .s
.d
Son of Ma - ry
f .m :r .,d Id
me, In mer-cyj save.
2. O thou blooming milk-white dove,
To whom I've giv'n true love,
Do not ever thus reprove
My constancy.
There are maidens would be mine,
With wealth in land and kine,
If my heart would but incline
To turn from thes.
But a kiss with welcome bland,
And touch of thy fair hand,
Are all that I demand —
Would st thou not spurn.
For if not mine, dear girl,
Oh, Snowy-breasted Pearl !
May I never from the Fair —
With life return.
Translated from the Irish by DR. PETRIE.
232
THE CLADDAGH BOATMAN.
KEY D. Lively. Air : " The Blooming Meadows."
f is.
S | ! — *
d |d :
- :r m :- :s |1
r :r :d |
< *
am
a Clad
- dagh boat - man
bold, And >
(1*1
:- :s,
1 1 * 1
1
t| :— :- 1 1^
_ili -s. 1
( | hum
- ble
is
my
call - - ing; From)
j| s«
:d :d
Id :-
:r
n :r :d |r
:m :f >
1 morn to
night,
from
dark to light, In >
}|s
(| Gal
way
If :r
. X
I'm
d :- :- |d :- : d' )
traw - ling. I >
Bay
<d'
:- :s
|S :1
:t
d1 ;- :r" |m!
* * (.
( 1 care
not
for
the
great man's frown, I >
Jl*
(1 ask
:- : s
not
Is :1
: s
bis
t :- :d' |r'
: t :s |
for
Pi
ty ; My (
(Id' :- :s
1 1 wants are
Is :1
:t
my
d :- :r! |m'
:r' :d' )
few,
heart is true, I )
l|L_ll ':s
( | sing a
iL-:-r :ti
boat- man's
d :- :- |d
dit ty.
: -
233
2. I have a fair and gentle wife,
Her name is Eily Holway ;
With many a wile, and joke, and smile,
I won the pride of Galway.
For twenty years, 'mid hope and fears,
With her I've faithful tarried ;
Her heart to-night is young and light
As when we first were married.
3. I have a son, a gallant boy,
Unstained by spot or speckle ;
He pulls and hawls, and mends the trawls,
And minds the other tackle.
His mother says the boy, like me,
Loves truth and hates all blarney ;
The neighbours swear in Galway Bay
There's not the like of Barney.
4. Thank God, I have another child,
Like Eily, lithe and slender ;
She clasps my knee and kisses me
With love so true and tender.
Though oft will rage the howling blast
Upon the angry water,
I ne'er complain of wind or rain,
For I think of my little daughter.
JEREMIAH J. BOWLING, M.D.
This is a bright air. Many a time I saw the lads and lasses knocking
music out of the boards — "the stage" — to its measures. Over fifty
years ago there was a trysting place for dancers near my native spot at
the Bridge, Millvale, Carrick-on-Suir. For years, every Sunday, we looked
on delighted at splendid dancers — Denny Foley, Norry^ Walsh, Hogan
and others — who enthused us with their feats of Irish dancing. We had
a grand old piper. Ned Hurley, who made us familiar with a big selection
of Irish music. During a visit to my native place this year I was pleased
to learn that Irish dancing and Irish music is as much to the fore, and the
performers as good as ever, though the centre of attraction has been
shifted to a neighbouring parish where the population is thicker.
234
TWILIGHT MUSIC.
KEY
i The
m .,f : in .d
win-ter moon is
-i^t, :d, -r
shin - ing, The
m .f
pal
.f :r .,t, >
o blue air is )
.d ,r
still,
PI .,f :m .r
bright-eyed star is
dd' .r' :t ,t
( I yond lone Ar-dagh's
hill,
.d ,r
And
II
m .1
dis
S
strain of sil - v'ry
:1 .t
tance, A
:m,r .d,t.
d1 .,
cross
PI1
the
: r',d'
.t ,d'
1 .,1
fros
- ty
lea,
PI .1 I 1 .t
peep - ing Bo-
Pi .,f : m .r
from the far -off
TM
i__.-Ai :d -r \m ->f : PI ,r .d ,t
mu - sic Floats hith - er - ward to
me.
2. How softly, oh ! how softly,
The memories wander on,
Of faithful hearts long scattered,
Young friendships dead and gone —
Of eyes of laughing hazel,
And cheeks of sunny sheen,
The bright love of my boyhood,
My dark-haired Kathaleen.
3. A pathway through the woodland
Lit by the August moon,
The long grass dancing softly,
The river's whispering tune—
235
A form beside the trellis,
Soft lips that welcome me,
Now resting with the shadows
Far down beneath the sea.
4. Float on, sweet twilight music !
Calm as a meadow stream,
You bear the withered flowers
Of many a broken dream.
Again the moon shines brightly,
The sycamores are green,
And I sit beside the doorway
With dark-haired Kathaleen.
J. K. CASEY ("LEO").
This sweet Munster air has been published more than once. This
version differs little from the others. It has a pathetic tone. I link it
with " Leo's " sweet song.
236
UNFURLING THE FLAG.
KEY
p. Air : " tHo flAti cun CAjx^Aig HA ^cAet-feAp."
!<:
3,) d :d :d |d :r :m 1 :- :- |s :- :s >
Dar - ling, in sor - row and mourn - ing, We've >
< 1 m : f : s 1 1 : 1 : s
( | wait-ed for year up - on
1 :- =- 1- : :1, I
year, With'
( i
, :1, :1, |d :r :n
ione to look down on our
1 ,:- :- |s :n :r )
la - hour, With >
(In :d :r |d :d : t,
( 1 none to wipe off the dark
d :- :- I- : :s )
tear. The f
(Is :s :s |s :1 :t
( 1 still - ness of death was a -
d1 :- :- |t :- :t >
round thee, The )
<il : t : d1 1 1 : 1 : s
(. 1 grave-light en - cir - eled thy
1 :- :- 1- :1, :1, I
face, And the >
(11, :1, :1, Id :r :m
( 1 Flag in your hand draped in
1 :- :- |s :n :r )
mourn ing Could '
r
n :d :r |d :d : t,
tell the sad tale of our
d =- :- 1- : II
race.
237
2. And drifted away into silence
The glorious passion of old,
Till the pulse that was hot as the lava
In weakness grew frozen and cold.
Thy home was where urns were resting,
Thy children were crying for bread,
There was nought but the night cloud above thee,
No sound but the tramp of the dead.
3. But God who looked forth from the heavens
In pity smiled kindly at last,
And the green land grew bright with His glory,
Soft dew on thy bosom was cast ;
A trumpet call gathered the scattered,
The urns stood alone on the plain,
By the sea wave with face turned Westward
You lifted the banner again.
4. And called for the chains to be broken —
Not quailing with cowardly fear,
But proud in the power of defiance,
And loud that the wide Earth might hear ;
And the ends of the Earth, how they answered—-
Go ask of the tyrant and knave,
Go ask of the dust that is lying
All cold on the patriot's grave.
6. And we who are gathered around thee
Are firm in the truth of our faith,
And shall stand 'neath the folds of that banner,
Nor care for the torture or scathe ;
Though the scoffer may sneeringly mutter
Thy beauty is now on the wane,
The gauntlet flung down by our fathers,
By Heavens ! we'll fling it again.
6. Not recklessly, aimlessly striving,
Not lifting with weak strength the wand,
But patiently biding the moment
That shall give us a sweep for our hand.
Wave proudly the Flag, dearest Mother,
The true hearts are still by thy side,
Till we deck thee in queenliest beauty,
As Liberty's queenliest bride.
J. K. CASEY.
238
THE GREEN WOODS OF SLEW.
KEY F. Slow and plaintive.
[n the|
heart
d .r :m .s
of the
1 :1
for - est
:d'.l s :s .m
a thrush 'gan
to >
sing
:-
: s, .s,
d
:d .r :
m .s
1 :1
sor - est,
:s .n |
Of
loss - ' es
the
the )
death
:1 .s
• PI • 5
1
• — ;
S .,1
d1 :d'.l
:s.l \
of
a
king!
Soon
to his
bough )
leaf -
:m
less,
:r
my
d.
s, :d .r :
m .s
1 :-
flew;
:». I
For >
sym - pa -
thy
d
i,
:d .r
too,
:m .s
roamed
1 :1 :
chief - less
in the
s :s .m
:r -m >
of J
Green Woods
II
( 1
d
Slew!
2. He, high 'bove the heather, I, low 'mong the fern,
Mourned sadly together — a bird and a kerne !
Cried he, the sky- winger : " A hawking cuckoo
Has slain the chief singer of the Green Woods of Slew ! "
3. Like his, was my story : ** Our glory is o'er,
For dead lies young Rory — the valiant O'More.
The scourge of the stranger, he chased the false crew,
Like a wolfhound of danger, in the Green Woods of Slew I M
239
4. " My curse chill your castle, Gilla Patrick the base I
No Saxon Queen's vassal was Rory of Leix !
The Palesmen he vanquished : they parleyed with you ;
And I am left anguished in the Green Woods of Slew 1 '
6. " Smile, Sydney and Perrot ! — the gold, that oft failed —
Wise weasel, fierce ferret ! — on the Gaelga prevailed :
The friend of his bosom proved faint and untrue,
, And left me heart-woesome in the Green Woods of Slew ! "
6. To joy turned our singing ; for free from its nest,
A fledgling came winging with many a rest :
The gold its crest tins'ling, like dawn o'er the blue —
Another plumed princeling for the Green Woods of Slew 1
7. Away, sorrow blinding ! — -leave to women the dead —
Far better be grinding the grey axe, instead :
For soon, brave and bonny, from the hand of MacHugh,
Shall fly little Owny, to the Green Woods of Slew !
P. J. M'CALL.
I am indebted to Mr. M'Call for this sweet, plaintive air, which, as far
as he knows, has never been published till now. He tells me that he used
to hear his mother sing it. The song, which is found in Irish Noinins,
was written by him for the air. It is prefaced by the following note :
"A lament for Rory Oge O'More, assassinated by MacGilla Patrick,
June 30, 1578. Owny, mentioned in the concluding stanza, was Rory's
son."
KATHALEEN MACHREE.
KEY Q. Slow and with expression. Air: " Good Night and Joy be with you all. •
5 : «w »r
d .t,
sweet-ly
: in T
in
.d ,r
.l,,t,
|d .d : r
.d ,r ^
1 Oh,
< i in .m
1 1 mid - nigh
5 d .t]_L
1 mel - o
\\m 'l
t 1 wea - ry
| s .,1
( soft - ly
<|f .*
( | Shan - noi
eld .t,,
St.
In
fai
Id
lull
Id
by
lov
In
lay
Id
still
Id
- leen
John's old keep, At '
.3, ;s, .in ,r >
t sings
- dies,
I 3 ,I11
the
•t,
that
.r ,m
sant
a
.d ,r
a
.1, ,t,
- ry choir
.,in : r
to sleep
.1, :1,
the fire ;
•in ,f : s
- er's dream
•S| I S|
for me,
•«ni
I deem
.1, :1,
Ma - chree.
Low )
.d ,r ,
The >
II "A^d }
"The" [
BuT >
• d ,r )
pea -
:s
as
:r
i wakes
1 :1,
1 I sweet - er,
\\* -l
( | voice of
soft
:s ,n
- er
•r ,in
The >
Ml
Kath - a
241
Oh ! brightly falls the summer light
Upon Roscommon's hills at eve,
And wildly in the witching night
Their golden web the moonbeams weave.
And mountain berries cluster fair,
And heather bells are sweet to see :
But richer, brighter are the hair
And lips of Kathaleen Machree.
3. Oh ! gently now the twilight breeze
Wafts fragrance from the meadow side :
But gentler waved the poplar trees
The eve she said she'd be my bride.
How wearily, from day to day
The lagging moments come and flee !
And how I long for sunny May
To wed my Kathaleen Machree.
J. K. CASEY ("LEO").
242
KEY F.
THE BELLS OF SHANDON.
Air : " The Groves of Blarney.'
( : .d : d „
1 With deep
th deep af -
n : d1 .t : 1 .,s
fee - tion and re - col-
s :m .d :d .r >
lec - tion, I of - ten )
II
think
wild
n
era
:s .11 : r .,
of those Shan-don
would, in days of
bells,
: - .d : d
Whose sounds so
:d .,r >
^ armtirlc an *
:sf .
:r
• die their mag - ic
pon - der, wher - e'er I
s :m .d :d .,r I
child - hood, Fling round my
d : - .s : s .n
spells ; On this I
s : m .s : 1 .m
wan • der, And thus grow
d1
.t
se
fond - er, sweet Cork, of
m :d' .d1 :t .1
Shan - don, that sound so
m : s .PI ,d : r .,d
wa - ters of the Riv - er
1 .,t : d1 .d ,d : d
thee ; With thy bells of
:d .r >
v bells of )
grand
Lee.
: m .d : d
on The plea - sant
:d .r >
nlea - sant )
2. I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in,
Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine ;
While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,
But all their music spoke not like thine.
243
For memory dwelling on each proud swelling
Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,
Made the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
3. I've heard bells tolling " old Adrian's Mole " in,
Their thunder rolling from the Vatican,
And cymbals glorious, swinging uproartbus
In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame.
But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of Peter
Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.
Oh ! the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
There's a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosko
In Saint Sophia the Turkman gets,
And loud in air calls men to prayer
From the tapering summit of tall minarets.
Such empty phantom I freely grant them ;
But there's an anthem more dear to me —
It's the bells of Shandon that sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
"FATHER PROUT.'
244
KEY C- Moderate.
MY BOAT.
Air: "UAirrufe AJA AH mbAile feo.'*
.d Id .m :s,f.r
My 1 boat is like the
f .,r :s .t,
sea-gull white That
r .r :d .t, >
skims o'er strand and >
d
swell
.S
It
ijf,s.- :t*'*.l
( (stems the tide so
t .t :r .m
out its sail And
d1 .d1 : 1 .d1
looks so bright and
s : .s
well ; The
f .s :td'U
wafts it towards the I sea,
t .t
sails so
d1 .d1
soft wild
S
sea,
:r ,m >
light And )
: 1 .d1 >
gale fills >
:- .d >
And f
d ,,ni :s,f .n If -,r :s .t, r .r :d .,t, >
floats me down from| Cork's fair town Up - on the plea - sant >
d
Lee.
2. I sit within that bonnie boat
When love o'er me has power,
When sea-birds float with shrilly note
At sunset's golden hour ;
Then from the shore green towering o'er
Love seems to pilot me,
To muse alone on my loved one
Upon the pleasant Lee.
245
3. When first my boat upon the tide
A thing of life out came,
With conscious pride upon its side
I placed my true love's name ;
And since, each day, that name the spray
Has washed full wild and free,
But still each line undimmed doth shine,
Upon the pleasant Lee.
4. A trim new sail my boat shall have
When summer's days come on,
And swift and brave she'll walk the wave,
More stately than the swan ;
For then my bloom-bright maid shall come
With love and joy to me,
And side by side we oft shall glide
Upon the pleasant Lee.
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
This is a very sweet, pleasant air sent to me by Miss O'Reilly, of Macroom.
it is another proof of the claim of the district to be called a home of Irish
melody. I wad it to Dr. Joyce's pleasant song.
246
WHEN COOL WINDS ARE BLOWING.
KEY E|>. Cheerfully. Air from Petrie,
(:s.f I m : r : m | d : r : m
(When| cool winds are blowing, I
f : m : f • | s.s : - : d1 \
love to be rowing My )
If :f :r |m :m :d If :f :r |r :- rs.f »
mer - ry boat down to where| sweet Gra - oie dwells, When the)
m : r : m | d : r : m
for - osts are ring - ing with
f :m :f |s.s:-
laughter and singing,
t :-.t :s |f :f :r in :-,d :d |d :-
sweet bri-ers scent Bal - ly- | mul - vy's lone dells.
d :m :s |d' :t :d'
blue leap - ing riv - er I'd
s : s : f | m : r : ro
catch the fresh light of my
m :r :m |d :r :m
yel - low locks shin - ing, with
t :t
f :f :r
splen-dour en - crown-ing with
2. How pleasant to meet her, how joyous to greet her,
Her lips blushing soft as she welcomes me in ;
The wheel ever humming soon stops at my coming,
For Gracie gets weary of trying to spin.
:d> ,
And >
The
sail on
:t
for
ever
:U
f :f
Col -leen's
:r |r :- ;
young face,
s-f,
And >
f :m
white HI
:f 1
- ies
C «•- . d1 \
S.S. .Q )
twining, Their )
ro : -.d
beau - ty
i d
and
d :-
grace.
247
We sit in the bow«r beside the grey tower,
Where the tall beechen trees whisper tales to the moon.
Such bright dreams they bring me, the sweet lays sjie singa me,
That my poor throbbing heart beats in time to the tune.
3. A-down the blue river my boat's sailing ever,
Since we lit the bealtin on the ovo of St. John.
We joined in the sporting, the dancing and courting —
My young heart was stolen, and Grade's I won.
That night I was dreaming, with fairy-like seeming,
I sat on the grey walls by Inny's green side :
The music was sounding, the dancers were bounding,
And Gracie beside me, my own wedded bride.
Oh ! if some kind fairy, on winds free and airy,
Would steal her away to my home on the hill,
I'd hide in my bosom my tender young blossom,
As the ash-tree the violet by Shaskan's dark rill.
When the evening shades quiver, we'd sail down the river,
By the old mossy weir where flossy crests run,
And the gloom of the winter no longer could enter
The hearth that was blessed by my Colleen Dhas Dhun.
J. K. CASEY.
218
MY CARROLL BAWN.
EY D.
:d
'Twas
r :- .r |
in the
r :- .11 s :-
town of Wex
sen
: - .r |d
tenced him
:- -t,
to
d :-
die,
m
in
: - .m | n
the town
: - .11
of
n : d1
Wex - ford
S
built
: - .m | r
the gal
:d
lows
r : -
high
in
there
: - .11 1 11
one sum
: m
- mer
m : d1
morn - ing
Is : - .m | r
1 beamed the gen
:- .d
tie
r : -
dawn
1 on
: - .r | r
that cur
: m
- sed
s : 1
gal - lows
lr
1 hung
:- .r Id
my Car
- roll
d :-
Bawn.
d : - .M >
ford they )
:r i
'Twas \
1 -
they >
:r >
And }
when )
:d >
UP - ;
:t, >
they >
2. Oh ! he was true and loyal,
Oh ! he was proud and fair,
And only nineteen summers
Shone on his golden hair ;
And when his gallant brothers
Had grasped the pike in hand,
Where the green flag streamed the fairest,
He stood for native land.
249
3. I saw him cross the heather
With his bold companie,
And from the rising hill-side
He waved his hand to me ;
Then on my wild heart settled
A load of woe and pain
mavrone ! its throbbings told me
We'd never meet again.
4. They fought the Saxon foemen
By Slaney's glancing wave ;
But brutal strength o'erpowered
The gallant and the brave.
And in the flight which followed
That day of misery
Sore wounded he was taken,
My Carroll Bawn Machree.
6. Oh, foreer gair ! that ever
I Baw the dreadful sight,
His locks all damply hanging,
His cheeks so deadly white.
What wonder if my ringlets
Were changed from dark to grey,
Or if the blessed hand of God
Had ta'en my life away.
6. 'Twas in the town of Wexford
They sentenced him to die ;
'Twas in the town of Wexford
They built the gallows high.
With form erect and manly,
And look of scornful pride,
For Ireland's faith and freedom
My true love nobly died.
7. The meadow path is lonely,
The hearth is cold and dim,
And the silent churchyard blossom
Blooms softly over him ;
And my heart is ever yearning
For the calm rest coming on,
When its weary pulse lies sleeping
Beside my Carroll Bawn.
J. K. CASEY.
This is the air to which the song is sung in the South of Ireland. It is
a simple, sweet air in the " gapped scale " and two-strain form.
250
THE MOUNTAINS OF POMEROY.
KEY G.
•j The
( 1 lark
1 1 maid
(1 blithe
11"
(1 who,
( 1 wait
ii*
( 1 who
( 1 moun-
( 1 out -
( | scorne
(| kept
1 on
With spirit.
S : I'l | S
.f :m .r d :- .r | 1| :d .1(
morn was break - in
: 1, .d |d : r .m
y bright and fair, The
f :- 1 :n.f
sky, When the
d :r | 1, :d .1,
gold - en hair, With a
d :- | :d .r
sang in
: m | s .f
the
:m .r
she bound
:li .d |d
glance in
:- .r |d
be - yond
:m |d
- ing her
: m .m | s .f
but her gal
:1, -1, Id
tains of Pom
:r |d
lawed man
:- .m |d
d to turn
:n | s .f
her
:- .d
her
'. r .1*1
eye ; For
f : s |s : d1 .1
gay green - wood, Was a-
f :- | ; in .f
joy ? Oh,
d :r |1, :d.l,
Ren - ar - dine On the
CHORUS.
d : - | i d .r
the s
: r .m
with
: m .r
- lant
:- .d
e -
t r .ni
in a
j r .m
roy ! | An
f : s |s : d1 .1
land for - lorn, He
r :- | :n f
and
: ni .r
fly But
d :r |1, :d.l,
the . cause
:- .1, Id
t.Vifi mrmn
of
:d
- fn.inst
free - dom safe Up -
?-, :" ' 1
in .f )
Oh, J
251
I . Full often in the dawning hour,
Full often in the twilight brown,
He met the maid in the woodland bow'r,
Where the stream comes foaming down.
For they were faithful in a love
No wars could e'er destroy ;
No tyrant's law touched Renardine,
On the mountains of Pomeroy !
CHORUS.
3. " Dear love," she said, " I'm sore afraid,
For the foeman's force and you !
They've tracked you in the lowland plain,
And all the valley- through.
My kinsmen frown when you are named,
Your life they would destroy !
* Beware,' they say, ' of Renardine,'
On the mountains of Pomeroy.' "
CHORUS.
4. " Fear not, fear not, sweetheart ! " he cried,
** Fear not the foe for me !
No chain shall fall, whate'er betide,
On the arm which will be free !
Oh, leave your cruel kin, and come,
When the lark is in the sky ;
And it's with my gun I'll guard you,
On the mountains of Pomeroy."
CHORUS.
6. The morn has come, she rose and fled
From her cruel kin and home ;
. And bright the wood, and rosy red,
And the tumbling torrent's foam.
But the mist came down, and the tempest roared,
And did all around destroy ;
And a pale, drowned bride met Renardine,
On the mountains of Pomeroy.
CHORUS.
DR. GEORGE SIQERSON.
252
THE DARK MAID OF THE VALLEY.
KEY C. Moderate. Air : " beAti "Oub A'
< :d ,r
( On the
< : r .,
( Since a
m .,r : r .,d |rm : d .d
hill I have a cow, And have
1 : s .in | in
fair maiden stole
: d .r I m .,r : r ,,d |rm
I I led her to and fro,
my
:- .d
Wher-
: r1 .d'
Till the
1
: s .,s | r .m : - .,r
sun shines at noon-tide in
r .,111 : s .,1 | d!
herded it till now,
r :d |
rea - son.
r ,,m : s ,1 | d1
ev - er winds blow,
r
:r |
son.
.S
My
: t
|glancea-bove a-far, Where my
1 :- .s | in m : - .r,r
spir - it sinks, hard - ly to
d'.,t i
true love shines a star
r :d |
ral - ly
-f
: .r
o,
; r1 .d1
To
in .r : r .,d |rm : - .d
mighty King and Lord, Thy
1 .,1 : s | - .r : in -,r
r .,m : s .,1 | d1
help to me ac -cord,
win the dark
maid of the
r : r
val - ley !
2. Dark Maiden, first and best,
Who hast robbed me of my rest,
O, maiden, most beautiful and tender ;
253
With swan-like neck so bright,
With bosom snowy white,
With waist so delicate and slender,-—
Not a youth from Dublin town
Unto Galway of renown,
Or thence to Toomevara, but is laden
On steeds bounding free,
With love -gifts to thee,
My loveliest, my Dark own Maiden !
3. In Momonia I could find
Many damsels to my mind,
And in Leinster— nay, England, a manyp
One from Georgey, without art,
Who would clasp me to her heart,
And a beauty is the lass among many.
The daughter of the Earl,
Who walks in silk and pearl,
Would fain have me netted in her thrall yet,
But could I have my choice,
How much would I rejoice
To wed thee, my Dark Maiden, of all yet I
4. My hut may stand unseen,
But 'tis thatched with rushes green,
And around it the bee is a hummer,
And it shines day by day,
In the glory and the ray
Of the Eire-loving sunlight of Summer.
But when maidens grow old,
They are viewed with glances cold,
And we choose, then, the gay and youthful-hearted.
Thou hast left me, blooming Oower,
In a dark and evil hour,
But I mourn thee as one who has departed.
This song is remarkable for its simplicity of style and composition.
The translation is excellent. The air is the best traditional version I
have seen and is a great favourite.
254
JOHN CTDWYER OF THE GLEN.
KEY P. Slow and sad.
:r
.m
f m
seen, full
:f
man -
s :f .rn
y a May - time,
1
I Ve
1 Suns
lead
:r
on
.m
the
:f
day
.m
time,
}
I1'
1 Horns
ring
:d
in
•ii
that
:r ,d
.1, ,fe,)
time With)
gay
1 birds
ii'i
mel
•1.
low
call,
. (r ,n ]
I
1 Bad
- gers
:f
tiee
.S
be -
:f
fore
US,
}
Wood
«)d i r
- cocks star -
.ro
tie
:f
o'er
US,
\
I1'
1 Guns
make plea
•1,
sant
cho
.1. ,fe,
rus, A -
}
Is,
1 mid
the
ech
oes
all.
1 The"
}
id
I fox
.d ,]
, :d ,r
,m ,fe
:s
high -
.m
er,
I
run
high
and
1
,1
: 1 ,s
.fe ,s
: 1
.r ,n
I
Horse
- men
shout
- ing
nigh -
er, The
r
f
poa
sant
mourn -
.S
ing
:f
by
.m ,r
i
her
fr
Fowl
that
man -
.1,
gled
be.
.r ,m
s
255
f
Now,
they
1
fell
.S
the
r
.d
r
,P1
Fare
- well —
home
of
i,
,,t, :
d
•1.
Shaun
0'
Dwyer
an
ll
.1. ,1. :
1,
.1,
Joy
is not
for
thee.
:r
Glean
na,
2. It is my sorrow sorest,
Woe — the falling forest !
The north wind gives me no rest,
And death's in the sky j
My faithful hound's tied tightly,
Never sporting lightly,
Who once could, day or nightly,
Win grief *rom the eye.
The antlored, noble-hearted
Stags are never started,
Never chased nor parted
From the furzy hills.
If Peace came, but a small way,
I'd journey down to Gal way,
And leave, tho' not for alway,
My Erin of ills.
3. The Land of streamy valleys,
Hath no Head nor rallies —
In city, camp, or palace
They never toast her name ?
Alas ! no warrior column,
From Cloyne to Stuaic naov Colam-
O'er plains now waste and solemn,
The hares may rove tame.
Oh, when shall come the routing,
The English flight and flouting,
We hear no joyous shouting
From the Blackbird yet,
256
But more warlike glooms the omen-
Justice comes to no men,
Priests must flee the foemen
To hilly caves and wet.
4. It is my daily ruin,
That a sinless death's undoing
Came not, ere came the strewing
Of all my bright hopes.
Ah, many a pleasant day-time
I've watched in Erin's May-time,
The sweet fruits scent that gay tim9,
And dew on oak and slopes.
Now, my lands are plunder,
Far my friends asunder,
/ must hide me under
Heath and bramble screen.
If soon I cannot save me
By flight from foes that crave me,
O Death ! at last I'll seek thee,
Our bitter foes between !
This version of the air is Dr. Joyce's. No song was more popular in
Munster than this. The fine translation by Dr. Sigerson is most singable.
The ** Glen " is the Glen of Aherlow, Co. Tipperary. Shaun was a native
chief who fought bravely against the Cromwellians. His deeds of bravery
made the " Glen " famous. The song enshrines a " fact " of Irish history
— the ruin that followed the attempted extermination of a noble and
ancient race. Of the country before the eighteenth century, Lecky
(History of Ireland, vol i.) says : " The pictures of the condition of Ireland
at this time are a* terrible as anything in human history."
257
BLIND MARY.
KEY C Slow.
( Th<
B
There
flows from her spir - it such
Air : " Blind Mary.'»
g.,1 :g ,m |r r-.ro.f )
love and de - light That the)
Jrf :m'.,r' |d|^l :s
face of blind Ma - ry
( I gleam from a home -stead thro'
.r |d
ra - diant with light,
d*.,d :d
As the)
:- ,s,f
dark - ness will show, Or the]
m .,f : s .m1 Ijn^r1 : d1 .dtr
moon glim-mer sofF" thro' the
m Mf :m .r |d
fast fall - ing snow.
2. Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at t'mos,
As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes !
And ehe talks of the sunset, like parting of friends,
And the starlight, as lovo, that nor changes nor ends.
3. Ah ! grieve not, sweet maiden, for star or for sun,
For the mountains that tower or the rivers that run —
For beauty and grandeur, and glory, and light,
Are seen by the spirit and not by the sight.
In vain for the thoughtless are sunburst and shade,
In vain for the heartless flowers blossom and fade ;
While the darkness that seems your sweet being to bound
Is one of the guardians, an Eden around 1
THOMAS DAVIS,
I— 10.
258
SHE LIVED BESIDE THE ANNER.
KEY Bb. Slow and patfietic.
( ;tt .f
(I She
s .1 :f .s.f Im .d :r .d
lived be-side the An-ner At the
t, .s, :d .d |d
foot of Slieve-na-mon,
5 :
.AT
m .f :s .1 1 ta.s : d1 Mta
1
A
gen-tie Ir-ish col - leen With
IS
,,dr
m .f : s .1 | ta.s : d1 .,ta
I
Her
lips were dew-y rose-buds, Her
1 .f :ta.l |s '
mild eyes like the dawn;
1 .f :ta.l |s
teeth were pearls rare,
:n ,f
And a
s .1 : f .
si.cw-drift 'neath
JT | PI .d
a beechen
: r .d
bough Her
t| .S| :d ,d |d
neck and nut-brown hair.
2. How pleasant 'twas to see her
On a Sunday when the bell
Was filling with its mellow tones
Lone wood and grassy dell !
And when at eve young maidens
Strayed the river bank along,
The widow's brown-haired daughter
Was the loveliest of the throng.
3. O brave, brave Irish girls !
We well may call you brave —
Sure the least of all your perils
Is the stormy ocean wave
When you leave your quiet valleys,
And cross th' Atlantic foam,
To hoard your hard- won earnings
For the helpless one at home.
259
4. " Write word to my own dear mother;
Say we'll meet with God above ;
And tell rny little brothers
I send them all my love ;
May angels ever guard them
Is their dying sister's prayer " —
And folded in the letter
Was a braid of nut-brown hair.
6. Ah, cold and well-nigh callous
This weary heart has grown
For thy helpless fate, dear Ireland
And for sorrows of my own ;
Yet a tear my eye will moisten,
When by the Anner side I stray ,,
For the lily of the mountain foot
That withered far away.
CHARLES J. KICKHAM.
' ". ' . ,.•-•".';
. Michael Doheny, who himself wrote two or three of our best and most
splendid ballads, pronounced this ballad of Kickham's to be one of the
best ever written. I have seen it stated that it remained without a
musical setting until about thirteen years ago. That is hot so. It has
had from the time it was written the musical setting which I here give.
It has been sung to other airs. One air which I have heard was modern
and musical rubbish. Another air to which I saw the song wedded is a
very pretty Munster air, which is found in this series, p. 234. I think
the present musical setting suits the air best. Anyhow it is the one
which has been for a long time current amongst the traditional singers
in Munster. It feels like a bit of the sweet, enchanting music from
UIJA MA 11-65. Two friends supplied me simultaneously with a copy of
the music — Miss S. Black, a musical member of the Keating Branch" of
the Gaelic League in Dublin, and Mr. Phil O'Neill, of Kinsale, an en-
thusiastic lover of Irish and of Irish songs and airs. The air, with
Kickham's song, has been sung in Mr. O'Neill's family ever since the
song was written.
260
THE THIEF OF THE WORLD.
KEY C. Moderate. Air: "An SCAICIH O|MIAW."
<:sil<t d'.r> :d'.t 1 1 .m :m .r In .d :l,.t, |d .r :m £ >
( What's the use of Govern - ment,and| what do we pay peelers for? '
{1 .d' 1 1 .s 1 1 .ro : ro .r In .ro : 1 .,1 1 1 : s « 1 « tt
What's the use of soldiers to be I standing at their ease ? What f
d'.r' rd'.t 1 1 .m :n .r |m .d : 1, .t, |d .r :n .s >
do they seize po - teen stills and| hunt the highway squealer f or,Wh'n>
1 .d1 : t .3 1 1 .m : m .r
rogues can roam the highroad and go
m .s :1 .t |d'
thief of all the world !
m .d : 1, .t, |d llr .r >
robbing all they please ?|| Oh, the )
but
r'.d' :1 .t
sure the sorrow mend my
.r' •#£ )
id mv-self-The)
r' .t :d'.,l |s .m :n .r
two blue, coaxing eyes of her, the
d1 .r' :d' .t 1 1 .m :n .r
stole the heart right out of me, be -
1 .d1 : t .s 1 1 .m : m .r
fell in - to that dimple and I
n.,1 :!.,! |1 ;s«l«n
dimple on her chin ! They )
n .d : 1, .t, |d .r :m .s >
fore I could de-fend my self — I )
m .d : 1, .t, |d
can't got out a - gain.
261
2. She was sitting at the door, and nobody but the cat with her,
When in I stepped to light my pipe and pass the time of day ;
And I never felt the time while I talked of this and that with her,
And sure 'twas mostly evening when I rose to go away.
Oh, the thief of the world ! when up at last I got to go
My heart was gone, my head was gone, my peace of mind likewise,
But wasn't I the omadhaun, and she pretending not to know,
And all the while the mischief in the corner of her eyes !
3. But I'll have her up to court, and I'll charge her with the felony,
And if she pleads not guilty, 'twill be only waste of breath ;
For I'll set my face against her, and condemn her for her villainy
To be locked up in my arms till the day of her de'ath.
Oh, the thief of the world ! there's no use in being kind to her —
Around my neck she'll have to hang until her dying day,
As a warning to all schemers that the same way are inclined as heir,
To go about their business and not set poor boys astray.
F. A. FAHY.
My attention was directed to this song by a musical and poetic friend,
several of whose pieces I have included in my collection. He is one who
is no mean judge of the value of a fine song. He writes me as follows :
" Get it into your book. It is one of Frank Fahy's happiest and Irishiest
efforts. Don't let it escape your eye." Every one, I think, will endorse
that encomium. I am much indebted to Mr. Fahy for sending me this
and others of his songs. The above setting of the fine air is, in my opinion,
the best and most singable. The three first notes of the music are re-
quired for the second and third verses.
262
KELLY OF KILLANN.
A '98 SONG.
KEY D. Spirited.
( : d .,m I s : s
,s |d' rd'.l
(What's thejnews? What's the news ? O my
| :d.r
(With your
( :d .,m
( Say what
, :d.r
With a
:s ,,s
" Good-ly
m :r .m | s .m :r ,d
long barrelled gun of the
s :s .,s | :. .
wind from the sun blows his
m :r .m | s .m :r .d
hymn of the dawn for the
news ! Good-ly news, do I
:m .,d I 1,
bold Shel-ma - Her,
sea ?
s
: m
mes - sen- ger here,
free ? "
s
|s
bring, Youth of Forth
,1
:s .,s
Good-ly
:d .,m
For the
1
: f .,f | d1
news • shall you hear, Bar-gy
S
Man !
s
:s
Boys march at morn from the
:n
South to the North,
:d .,r
Led by
m
:r
|s .,m :r
Kel - ly, the Boy fromKil-
lann !
2. " Tell me who is that giant with gold curling hair — •
He who rides at the head of your band ?
Seven feet is his height, with some inches to spare,
And he looks like a king in command ! " —
263
" Ah, my lads, that's the Pride of the Bold Shelmaliers,
^ |Mong our greatest of heroes, a Man ! —
Fling your beavers aloft and give three ringing cheers
For John Kelly, the Boy from Killann ! "
3. Etiniscorthy's in flames and old Wexford is won,
And the Barrow to-morrow we'll cross !
On a hill o'er the Town we have planted a gun
That will batter the gateways of Ross !
All the Forth men and Bargy men march o'er the heath,
With brave Harvey to lead on the van ;
But the foremost of all in the grim gap of Death
Will be Kelly, the Boy from Killann !
4. But the gold sun of Freedom grew darkened at Ross,
And it set by the Slaney's red waves ;
And poor Wexford, stripped naked, hung high on a cross,
And her heart pierced by traitors and slaves !
Glory O ! Glory O ! to her brave sons who died
For the cause of long down-trodden man !
Glory O ! to Mount Leinster's own darling and pride — •
Dauntless Kelly, the Boy from Killann !
P. J.
I draw the attention of our young Irishmen to this patriotic and splendid
ballad. I venture to hope that it will be often heard from our concert
platforms. It is taken, by permission, from the author's Irish Fireside
Songs (Dublin : Gill & Son). Mr. M'Call also kindly supplied me with the
air. He is of opinion that this version of the air has never before been
published.
264
THE MOUNTAIN ALTAR.
KEY A. Tenderly.
Air : Old
Traditional Air.
fin, .s,
i A .
i.
round
:!,.!, 1
it the
1,
furze
:s, .1,
d
hills
:d |r >
a - rise >
- clad
1 Like
m
guar -
:r .d |
dians
i,
strong
:s, .PI,
S|
brave,
'- ' }
and
( As |if
:1, .1, 1
from the
i,
world
's un -
d
feel -
:d |r >
ing hand >
< Its"
m
sto -
:r .d |
ry to
i,
shield
= 1,
and
1,
save.
:- ' J
j:m .n
S
:m |
tn
:r .d
r
:r |r >
(And they'll
guard
it
there,
with a
king -
ly pride, >
5: d .r 1 m
(Tho' the] skies
:r .d |
i.
smile
: s, .PI,
S|
weep,
:- ' }
may
or
j: MI-SI
( Those
1,
brave
old
i,
hills
with a
d
ten
:d |r )
der care )
( Their
m
vig -
:r .d |
il of
love
111
will
i,
keep.
• "~ 1
2. The ivy clings to the moss-grown stones
With a loving, unchanging clasp,
As if to shelter the friend of its youth
From the plunderer's ruthless grasp ;
And it weaves a canopy o'erhead,
Where the breeze in summer sighs,
And the tender raindrops filter through,
Like tears from the weeping skies.
265
3. When our Faith was banned by a tyrant law,
And our Altars in ruin lay ;
When the blighting gloom of the Penal night
Fell dark over Freedom's day;
Oil this ledge the Sacred Host was laid,
And the hunted soggarth here
Offered up to Heaven the Holy Mass,
While the hounds of the law were near.
4. There has it stood thro' the changing years,
Unstirred by the howling gale ;
Unbending, stern, and dark, and proud,
Like a knight in his kingly mail ;
Around it the wintry winds have swept,
And the croon of the summer breeze
Has often rustled its ivied robe :
But 'tis little it cares for these.
6. It has conquered all that would crush it down
In the reckless flight of years,
Since first the moss on the soft, green sod
Was moistened with sorrowing tears
For the home destroyed and the Altar wrecked,
And the true and the brave laid low
By the iron hand of a bigot hate,
In the days of a nation's woe.
6. In those grey old ruins of our native land,
There are memories sad and proud ;
They tell of the patriot's noble fight,
And they speak of the martyr's shroud.
Oh, guard them more from careless hands
Than you would from the winter blast ;
They were left to the children of Patrick's race
To tell of a glorious past.
BRIAN O'HIGGINS.
This song is worthy of a foremost place even amongst the gems of
this collection. I link it with a very sweet old melody, and hope that
it will be often heard at Irish firesides.
266
THE FAIR-HAIRED MAID.
KEY P. Tenderly and fairly quick. Air : " Dobbin's Flowery Vale."
1
: s .s
'Tis my
f .r
bit-ter
:d .t, |d
grief that we,
:r .t,
Love, to-
d .r
gether
:f .s
cannot
|ta
be
1
i
:s<l it
In some
d'.,t
: s .PI
leaf-y
If .N
:r .d
in Lough
ta,
E -
:-
.d
er
|r
- no,
1
green,
isle
I
:d .t,
Or with-
s, .d
in the
:d .t, |d :r .t, Id -r :f .s | ta >
dark wood's breast, Where the|song-bird makes his nest '
i
: s<l < t
1 d' .,t
: s .PI
If -r
'mid
.r
the
d
fern.
:-
l(d)
1
And thelgrouso whirrs a
- loud
i
:d«r<m
f HI
:f .s
|ta
: s
.t
d'.,t
: c
.1
|ta
,
<
Or by
some deep-bo-somed bay Where
the
cuckoo's merry
lay
>
t : s<l,t
( Thrills all
d'.,t
:s .PI
and the
|f .m
:r .d
swells a
ta, :
_
.d
|r
rus,
I
day
sea
cho
-
p
I
:d .t,
Side by
s, .d
side to
:d .t,
wander
Id
on,
rr'.t, Id .r : f .s | ta )
Till our Ishare of days are gone, )
1
:s .d1
Love to
d1 .,t : s .m
fill with lasting
If -r
joy the
time
r
be-
d :
fore
-
Id
US.
1
2. 'Tis my bitter grief that I
Did not by my kindred lie
Stiff and cold, or on some bleak height have my dwelling,
Ere ever in my way
Came your presence, bright as day,
And your rowan-red lips love-compelling.
267
Alas ! that it is so !
Woman's love is like the snow
Or a gust of wind that comes to go for ever
Oh ! a storheen, not for gold
Let my soul's full trust be sold,
Nor your own dear heart from happiness sever J
3. I have searched our island o'er
From Cork's resounding shore
To where the Reek looks o'er Clew's waters,
And thence to the wild flow
That sweeps o'er Assaroe
In hope that I might find among the daughters
Whose beauty crowns each place
Some tidings of the face
Of her whom every maid for Queen confesses,
And to whom I bade adieu
At the ford of Killaloe,
She's the Girl of the Fair-Flowing Tresses !
WILLIAM ROONEY.
Dr. P. W. Joyce says of this air : " There are few tunes better known
all over Munster ; and a number of songs are sung to it." The air is a
charming one. The recurrence of the accented note ta gives the music
a peculiar tenderness. I link the air with Rooney's fine translation of a
celebrated old Munster ballad. Of the other songs that suit the air I
mention specially P. J. M'Call's charming song, " Bouchaleen na Gruaga
Dhowna " (Songs of Erin, p. 34).
268
I RAMBLED DOWN THE WOODLAND PATH.
KEY G. Lively. Air : " Saddle the Pony."
:l,.t,
d :-
ram
- :r
day
met
en
- ti
: - .d | d :
r :m r :t
n :r |r :d
:r )
One)
And )
so~~ >
:t )
My )
That)
i
m :
Sun
Id1 :
i
Id :
maid
Id' :
| beau
Id1
1 your
id'
1 calle
Id •
| maic
bled down 1
|ro :f :s
ev - e - ning
It :1 :s
he wood
1 :-
late -
1 :-
maid
1, :-
state
1 :-
seemed
s :-
joyful
1 :-
bawn
state
- land path
:- 11 :-
- iy,
:s |m :-
en fair,
:- 11, :-
- iy;
: s | m
to me,
:- |s :1
there
|r :d
a
and
: s
she
proud
It :1
- ful
It :r'
ig heart throbbed
:- :1 |t :1
right
: s
grd
and
: s | m : -
ma - chree,
:- H, :-
d her
- :m
1 - en
my
|r :d
proud
2. The May-wind kissed her flowing hair,
Like summer sun-rays twining,
And, oh ! her face of loving grace,
An apple-blossom shining.
269
Her lips were red as Keenagh's rose,
Her feet as light as mountain doe's,
Her voice the fairy's song which flowa
When starlit eves are shining.
3. And many a time I've walked that path
Those Sunday evenings lately,
Still meeting there that maiden fair,
With head erect and stately.
She never gives a smile to me,
But my young heart throbs joyfulty,
For she is my grd gal machree,
That maiden proud and stately !
J. K. CASEY.
270
THE LITTLE HOUSE UNDER THE HILL.
KEY D.
:1
I've
s :f :tn |s :f :m Is :f : m | s :- :1 >
•earned and I've ram-bled the |earth far and wide, Thro' )
!
s :f
man -y •
:m
a
s :f
man-sion
:m
and
f
pal
:r
- ace
:tn
of
If :-
pride,
But)
i
s :
flies
f
my
:m
fond
Is :f
heart to
:m
the
s :f
green is •
:m
land
|s :1
:t I
still,
(
jid' n
( \ Back to
the
Is :f
lit - tie
: m
house
f
un
:r
- der
:m
the
If :-
hill.
'- 1
1
d' :
Hi
m
for
:n
it !
Is
Ho
:m
for
:m
it !
d1
Hi
:n
for
:m
it
|s :-
still !
'"I
I
d1 :
Hi
m
for
:m
the
Is
lit
:ro
- tie
:n
house
f
un
:r
- der
:m
the
If :-
hill!
:(.)}
{
d1 :
Had
m
i
:m
the
S
way
:m
now
i ni
, • as
d1
i
:n :ro
have the
I s : 1
7, }
will,
(
d1 :
1. 1
rd'.l
Is
:f
:m If
:r
:m
If :-
II
i
fly
to
the
lit
- tie
house) un
- der
the
hill.
1
2. Oh, how the little house comes to my mind —
Face to the sunlight and back to the wind !
The hum of the bee and the ripple of rill
Made glee for the little house under the hill.
Hi for it ! Ho for it ! Hi for it still !
Hi for the little house under the hill !
I listen in dreams while the thrush's wild thrill
Wakes joy round the little house under the hill.
271
3. Humble the roof was and covered the thatch,
But stranger in vain never lifted the latch —
Greeting and welcome that care could not kill
Were found in the little house under the hill.
Hi for it ! Ho for it ! Hi for it still !
Hi for the little house under the hill !
Hearts that not trouble or sorrow could chill
Beat high in the little house under the hill.
4. 'Twas gay when the Spring came with flowers and leaves,
With buds on the bushes and birds on the eaves ;
And gayer when soft light of Summer would fill
Each nook in the little house under the hill.
Hi for it ! Ho for it ! Hi for it still !
Hi for the little house under the hill !
Sweeter than roses that bloomed on the sill
Lived love in the little house under the hill.
6. The fading of flowers, the fall of the leaf,
Never brought to the hearts in the little house grief,
For round the fireside when the Winter blew shrill
We drew, in the little house under the hill,
Hi for it ! Ho for it ! Hi for it still !
Hi for the little house under the hill !
With song to enliven and story to thrill,
We laughed in the little house under the hill.
6. Souls loving dear Erin and hating her foes,
Eyes gay for her gladness or weeping her woes,
Hearts willing their blood for her freeing to spill,
Found home in the little house under the hill.
Hi for it ! Ho for it ! Hi for it still !
Hi for the little house under the hill !
For one day of daring our vows to fulfil
We longed in the little house under the hill.
7. Hi for the little house under the hill !
And Hi for the true hearts that linger there still !
I'm praying for ever, through good and through ill,
To die in the little house under the hill,
Hi for it ! Ho for it ! Hi for it still !
Hi for the little house under the hill !
Mad I the way now, as I have the will,
I'd flv to the little house under the hill.
F. A. FAHY.
272
IRELAND'S HURLING MEN.
KEY A. With spirit. Air : " Vive la."
f
•81 ,f |
Who
M
.Si
say our conn - try's
d ,,r :d
soul has fled ?
•S, >
Who f
.ro
say our coun- try's
marching tread Of
m .s :r ,m
hold the hopes of
heart is dead?Come,
s .d
.f
twice five thousand
d .,r :m .d
by - gone years, They
PI, .S, IS, .1,
let them hear the
m .r : d .11 r )
Hurling Men.|| They)
m .s :r .n
love the past — its
ii f ,mr,d: lt .d,r m .s :r .m Id
(I smiles and tears; But qua-v'ring doubts and) shrinking
CHORUS.
N|
-ing Men ! Hur-
inking fears Are )
ils .d :1, .f In .r :d .
( I far from Ire - land's) Hurl-ing Men !
<|d .,r :d .
(| stout CA - in AW,
{I
s,
Not
Ml .S| ! S| .1|
rah ! the arms of
(in .r :d .1
( 'flame a - glow I
m, .s, :s, .n
ScAin-in's steel can
d .,r :m .,f
might and brawn,And
: S| .,1|
rah! Hur - rah ! the
f , m.r , d .* li .MI
{
match its blow ; Hur
s .d :d
>
hearts with Freedom's
273
2. They sing the songs their fathers sung,
When to the breeze the Green they flung —
They speak their own sweet Gaelic tongue
That fires the blood of fighting men.
When all around was dark as night
With scarce a gleam of cheering light,
When traitors fled their country's fight-
She still had hope in Hurling Men.
CHORUS.
3. On Irish fields when heroes died,
And foemen thronged on every side,
Our leaders' joy, their hope and pride.
Were gleaming pikes — and Hurling Men !
And if God wills that war's red train
Shall sweep once more o'er hill and plain,
Our land shall call — and not in vain —
For fighting lines of Hurling Men.
CHORUS.
4. But, meanwhile, let each true heart toil
The foeman's every plan to foil,
And raise, like strong plants from the soil,
New hosts of Irish Hurling Men.
To guard their name and love their land,
With her thro' gloom and joy to stand,
And each one's gift — a heart and hand
And will to strive with Irish Men.
CHORUS.
6. When comes the day— as come it must—
That SeAimn's rule of greed and lust
Shall lie, all broken, in the dust,
We'll still have Irish Hurling Men.
Then here's to her, the land we love,
Each grand old hill, and glen, and grove-
Her plains below, her skies above —
And. besfc of all, her Hurling Men !
^ CHORUS.
BRIAN O'HiaciNS.
KEY Bb-
274
ERIN ASTHORE.
Air : " Top of Cork Road."
!l
Na - ture in
Id. :t, :d
Scat - ters her
U| . l'l| . b|
man - y a
r :n :f
trea - sures in
1, :r :d 1 1,
fa - voured lo - ca
3 :m :d It,
:1, :B, )
- li - ty >
: s.
rich pro - di - ga - li - ty :
But I'll main
| d| : ni| : S| 1 1| :r :d 1 1( : 1| : s( >
i-tain it, with-| out par - ti - a - li - ty, >
d :t, :d
You have the
ni : d : HI
! Moun-tains of
d :t, :d
Val - leys of
Jr
:f
pick of them,
m : d : ro
pride where the
1, :r :d
joy where the
m :d :d |d :- :-
E - rin a - sthore !
:r |r
wild tor - rent
:t| ;r >
falls ; )
t, :s, :s, !s, :- :- >
mel - low thrush calls ; >
(11, :f, :1,
( I Woodland and
d : t, :d
Isles where the
CHORUS.
m :d
li id : 1| I S| : pi| i S| |d, 'W\ i$\ )
ha - zel dell ;| Baths where the f ai - ries dwell ;)
r :m :f
an - gels might
m :r :r
rest ev - er
- more ! )
|m :d
Health and sue - cess to
you,
r :t, :r |r
E - rin a •
sthore I
275
d :t, :d 1 1, :r :d
Free-dom il - lu - mine your
t, :s, :s, |s, :-
val - leys once more !
<|1, :f, :1
( I Com - fort a
Hi :d
and ease to you.
d :t, :d |r :m :f
Glo - ry in - crease to you,
s
Pow-er and peace to you,
PI : r : r | r : -
E - rin a - sthore !
2. Sons you have, Erin, of strength and capacity,
Famed in all ages for wit and vivacity,
Beating the nations in deeds of audacity
In every land that lies under the sun ;
Colleens whose souls in their love-lighting eyes
Shine pure as stars in thy midsummer skies ;
True hearts unaltering ;
Faith never faltering ;
C6ad mile jdilthe for every one.
CHORUS.
3. Sad is your lot to be lying in slavery,
After long years of hard fighting and bravery,
Wrecked by oppression and plundered by knavery,
Crushed 'neath the yoke of the foreigner's laws ;
But there are friends for you, Erin asthore,
Hopeful and wakeiul the wide world o'er,
Spreading the light for you,
Striving for right for you,
Willing to fight for your long-stricken cause.
CHORUS.
FRANCIS A. FAHY.
276
INISHOWEN.
KEY D. Spiritedly.
God
s : -.m :
ro : r
bless the grey raoun-tains of
s :s
dark Don
i - e - gal, God )
s : -,ro : m
m : r : n
bless Roy-al Ail-each, the
s : -.m : m | m : r : m
sits ev - er - more like a
d :-.!,:!, 1 1, :- :d'.d'»
pride of them all ; For she)
s : s : PI I m : - : d1
queen on her throne
: - : \
e, And >
s
:m
:r
smiles on the val - leys of
II
Green In - ish - owen.
\
Andi
fair are the val - leys of
hard - y the fish - ers that
s
:m :d )
>n, And )
Green In - ish - owen
call them their own — A >
n1 :-.r':d' |r» :d' :t
race that nor trait - or nor
d1 :t
|s :ro :d
cow - ard have known
,
->
joy
.:r |ro : ro :r
the fair val - leys of
Green In - ish - owen.
2. Oh ! simple and bold are the bosoms they bear,
Like the hills that with silence and nature they share ;
For our God, who hath planted their home near His own,
Breath'd His spirit abroad upon fair Inishowen.
277
Then praise to our Father for wild Inishowen,
Where fiercely for ever the surges are thrown —
Nor weather nor fortune a tempest hath blown
Could 'shake the strong bosoms of brave Inishowen.
3. See the bountiful Couldah careering along —
A type of their manhood so stately and strong —
On the weary for ever its tide is bestown,
So they share with the stranger in fair Inishowen.
God guard the kind homesteads of fair Inishowen,
Which manhood and virtue have chosen their own ;
Not long shall that nation in slavery groan,
That rears the tall peasants of fair Inishowen.
4. Like that oak of St. Bride which nor Devil nor Dane,
Nor Saxon nor Dutchman could rend from her fane,
They have clung by the creed and the cause of their own
Through the midnight of danger in true Inishowen.
Then shout for the glories of old Inishowen,
The stronghold that foemen have never o'erthrown —
The soul and the spirit, the blood and the bone,
That guard the green valleys of true Inishowen.
5. Nor purer of old was the tongue of the Gael,
When the charging aboo made the foreigner quail j
Than it gladdens the stranger in welcome's soft tone,
In the home-loving cabins of kind Inishowen.
Oh ! flourish ye homesteads of kind Inishowen,
Where seeds of a people's redemption are sown ;
Right soon shall the fruit of that sowing have grown,
To bless the kind homesteads of green Inishowen.
6. When they tell us the tale of a spell-stricken band
All entranced, with their bridles and broadswords in hand,
Who await but the word to give Erin her own,
They can read you that riddle in proud Inishowen.
Hurrah for the Spaemen of proud Inishowen ! —
Long live the wild Seers of stout Inishowen !
May Mary, our Mother, be deaf to their moan,
Who love not the promise of proud Inishowen I
CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY.
278
THE COLLEEN RUA.
KEY AfV Smoothly and with feeling.
il
( 1
: .s, :d .t.
When first I
1, :s, .1, :d .t,
sought her by Cash- in'
i, .f
brought
:ro .r :d .t,
her, fond love I
d
told;
I,
cli
• S | •
ning
1, :d .t,
I found her
1,
twi «
1, .f
shi
S .,1
:m .r :d .t,
ning like red, red
:s .f :m .d
d
gold.
i,
prise
eyes
then, in sweet sur-
| wise
:t, .d :1, .1,
then such eyes to
s,
view !
f .r
:n,f .
s ,f : HI .d
i,
bound
found
me,
but fast they
|i, f
I round me
:n .,
for
r :d *t|
my Col - leen
d
Rua.
1, : s,.f, :m,.s,
wa - ter, Fond love I
At days de -
:s, .f, :m, .s, >
ning Her bright locks'
:- .d ,r ; m .f )
She raised her r
: s, .PI ,f : s .m
then — Ah ! how un
- .m ,f : s .m ^
For free they )
:s, .,f| :n, .s, )
me, Love's chains a- J
2. Fair flowers were blooming, the meads illuming,
All fast assuming rich summer's pride,
And we were roving, truth's rapture proving,
Ah ! fondly loving by Cashm's side ;
279
Oh ! love may wander, but ne'er could sunder
Our hearts that fonder each moment grew,
Till friends delighted such love requited,
And my hand was plighted to my Colleen Rua,
3. Ere May's bright weather o'er hill and heather,
Sweet tuned together rang our bridal bell;
But at May's dying, on fate relying,
Fate left us sighing by Cashin's dell j
Oh ! sadly perished the bliss we cherished !
But far lands flourished o'er the ocean blue,
So as June came burning I left Erin, mourning,
No more returning with my Colleen Rua.
4. Our ship went sailing with course unfailing,
But black clouds trailing lowered o'er the main,
And its wild dirge singing, came the storm out springing,
That good ship flinging back, back again !
A sharp rock under tore her planks asunder,
While the sea in thunder swallowed wreck and crew ;
One dark wave bore me where the coast towered o'er me,
But dead before me lay my Colleen Rua I
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
280
WHEN THE PRATIES ARE DUG.
KEY G. Brightly. Air : Old air of above title.
t | -
d :-.r:m |r :-.d:-.
the' pra - ties are dug, and the frost is all
s, :1, :f
m, :-
o
When the trees bud,
and
1, :r :r
seed - lings ad
|r :-
- vance
ver,
:B, >
rn f
d :.r :m |r :d : 1, s, : 1, :f,
take my old fid - die from
MI : S| : S| | S| : ni| :s\
send you all word of a
In :f :s |s :-.f :n
I sing of the Black-bird that
In :f :s |s :-.f:n
[Thrush in the Bush, and the
n : f : s | s : - .f : n
Hare in the Corn, and the
m :r :d |r :s : f
Girl that met Bar - ney at
out of its cov - er, And )
1, :d :d |d :- lid )
song and a dance. || We'll)
f :s :1
-.s :f >
whis-tled for Char - lie The >
f :m :f |r :- :r .
Lark m the Air; The)
f : s : 1
:-.s :s.f >
Wind in the Bar-ley, And the)
m
: - .d :d |d :-
don Fair !
Ban
2. And when toe and heel impatient go tingling,
With jig and reel we'll hammer the floor !
Across and a-through we'll go mixing and minglin
Till daylight's white arm shall open the door !
281
We'll dance Morgan Rattler, and Sweet Judy Brallaghan,
Tatther Jack Walsh, and young Moll in the Wad,
How are you now, Kitty ? and, Pat, won't you call again ?
And end with the Humours of Ballinafad !
3. And faith won't I startle the larks in the morning,
A-playing my fiddle right over their nest !
Sure, the hen-bird will think that, without word of warning,
The sun has dropped down with a choir on his breast 1
I'll play soft and easy the golden-haired Coolin,
I'm now in my sleep, and the Brink of the Rocks ;
The Little Black Rose, and the Sword of Cuchullin :
And I'll leave them in peace with the Death of the Fox !
P. J. M'CALL.
This is the kind of charming folk-song which one would like to hear
commonly sung by our Irish people. Mr. M'Call has given us quite a
goodly number of these excellent songs. The air is a bright, taking one,
which is sure to be popular.
282
THE
KEY E(?. Spiritedly.
SIEGE OF LIMERICK.
Air: "An SpAitpin £A
By
Will - iam led the' Eng - !ish sped, J
.,t,[d .t,
WTith mus
l,.t| |d .r :m .f
ket, sword, and
S
can
H
non. )
:d' .,t
1 .t
sweep
:1 .s
IM
all
To
us
:d
And
:d
But
in
drown
W
m
us
|r
in
Id'
:- .r
fro
:r
the
:d'
Id :t, 11,
•m| Lire - 'risk's wall..
d
Shan
we bo - thought how
d
non.
3
well they fought,
:s II
Our I fa
d1 |t : s
thers there be -
:-.t |d'
fore
!
.t
We
Kt :1 .s
raised on
high
5 :dr
( And
m
PI
:m .r
our
: r
d :t, |1, i
charg - ing cry )
flung our green flag
o'er
Id
US.
283
2. For days on days their cannon blaze
Flashed by the blood-stained water ;
The breach is done, and up they run,
Five hundred to the slaughter;
They crossed the breach beyond our reach,
New foes fresh work supply us —
Our women brave, their homes to save,
Soon slew them all inside us !
Though through the smoke their army broke,
With cannons booming solemn,
We would not flinch, but inch for inch
Opposed each bristling column.
Three times we dashed them back and smashed
Their lines with shot and sabre,
And nought had they at close of day
But thinned ranks for their labour.
4. With angry word then said their lord,
" Our foes are better, braver ! "
Then fled he straight from Limerick's gate,
For he could not enslave her ;
Then raised we high our triumph cry,
Where battle's chances found us,
With corse and gun, and rent flags strewn
And blood and ruin around us.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
I have wedded this fine song to the well-known and equally fine air,
which must be sung with spirit. It is sung so by the people. I have
heard it sung on a few occasions in a lachrymose sort of way, but I cannot
agree that this is the proper way of rendering it.
MA STHOREEN OGE.
KEY F. Moderate and with feeling.
Air : " CA^A-O AN
!
: .d
I
I*,H1 — ! S
met her in
.S
a
*W
.d 1 1 , ..d !d ..d : d ..a ^
moun-tain! glen when skies were f air,Her >
{
I
1,7.- :d' .1 :
presence filled with
1,1.- :d' .1 :
cheeks were brighter
S
light
S
than
.drro
f ,,r :n,r.d,l,:r ,,s |
and
.drro
the
joy all Na - ture there. Her )
bloom that scents the May, And»
I
r .ni
oh ! in
:s .s :
bonds of
m
love
my
1, .d :d .d :d .11
heart she bore a - way. II
2. Oh ! maids there are in Dublin town and love to gain ;
But all their arts have not availed my heart to chain ;
For whispers of a far-off voice and many a warmer glow
Recall the first sweet hour I met ma sthdreen O !
3. How happy for the little birds whose songs can rise
From off one bough when ruddy dawn lights up the skies ;
Not so can we, my loved of loves, our lot is grief and pain
We ope our eyes and Ireland lies between us twain.
4. Yet tho' the winter clouds our hopes, ma sihdreen dil,
Some rays of joy into my heart will often steal,
And tell of evenings yet to be and fair as when
I heard your first shy welcoming in Dowra's Glen.
WILLIAM ROONEY.
This is the traditional version of a beautiful air, as found in West Cork.
It should be sung with feeling and sweetness. The air was taken down
from the singing of Danny Warren and his wife— two of the best traditional
singers I met.
285
AVENGING AND BRIGHT.
KEY D. Boldly. Air : " C|\UA6An HA £e*ititie.'
:m 1 : 1 .t : d'-l
t : ni
1 : - .r1
d1
: 1
:1
{
A - ven - ging and
bright falls the
swift sword of
I
s JIM : m
1
:1 .t
:d':l
t
in'
: _
r')
E - rin. On
him, who
the
brave
sons
of f
d1 :1 :*'t 1
, _
lit
d
.
d'.r'
:m'.
d1 >
Uis - ne be -
trayed !
11 For
ev -
'ry
"fond j"
t : s : n
f
:f .1
:s .f
n
:
d
: s
I
eye which he
wa
- kened
a
tear
in,
A
I
(Id1 :d'.r
( I drop from
d1 ;d'.r' :in'.d'
drop from his
t : S : PI
heart - wounds shall
tjn : r .d1 :d^U
weep o'er her
1 :-
blade.
2. By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling,
When Uladh's three champions lay sleeping in gore —
By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling,
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore —
3. We swear to avenge them ! — no joy shall be tasted,
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed,
Our halls shall be mute and our fields shall lie wasted,
Till vengeance is wreaked on the murderer's head !
4. Yes, monarch ! though sweet are our home recollections,
Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall ;
Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections,
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all !
THOMAS MOORE.
THE BLARISMOOR TRAGEDY
KEY G.
( : sl
d :-
• .r |d : t, 1, :- | s,
I .S )
I Ye
Muse,
grant me di - rect • ion,
To f
1 sing
this
| 1 .s : f .r
n :- .d |1,
Which )
foul trans-
ac tion
< |d
:- .t,
Id :r
m :d |1
:s |
I I cau
ses sad re -
flee - - tion
Late )
J f
: m
Id :r
d :- 1
: ,
< done
at
Blar - . is -
moor,
>
p
(i
:t .m
wick-ed
11 • +
| 1 • v
Colo - nel
d :- |s
Bar - - ber,
i d' )
Should I
m
rd'.t
| 1 .s : 1 .t
1 : - .s | m
And >
pro -
ceed much
far - - ther
cres.
I \ call
his
H :t
con - duct
d :- |s
mur - - der
* d )
'Twere )
P
— =^HH
ff
f t
:d' .t
| 1 .s : 1 .t
1 :- 1
II d < m < S)
( trea
- son
I am
sure.
II By >
, I
:ri
| 1 .d1 : t.r'
d1 : - |s
:d' .t >
(. wick
- ed
Colo - nel
Bar - - ber,
Should >
call
f
trea
287
: s |
f
: m
m :- .d
Mi
pro
ceed
much
far -
ther
rit.
: - .t, |
d
:r
PI i d
H
his
con
- duct
mur
der
:n 1
d
:r
d :-
1
son
i
am
sure.
And
'Twore
Belfast may well remember
When tyrants in their splendour,
In all their pomp and grandeur,
They hoist them on a car ;
While cavalry were prancing
And infantry advancing
And glittering armour glancing
All in the pomp of war.
3. They were of good behaviour,
No heroes e'er were br"aver,
But a perjured base deceiver
He swore their lives away j
For the sake of golden store
This villain falsely swore,
And the crime we now deplore
In sorrow and dismay.
4. Amidst a hollow square
Well guarded front and rere,
With guns and bayonets there
Their constancy to move — •
When they received their sentence
Their hearts felt no relentings
They bowed to each acquaintance
And kneeled to God above.
288
6. Their foes held consultation
To find out combination,
And then this exhortation
Curs'd Barber did propose — .
" Arise from your devotion,
Take pardon and promotion,
Or death will be your portion
Unless you now disclose."
6. Some moments then they mused,
For their senses were confused
Bufy smiling, they refused
And made him this reply — •
" We own we are United,
Of death we're not affrighted,
.And hope to be requited
By Him who rules on high."
7. The guns were then presented,
The balls their bosoms entered,
While multitudes lamented
The shocking sight to see.
Those youthful martyrs four
Lay weltering in their gore,
And the plain besprinkled o'er
With the blood of liberty.
»
8. In coffins they were hurried,
From Blarismoor were carried,
And hastily were buried,
While thousands sank with grief,
Crying, " Grania, we much wonder
You rise not from your slumber,
With voice as loud as thunder
To grant us some relief ! "
A '98 ballad ; author's name unknown. I got music and words from
T. D. Sullivan. He wrote me thus : " I never heard the melody sung
or played by any one except my father and his children, to whom he
taught it." He told me that the last four lines of each verse should bo
repeated and sung in a thunderous voice. " You will find them very
effective." The execution took place on 17th May, 1797. There ia
extant another poem on the subject, written by a Councillor Sampson
l^r. Joyce has three other versions of the air.
289
THE DAWN IS IN THE SKY.
Air : " The Rising of the Moon."
1. O, the night was long and weary,
Looming o'er vis cloud on cloud,
Closing round our faltering footsteps
Like a mighty, fearsome shroud.' -
But 'tis gone — pray God for over,
And a brighter time is r.igh :
Wo have left the gloom behind us,
And the dawn is in the sky I
CHORUS.
O, the dawn is in the sky ;
Dry the tear and hide the sigh ;
Let us climb the path to Freedom
While the dawn is in the sky !
2. Upward, upward, men of Erinn,
Raise each drooping heart and head ;
There's a mire for slaves to crawl in,
There's a path for men to tread.
Tho' there's many a frowning hill crest
Out before ye, "dark and high,
There is hope to cheer ye onward,
And the dawn is in the sky.
CHORUS.
O, the dawn is in the sky ;
Dry the tear and hide the sigh ;
There is hope to cheer ye onward,
And the dawn is in the sky 1
3. Duty's ways are rough and thorny,
But our hearts are strong and brave ;
There's a goal beyond the mountains,
There's a country's eoul to save.
" Ajt foti eitteAnti ! AJI fon feipcAtin ! '
Let it be no senseless cry ;
There is work for men this morning
While the dawn is in the sky 1
CHORUS.
O, the dawn is in the sky ;
Dry the tear and hide the sigh •
And we'll climb the path to Freedom
While the dawn is in the sky I
t?ttu\n 6
290
SONG OF GOLDEN-HEADED NIAV.
KEY D. Brightly. Air: "b [\ir-oin
: s,
d :-
:r |n
:- :f s :- :d' |t :s
:f )
Oh!
come
- with me
to Tir - na - nog,
There)
s :1
:s
Is :-
:f
n : - : s | f : r
:t| )
fruit
and
bloa -
soms
bend each tree,
Red)
Id :-
:r
|m :-
:f
s :- :d' |t :s
:f I
1 spar
kling wine
and
ho - ney flow,
And >
In :-
1 beau
: s
- ty
|f :r
from
d :r :d |d :-
ld I
lYourf
smiles
sea to sea.
Id- :-
[flow
: F1
• ing
1 1
locks
will
r1 :- :d! |t :s ;
No >
ne'er turn grey,
s : 1
: s
Is :-
:f
in :- :s |f :r :d >
wrin
- kles
on
your
fore - head come ;
Nor (
Id' :-
:r'
|m' :-
:d'
r' :- :d' |t :s :
f )
1 burn
• ing
pain
nor
grim de - cay,
A- >
CHORUS
In :-
1 cross
:s
the
If :r
hold
d :- :d |d :-
of your home.
n >
So f
thres -
s :-
:f
|m : r
:d
s :- :f |m :f :
S >
haste
a -
way
to
Tir - na - n6g,
My >
II
291
1 tt :d' |s :_f :m |r ;n :r |r :-
white steed waits in I gold - en sheen ;
s :- :f |m [r :d
di - a - dem shall
s :- :f |m :_f :s )
crown thy brow, And )
1 :t :d' |s :- :m Id :r :d |d :- II
I will be thy I bri - - dal queen. II
2. The feast is spread, within the hall
Flash drinking cups with gold encrowned ;
The harp leans lightly 'gainst the wall
To strike for thee the welcome sound.
A hundred sword-blades for thy hand,
A hundred of the swiftest steeds,
A hundred hounds, a matchless band
Where'er the hunted quarry leads.
CHORUS.
3. A hundred robes of precious silk,
And gems from an enchanted mine ;
A hundred kine of sweetest milk,
And armour of the brightest shine.
And thou shalt wear that wondrous sword
Of keenest edge, whose flash is death :
The summer wind will hear thy word,
And gently pour its tender breath.
CHORUS.
4. Young virgins, sweetest ia the song,
And beauteous as the morning sun,
Around thy noble steps will throng
To make thy path a joyous one.
And heroes, in the combat stem,
In speed and boldness unsurpassed,
Before whose prowess Fionn would learn
To bow his haughty head at last.
CHORUO.
292
6. O Oisin of the powerful hand !
First in the chase, first in the war ;
Over our sweot and glorious land
Thy gallant deeds were borne afar.
Loch Lein is deep, but deeper still
In Niav's soul thy imago dwells ;
Then turn thee westward from this hill
To where the sun-hued billow swells.
CHORUS — Oh ! haste, etc.
J. K. CASEY.
This is a beautiful air, and both air and song will be found to be some-
thing out of the ordinary run. There are some delightful turns in this
air. Song and air transport us in spirit $o G<{v HA 11-65.
293
ON cnoc VIA si-oe.
KEY G. Moderate. Air : "UAim-fe AJ\ An mb^ite feo.'
!
.d l d .in :s,f.m
In dreams it all comes
f .,r : s .t, r .r
back to me, Thatjglorious,
:d .d 1
gladsome)
(
d : s ,s
day On the
d1 .d1 :1 .d1
heath-clad side of
t .t :
Cnoc IIA
r .,11 >
Si-oe. A- f
i
f.s.-.s^'U
bove the sil - v'ry
s : .s
bay ; The
d1 .d1 :
earth so
1 .d1 >
fair be- )
i
t nt : r .m
neathour feet, The
f .s :t*'*.l
sky a - bove so
blue,
.d >
And )
!
d .,ro : s ,f .in
one heart find - ing
f Mr :s .t,,t,
bliss com-plete In the
r .,r :
sun - ny
d .,t, )
smile of )
i
d :- Jl
you.
•
2. O ! for a day on Cnoc tiA Si-oc,
For another joyous day,
To light the lonely heart of me,
And chase its grief away ;
Your hand again to clasp in mine,
Your voice to thrill me through,
And O, to see the love-light shine
In the dreamy eyes of you.
3. O ! for a day on Cnoc
And you beside me there,
No cloud on earth, or sky, or sea,
But all things bright and fair ;
Ah ! then to whisper in your ear,
To tell my story true,
And, filled with holy joy, to hear
One word of love from you.
BRIAN O'HIGGINS.
294
KEY G.
HASTE TO THE WEDDING.
Old air as in title.
I'd
s, :m, : f , | s, :d :-.m|r :d : r
:d :-.
polished the pew - ther, I'd] tidied the kitchen,
il
il
s, :1, :s, |s, :-.d :m,
dress - or looked white as a
S| : m, : f i | s, :d : -.m
here by the win - dow my
S| : 1| : S| | ni : s : IM
I'm ver - y neat with a
'l :T|
stack in
the
snow;
And)
r :d :
r
| ro :d
:-.!, >
skirt I
was
stichin*,
For )
d : -.r :
d
Id :-
II3 1
nee - die
to
sew.
\\ Said)
CHORUS — 'Twas
i!
: -.m : s
s
I, " What's the use o' mo
Haste to the Wed - din' ; and Haste to the Wed - din', I
1 :-.f:l
mend - in' my fi
: -.f :
(is si :
( | Till it
S
is
Is
fit
:f :m
for a
f
que
sang as
I
sat
at the win
il V :
-
dear
:- :m
! there
r
is
vrone,
0!
'twas oft
J|s, :1, :
( | Got - tin'
sl
a
In
man
: -.s : -.ro
and a
d
pla
not get
a
man
with a pla
:-.n:f |r :-.n:f >
queen on her throne ? For it's )
:d :r |n :-.d:l,
is - n't the sign o' me
was dread - in' I'd
: -.r : d Id
o my own.
295
2. 'Twas nearly made up once between me and Larry,
That lives o'er the Mountain o' Forth, by the bounds,
With forty-five acres o' land and a quarry —
He'd take me, and welcome, with ninety-five pounds.
When he couldn't get it, he said we'd regret it,
And then he got wed to a widow in town ;
And it's oh, dear, I lost Larry Petit,
A sensible man with a house of his own.
CHORUS.
3. I found in my first cup o' tea the next Monday,
A lucky red tea-leaf — some stranger to call ;
I tried seven times, and he travelled on Sunday,
I wondered who was it was coming at all.
Who was it but Lanty, last Sunday for Nancy — •
He buried his mother last May in Kilcone ;
And it's now, dear, I'll marry my fancy —
The boy o' my heart with a place of his own.
CHORUS —
'Tis Haste to the Weddin' ; and Haste to the Weddin',
Not long I'll be sittin' and singin' alone ;
For soon, dear, with young Lanty Reddin,
I'll reign like a queen in a house o' my own.
P. J. M'CALL.
This is one of Mr. M'Call's delightful songs, taken by permission from
Vis Songs of Erinn. With songs like this in our Irish repertoire it is
amazing that Irish men and women can sit down in concert rooms to
listen to worthless, aye, poisonous anglicising rubbish from low music
halls, which ought to be hooted from Irish concerts. The above air is
too-well-known a favourite to call for any remark.
296
CHRISTMAS SONG.
KEY C. Cheerily and animated. Air : " The Groves of Blackpool."
1 :f |m :f
( : d1
| Oh!
C I bright -
s
round
s :l :l IN it :r |d
bright -ly the em - bers are blaz - ing
PI :d |d :n :s |1 :
ly the fes - tive cups shine ;
1 :f |PI :f :r
the board soft eyes are
:r :n. »
- ing, And >
And
I
ni
:d |r
3
spark - ling and radi - ant
:s
Id
gaz -
U
wine.
:r
ing,
And >
1* \
While)
ild' :
1|fa -
t :d' |r' :d' :t
ces long pale now are
1 is i PI
beam - ing, With
d1 :
laugh -
<im'
lU
clouds
t id1 |r' id1 :t |1 :- id'.r' j
ter and lov - ing de - light ; And J
long im - bro - ken are gleaming With )
s
flash -
m : d
es of
|d I PI IS
rnoon - light to
U
night.
£97
CHORUS—
:t
Here's
d1 :t
cead mi -
Ic fail
- the,
:t
old
I 1 : s
Christ -mas !
:n )
While)
d1
mer -
:t :d'
ri - ly
|r« :d! :
dings the
t
wild
x-^s
chime ;
Here's)
n1
Cead
mi - le
|r' :
fail -
d1 :
the,
t
old
x— s
1 1 .d1 : -
Christmas !
Hur- >
< s : in : d | d . : m : s 1 1
( rah for the brave Christ - mas time !
2. Yes — silent the mill-wheel of labour,
And silent the office and mart —
The soldier has sheathed his sabre,
The student is merry at heart.
And over the snow-misted heather
The cottages mantle with light
While we sit toasting together
The pleasures and hopes of the night.
CHORUS.
3. Then here's to the brave men of Ireland,
At home and in exile away ;
And here's to the hopes of our sireland,
That never will rust in decay.
To every brave, down-trodden nation
Here's liberty, glorious and bright,
But, oh ! let our country's salvation
Be toasted the warmest to-night.
CHORUS.
J. K. CASEY.
298
THE MOUNTAIN MEN.
KEY A. Lively.
(Did you
d :-.d :-.d |r :-.m :d I t,.d :-
mark e'er a smoke- drift go sailing
m
while
:d
a -
:d
go
if
down
:- .r :
by
n
yon
If :-
wood ?
Did youj
d
hear
:- .d
in
:d
the
Ir
glen
:- .m :
the
d
wind
|t,.d :-
wailing
:r.r ,
Where a)
r
| bar
- rack
a
If
week
:- .r :t,
a - go
Id :-
stood ?
I! S .S ^
llDidyou)
s
hear
:m
the
:n
Yeos
if
boast
:- .r :
- ing
d
to
It, :d
trap us,
:r >
And )
S
hang
:m
us
like
if
dogs
:r :
to
a
1*7 :-
tree ?
Why, )
then
we're
not
If
stran •
:r
gers
d
and
It, :d
may - be
You'll )
join
in
:m
this
if
cho -
:r :
rus
with
Id :-
me.
\
CHORUS —
S, d :
Sing ho I for the boys of the Moun-tain And
j:s, d :-.d :d |r : - .m : d 1 1, :d :r
il
299
in : - .d : d | f : - .r ; m | f : - : r
hey ! for the boys of the Glen ! Who
d :d :d |r :- .ni :d |t, :d :r
ne - ver show heel to the so jers, Here's
m :- .m :ro |f :- .r :t, |d :-
slaun - the to Dwyer and his men I
2. We're not given much to parading ;
There's not many guns in the throng ;
But he that comes spying our quarthcrs
Won't bother the world for a-long.
The throopers come seeking us daily,
To drive us to hell, so they say ;
But the road's a bit long, so we send them
Before us to show us the way.
CHORUS.
3. There's many a white-livered villain
That dreads to awaken our ire,
And tries to be civil, for treason
We visit with steel, lead, and fire.
The people all bless us for many
A cabin's left safe and secure
For fear of the men of the mountain
Whose guns are the guard of the poor.
CHORUS.
4. We laugh at their offers of money
And scorn their power. If we fail
It won't be the sojers or thraitors
Who'll bring us to grief I'll go bail.
We're only a few, but the valleys
And mountains are ours, every hill,
And while God laves the strength in our sinews
We'll keep the old cause living still.
CHORUS.
WILLIAM ROONEY.
300
HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED.
Air : " Sly Patrick."
KEY F.
P
r : d :
(. Has |sor - row thy young days
jld : r : m | f : - : m
( Jclouds o'er the morn - ing
s, : -
sha
fleet
1, :- :d I
^ed, As »
Too")
ded,
r :-
n :-.r:d |_r ^d : 1,
fast have those young days
d : - .r : n
il
II
II
,il :s :n
( | feel - ing tl
II
:- :- |1, :- :d
fa
ded
,r:- :d
:- :a ,
That >
mf
ven in sorrow
:t
Time, with his cold wing
:r :d
that once
was
m :-,r :d |r :d : 1,
child of mis - for - tun$, come
rit.
:d
for
sweet.
d1 :
dear ?
hi
Does }
11 I
ther Each \
Then,
- Hi :- :d
ther, I'll
(Id :-.r:m |jn _ ^r :
( I weep with thee tear
d :- :- |- :-
tear.
2. Has love to that seal, so tender,
Been like a Lagenian mine,
Where sparkles of golden splendour
All over the surface shine ?
301
But, if in pursuit we go deopor,
Allured by the gleam that shone,
Ah ! false as the dream of the sleeper,
Like Love, the bright ore is gone.
3. Has Hope, like the bird in the story,
That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering glory —
Has Hope been that bird to thee ?
On branch after branch alighting,
The gem did she still display,
And, when nearest and most inviting,
Then waft the fair gem away.
4. If thus the young hours have fleeted,
When sorrow itself looked bright j
If thus the fair hope hath cheated,
That led thee along so light ;
If thus the cold world now wither
Each feeling that once was dear :
Come, child of misfortune, come hither,
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.
THOMAS MOORE.
302
KEY A.
THE SUMMER IS COMING.
Air : " Paddy's Green Island.'
:s.,f
Oh
m : d : d | r : d : d
sum-mer is
:d :d II, :d :1, | s, :m, :f, )
- ing with! sun-shine and glad-ness, With )
II
II
s :d :d
:r :d
>i
flowers for the mea-dows and
m :d :d |r :d :d
heart that pined long in a
s, :s :ro |r :d :
know all the ioy that
t, :r :r |r :s :-.f>
light for the streams, When the)
1, :-.d:l, |s, :m, : f , >
win - ter of sad - ness Shall >
m : d : d
felt but in
Id :
dreams:
rc.r)
Forf
d :n :s |s :m :d d : m :s |s :m :d
II
then I'll be go - ing o'er
f :s :1 Is :m :d
see the old land to my
bright wa - ters flow - ing To )
/T>
t, :r :n |f :s :-.f>
mem-o - ry dear — Oh, I'd )
day in old Ire - land Than)
11 :d :d |d :-
thou-sand years here.
2. 'Tis many long years since I saw the green island,
And bade her farewell with a heart full of care,
And far have I roamed since in valley and highland
Where nature has lavished her favours most rare.
(
PI I
d :
d
|r :
d
:d
J
(
ra -
ther
live
poor
for
one
{
s, :. :
rich - es
en -
r :
joy
d
for
a
303
But gay as the bowers, and fair as the flowers,
That bloom in strange lands where, an exile, I rove—
Still dearest and rarest and nearest and fairest,
Shall be the dear scenes of the land of my love.
3. I'll roam through the fields so endeared to my childhood,
When life was all summer, and friends did not fail ;
I'll hear the wild birds singing sweet in the wildwood,
And lambs bleating low in the daisy-clad vale.
I'll see her blue mountains, her bright, laughing fountains,
And wander at eve by her ocean-kissed shore ;
And kind friends will meet me and old friends will greet me,
With a c^A-o mile f Alice a thousand times o'er.
4. Oh, summer wind ! hasten o'er land and o'er ocean,
And linger no longer where orange trees blow,
But bring me the hour when with fervent devotion
I'll seek the dear shores that I left long ago.
Then farewell, ye bowers, ye fair English flowers,
Though fragrant ye bloom in the noon of the year,
I'd rather live poor for one day in old Ireland
Than riches enjoy for a thousand years here.
FBANCIS A. FAHY.
304
MARY'S SWEETHEART.
D. Pretty quick.
• r1
The
1
knew
r
1 next
m1
1 : s .m | r : ni
d : - ,r | m : s
saw my love, I
r :- | :s .m
mine, The
r1 :— Id1 : r1
saw him I
d1 : - | : s .m
vine ; For he
r1 :- |d' :r'
ro ver, and
d' :- | :r'
pine, And
d ? - .r | m : s
first time that I
: s -Pi | r : r
his heart was
:r .m |s :1
time that I
thought he was di -
r ;r .m | s : 1
said he was no
n1 : r1 .d1 1 1 : r1
would
oh!
1
this
ne'er leave to
:s .m |r :m
my heart is
: s .m | r : r
hap - - py With
r :- 1 ||
mine.
true - love of
2. I met him at the " pattern " by St. Molagga's Tree,
Where at the dance and hurling the boldest, best was he ;
• Oh ! my heart was very happy on that blissful holiday,
And I learned to love him dearly while we danced the hours away,
305
3. My Brian Bawn is clothed in garments of ^the frieze ;
But 'tis not costly garments or hoarded wealth I priz^ ;
Tis the truthful heart he gave mo, 'tis the glance of his kind <*/03,
And the loving tales he tells me while the golden daylight dies.
4. A bravo heart's in his bosom, yet he's gentle as a child :
He tells me pleasant stories till with laughter I am wild ;
He'll oft times change to sadness, and make me sob and cry,
Then kiss my bitter tears away, till none so glad as I !
5. Oh ! he was scarce a stripling when he banded with the men
That wanted Ireland's freedom, but could not got it then ;
And long a gallant outlaw he kept the mountain glen ;
But for old Ireland's freedom he'd venture more again.
6. And now he sits beside mo in the greenest doll of dolls,
And the sweetest of all stories my fond, fond darling tells,
That he loves me with a constant love, that never can decay,
Till we sleep beneath the green grass in Molagga's churchyard
grey !
7. On lands and money hoarded my father sets great store,
Tho' 'gainst the poor and needy he never shut his door ;
But my Brian owns a ploughland, and my father asks no more,
So we are to be married when the Easter days are o'er !
ROBERT DVVYER JOYCE, M.Dj
This is a very beautiful air in the " Bay " Mode — a perfect specimen
of the very old, two-strain Irish melody in the " gapped " scale, having
only five notes. It has neither " fah " nor " t." I link it for the first time
with Dr. Joyce's fine ballad. The air is sometimes sung to the ballad,
" Willy Reilly."
306
AS I WALKED ON THE ROAD TO SLIGO.
KEY C. Playfully.
: 1,.1| r : - : n.m | f : - : s
As I walked on the road 1
r1 :- :r |s :- :f
(Rise my heart, just
r :- :m |f :- :s
lilt - ed up a
r' :n' : f ' |m' :r' :d'
learn-ed from Trav - el - ling
f :- :r' |m' :- :d'
like the May sun
d1 :- :1 |s :- :f
'twas the top o' the
r :- :m |f :- :s
heart climbed up Love's
d1 :t :1 |s :- :m
morn on the road to
j 1 :- :t
| d1 : t
: d1 }
bo Sli
m : s : in
go,
Id :-
day!)
lay
|r' :
0!
H :-
free,
Id :-
me ;
/Cl
tree
r : -
go J
]
:1vt
rr'.tn1)
like the
1 :- :t
lov • er's
r1 :- :-
Teigue
r1 :- :d'
mount - ing
m : s :m
And )
:t )
Och!>
My )
:m'.r'l
morn with
1 :t :d'
ro - sy
r :- :- |
Sli
That )
2. As I came to the town of Sligo —
(Weep my heart, just like the day ! )
The rain came down like ocean spray —
Och ! why on earth diA I go!
307
The little girl I hoped to meet
I could not see on lane or street ;
My heart and soul were drenched complete
At noon in the town of Sligo !
3. As I roved through the town of Sligo — •
(Smile my heart, just like the day !)
The sun let fall a sudden ray,
Like wink from Mat Mulleigue O !
And there, just at the end of town,
I spied a head with tresses brown — -
My heart shone like a silver crown
On the slippery streets of Sligo !
4. I flew to meet my girl in Sligo
(Sink my heart, just like the day !)
It was her sister cold as clay,
And miserly husband, Poig O !
So with the sun sunk in the west,
And cranes and crows in watery nest,
My heart lay bogged within my breast
That night on the road from Sligo !
P. J. M'CALL.
This is a good specimen of a humorous song from P. J. M'Call's fine
collection — Irish Fireside Songs. The air is playful and pretty.
308
A MESSAGE O'ER THE SEA.
KEY F. Pretty quick — well marked. Air: "An cnuicin
.f,S
The
1 ,,1
fields are fair in
.s
: m .,PI
rin, the
r ,,r :PI .PI )
birds are sing-ing '
r .,d : 1, .t, d Mr :d .,1,
gai - ly, But O, my heart is
s, :l,.d
\vail - ing for
r .,r :m .,m )
one beyond the >
•f,s 1 .,1 :1 .s
sea ; For 'tis
on - ly you, a -
f : PI ,,PI
voor - neen, can
r ,,r :PI .in
stay the silent
\
r .,d
ing, Can
d .,r :d .1,
ease the end-less
S|
mourn -
ing, and
r : PI .,PI >
set sor-row )
burn -
rail.
rail.
1 free.
•1.
0,
r .,r : fe.s 1 1 :
come to me, comej home, lov
1 .8,8
e, o'er the
1 .,ta: 1 .s >
drear-y foam, )
rail.
I8
1 love,
The
1 .,ta: 1 .s
brighter days shall
f
dawn
: PI • .PI
yet for
r .d :l,«s,il|)
you and for >
Id
1 me;
:- .f,s 1 .,1 : 1 .s
My heart is al-ways
f
pray -
: PI .,PI
ing, my
r ,,r :n .,m >
lips are always )
r .,d
say -
ing " Groc
d .,r :d .,1,
send you safe to
•l
• J. | *)v*
rin, a-
r : PI .,ni >
voor - neen, Ma.-/
1 1 chree!" ||
809
2. Since we parted, 'sthoreen, that evening in the bohereen,
My days have all been lonely, and sad for want of you ;
The songs that used to cheer me, when world- worn and weary,
Come only in my dreaming, like a rose 'mid the rue.
O, come to me, come home, love, o'er the dreary foam, love,
The brighter days shall dawn yet for you and for me ;
My heart is always praying, my lips are always saying,
" God send you safe to Erin, A voorneen Machree ! "
3. The birds are calling sweetly, the winds are bearing fleetly
A message o'er the sea-waves to you, A s^At), from me :
To tell of hopes unfading, of joys that we'll be sharing,
Of love that lives 1 tieijvmn, and dear days to be.
O, come to me, come home, love, o'er the dreary foam, love,
The brighter days shall dawn yet for you and for me ;
My heart is always praying, my lips are always saying,
" God send you safe to Erin, A voorneen Machree ! "
BRIAN O'HiGGiNS.
This fine air is well known all over the country, and was always a
popular one amongst the people. This traditional version has a smooth,
easy, swinging movement which makes it easy to sing and pleasant to
listen to. The words are worthy of it and will command popularity.
They are taken from the author's At the Hill o' the Road.
310
MAUREED BAWN.
KEY C. Animated. Air : " The Old Astrologer."
:m .f Is .s :s .f | s .ro :d .,d'
{•••Li i
( My |w
lid heart's love, my woodland dove, The
d1 .t : s .m
tender and the true
rue, >
:m .f |s .s :s .f |s .1 : t .s
side n blue stream tide, That
( :m .f I s .s : s
( She [dwells be - si-.
<: .s Is .f :n' .r1 | d1
( Thro' |ev' - ry ch-mge her love'
.t :s .,
love's the same,
s .d1 :d' .d' |d'
bo unds thro1 wild Glen - rua
s .f ' : m1 .d1 | r
long bright summer dawn
f
:,}
.s Id1 .d1 :d' .t |d' .,r' :n« .d1
A |gen-tle flame,— and O, her name Is
{'' '"?
s .s :s .f |s .1 :t .s
joy, that on her paths I came, My
t .s
love-ly
:f .m |f
Mau-reed Sawn
>
, )
s .d1 :d« ,d' Id1
love - ly Mau-reed Bawn.
2. When winter hoar comes freezing o'er
The mountains wild and grey,
Her neck is white as snow-wreaths bright
Upon thy crags, Knockea ;
Her lips are red as roses sweet
On Darra's flowery lawn ;
Her fairy feet are light and fleet,
My gentle Maureed Bawn ;
And O, her steps I love to meet,
My own dear Maureed Bawn !
3. When silence creeps o'er Houra's steeps,
As blue eve ends its reign,
Her long locks' fold is like the gold
That gleams o'er sky and main.
311
My heart's dark sorrow fled away
Like night before the dawn,
When one spring day I went astray,
And met my Maureed Bawn,
And felt her blue eyes' witching ray,
My lovely Maureed Bawn.
4. One summer noon, to hear the tune
Of wild birds in the wood,
Where murmuring streams flashed back the beams,
All rapt in bliss I stood ;
The birds sang from the fairy moat,
From greenwood, brake, and lawn ;
But never throat could chant a note
So sweet as Maureed Bawn,
As through the vales her wild songs float,
My lovely Maureed Bawn.
5. O, would that we for love could flee
To some far valley green,
Where never more by rock, or shore,
Dark sorrow could be seen.
I know a valley, wildly fair,
From strife far, far withdrawn ;
And ever there the loving air
Of gentle Maureed Bawn
Would keep this fond heart free from care,
My lovely Maureed Bawn.
ROBEET DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
This is a lively, catching song which ought soon to become a favourite
on concert platforms. I am indebted to Dr. Joyce's collection — Ancient
Irish Music — for the air.
312
THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF
KEY Eb. Air : " The Coolin."
: d t m t s
:s .l,t d1 :d' : r1
Tho' the last glimpse of
d1 ,,t : d1,!*1.!']1 : r1 .,d'
.,t d' :n
E - rin
d1 :t
sor - row I
1 :- .t.d'ir'.d'.t.l
see,
s : m .s
ev - - er thou
t,l .s ,f : m .,d : r -,d
art shall
d
E - rin to
quicker cres.
!ni .,r : d .,r : ni .,fe
mo.
s ,fe :s .,1
ex - ile thy
bo - som
d1 :t
still be my
1 : - .t ,d' J r'.d'.t ,1
home
s : m ,s
eyes make my
dim. rail.
t,l.s,f:n .,d :r .,d
cli - mate
d :-
e - ver we 1
roam.
with
dim.
Yet wher-
: d1 .s
seem
P
:s .,f
t
shall
dim.
li
I :J '1? I
shall >
And thine
d1 .s
wher -
2. To the gloom of some desert, or cold rocky shore,
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more,
I will fly with my Coolin, and think the rough wind
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind :
3. And I'll gaze on thy gold hair, as graceful it wreathes,
And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes ;
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.
THOMAS MOORE.
313
MA VANNACHT LATH (IT1O beAtltlACU
£EY
E.
Air : " The Eagle
s Whistle."
,d
A -
m ,m : s,m . r,d
long the ways that
PI
you
.m
have
:Sjn.p,d
gone, My
PI .r : r
thoughts arc al
.m,d)
- ways)
m
go
.r
i F .PI jd
ing; The
PI .in
love - light
in
your
m ,PI
eyes that
: s^i .r ,d )
shone In )
1,
all
.d : d .,r
my dreams is
i, .d
:d
ing.
To
you in
ev'
• s,m i
-ry f
glow
-
s,r
1 .S ,
i1 : s .PI ,r
s .d1
heart is
: S,PI
ev -
.r,d
er
ni .r
turn
:r
ing,
,i»i,d ^
One \
thoughtless throng, My
Is
5 .1 ,
t : 1 .s ,m
S,P1 .
s,d'
: s
.m,r
m
.d',1
: s,m
.r.d )
prayer I pray, the ' whole day
long,
"Ma
van-nacht lath, a >
i,
.d
:d ,,||
neen ! "l|
voor -
| M
( pra.^
2. Asthore Machree ! my light of life !
When other lights are paling,
My comrade in the stress and strife,
My love, my friend, unfailing ;
O, may God grant that soon I'll sco
The hour of your returning,
And, till that time, where'er you be —
Ma vannacht lath, a vourneen !
BRIAN O'HiGoura.
This sweet simple song is taken by permission from the author's little
book, At the Hill o' the Road, published by M. H. Gill & Son. Tho air is
said to have been the marching tune of the (TDonovan's of the County
Limerick — chiefs of the territory lying west of the River Maig. The
legend tells us that the tune is the one with which the eagle whistles his
young to rest. Words and air match admirably, and make a very pretty
song.
314
THE GREEN LINNET.
KEY G. tilowly and feelingly. Air : " FA^TA bj\eA§ AC^AC AH ceoiV
young
J " S|<l |<l| U .)!* I Pi •; t) I II* if VI * ll •*8|
K -LJ • !_ ' I ' ' '
( Cu - ri-i os - it - v led a voung
fit, :s,.t, | 1, :S|.,s,
( I view the gay banks of th<
S|.t, : r ,m | f : s .,d
na - tive of E - rin To
B|
Rhine,
There an )
Where
d .,r : m ,,t, | r .,t, : 1, .,s, 1 s, .t, : r .n | f .s : - ,d
em - press he saw, and the I robe she was wearing All
.t
- ver with dia - monds did
shine ;
:r
No
jlrji
<l god
II
II
il
£1 : s .,s | s .m : r .,t, r .m : s ,,s | s :S|«l,<t,
god - dess in splen - dour was ev - er yet seen To
sl*l| : sl "sl I sl
mild and se - rene, In softf
S| .t| :r .,ro | f,s,- :- .d >
.r :r .,
d .r : m ,,m
e - qualthis fair maid so
d .r :m .,t, | r Mtt : 1, .s,
mur - murs she cried, " O my
t, :s, .t, |T, :s, .s. Is,
Boney, will I ne'er see you more ?
Lin - net so green, Sweet )
2. " The cold frosty Alps you freely passed over,
Which nature had placed in your way :
At Marengo Bellona around you did hover;
All Paris rejoiced the next Hay.
315
It grieved me the hardships that you did undergo,
The mountains you traversed all covered with snow,
And the balance of power your courage laid low :
Sweet Boney, will I ne'er see you more ? "
3. " The crowned heads of Europe they were in great splendour,
And swore they would have you submit ;
But the goddess of freedom soon made them surrender,
And lowered their standards to your wit.
Old Frederick's colours to France he did bring ;
His offspring found shelter under your wing ;
That year at Vienna you sweetly did sing :
Sweet Boney, will I ne'er see you more ?
4. "What numbers of men there were eager to slay you !
Their malice you viewed with a smile ;
Their gold through all Europe was found to betray you ;
They joined with the Mamelukes on the Nile.
Like ravenous vultures their vile passions did burn ;
The orphans they slew and caused widows to mourn ;
But my Linnet is gone, and he ne'er will return :
Sweet Boney, will I ne'er see you more ?
6. " I ranged through the deserts of wild Abyssinia,
And could yet find no cure for my pain ;
I will go and inquire at the isle of St. Helena,
But soft murmurs whisper ' 'Tis vain ' !
Come, tell me, ye critics, come tell me in time,
What nations I'll rove my green Linnet to find ;
Was he slain at Waterloo, in Spain, or on the Rhine ?
No, he's dead on St. Helena's bleak shore."
Nearly a hundred years ago this ballad was very popular in Munster,
where Bonaparte was a great favourite. I give it as a good specimen of
old street ballads and for the sake of the air, which is extremely swoet
and tender. I got this version of the air in West Cork.
316
SWEET GLENGARIFF'S WATER.
KEY D. Pleasantly.
.sll :
- :1 |s :-
:1 f :-
:r |d :-
:d >
Vhcrelwild
fowl swim
up- on
the lake
At ;
r :
:r |d :t,
:d
r :-
:- If :-
: s ^
morn
ing's ear
ly
Shi -
- ning,
I'm >
1 =-
:1 |s :-
:1
f :-
:r |d :-
:d >
sure,
I'm sure
my
heart
will break
With)
r :-
:r |d :t,
:d
r :-
:- |r :-
: ^' I
sad -
ness and
re -
pin -
• ing,
As \
r :-
:n |f :-
:s
1 :-
:s |f :-
:s )
y
I
went out
one
morn
ing sweet,
I }
1 :-
:r' | r1 :ro"
:d'
r1 :-
:- H :-
:d' )
met
a farm -
er's
daugh -
- ter
With)
r1 :-
:1 |s :-
; I
f :-
:r |d :-
: d >
gown
of blue
and
milk -
white feet,
By \
r :-
:r |d :t.
• d
r :-
:- |r :-
sweet
Glen - gar
iff's
wa
- ter.
2. Her jet-black locks with wavy shine
Fell sweetly on her shoulder,
And, oh ! they make my heart repine
Till I again behold her ;
She smiled and passed me strangely by,
Though fondly I besought her ;
And long I'll rue her laughing eye
By sweet Glengariff's water.
3. Where wild-fowl swim upon the lake
At morning's early splendour,
Each day my lonely path I'll take,
With thoughts full sad and tender ;
I'll greet my love, and sure she'll stay
To hear the tale I've brought her — -
To marry me this merry May
By sweet Glengariff's water.
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE,
M.D.
317
FADED HOPES.
KEY F. Fairly
Quick.
Air: "
The Foggy Dew."
f:li .t,
d
:d .r
In
:d! .t I
:s .in
|r
\ A -
roon !
A -
roon
the
hopes
and
dreams
('A .r |in .r
:ro .d
H,.d
:t, .r
d
:d
Id
( of
by -
gone
days
are
end
- ed
lio\v ;
<:1, «t,
d
:d .r
In
:d' .t
1
: s .in
1 r )
\ And
stand
- ing
where
no
love
- light
gleams,
( :d .r
in .r
: in .d
Hi -d
:t,.r
d
:d
Id
( Be -
neath
my
grief
i
mock
- ly
bow.
<:1 .t
d1
:d'.t
H
:t .d1
r1 .d1
:t .1
Is )
1 Of
all
my
love,
but
God
a -
bovo j
(:m .se
1
:- .t
Id1 .t
: 1 .se
1
: -
1- j
( And
I
shall e
- ver
know,
]
P
5:1. .t,
d
:d .r
|m
:d' .t
1
: s .m
|r t
( 'Till
joys
a
rise
for
wea
- ry
eyes, )
5 : d .r in .r
: in ,d
Hi -d
:t, .r
d
:d
Id
< Be -
yond
the
skies,
a
voor
- neon
0! i
2. Aroon ! Aroon ! when thoughts retrace
The olden ways, the tears will start,
And in the throng a smiling face
May often hide an aching heart ;
But I shall pray, by night and day,
God keep you free from woe
Till joys arise for weary eyes,
Beyond the skies, a voorneen 0 !
BRIAN O'HIGGINS.
318
TWILIGHT ON A TIPPERARY HILLSIDE.
KKY C.
:m .s
Twasa
1 : 1 1 1 :- ,m,m|s :m .r | d
:-.r >
And )
balm - y eve in the] sweet Spring time,
r
1 up
: r .PI | r : r
on the moun - tain
r :- 1-
side
;m .m >
Not a )
S
mur
: - .m | s : 1 .d1
mur rose o'er the
r1 : r1 | r1 : m1 .r1 )
ho - ly calm, Save the >
d'
splash
:-.!,! IB : - .1
of the An - ner
d1 :- | - :m .m )
tide ; And the >
S
lone
: - .m |s : 1 .d1
ly wail of a
rl . rl j rl
wist - ful maid,
rni'.r1 )
Who >
id'
sat
:- .1,1 |s :- ,1
in the ev' - ning's
d' :- |-
glow,
: ,t)
And}
1 : 1 .1 | 1 : - .n,n
| poured from the depths of her
s : m .r | d
sor - rowing soul,
:-.r )
One >
In
long
: r .m | r : r
lone tale of
r :- 1-
woe.
[
2. " Now Summer may come with its verdant blooms,
And the forest's deep echoes ring
With the blackbird's note and the cuckoo's call,
And the flowers redundant spring ;
The apple-tree blossoms may peep from the glade,
To meet the first kiss of day;
But the sorrow now camped in my aching breast.
Shall nevermore pass away.
319
3. " Cold, cold as the snows on an Alpine height,
And sad as the wild wind's moan,
And dark as the moon of the coal-black night,
This weary heart has grown ;
I had no hopes in the wide, wide world
But all that around him clung;
I joyed to roam round the fairy raths,
And the hamlets of which he sung.
4. " And to think and think thro' the long dark night
Of the maid of the Aimer's stream —
Of Tipperary's forests and breezy hills,
Or whate'er his fancy's theme.
Ah ! now I see nought in my midnight dreams,
But shackles his dungeon round,
And the felon's cords in one hundred coils
All over his white limbs wound.
6. " Ah ! my heart I know, 'neath this weight of woe,
Will soon forget to beat ;
And my spirit will droop like a faded flower,
In the midst of the Summer heat ;
This shadowy form, once light and warm,
Shall soon in the churchyard sleep;
And the winds shall rave 'round my early grave,
And the willow trees o'er it weep.
6. " Adieu ! adieu ! and a fond farewell
To all ye woods and streams,
Which Charles sang in the sweeting strains,
And saw in the brightest dreams ;
Some wandering minstrel yet may come,
With his harp in the eventide,
And tell of how Charles loved his land,
And how Annie, his sister, died ! "
JOHN LOCKE.
Written to commemorate the death of Miss Annie Kickham. The
air is a very distinctive Irish air in the " Ray " mode. It has all the
marks of a very old air — two-strain, gapped scale, and ending in the
three-fold repetition of " Ray." It has not the " fah " note, whilst the
note " t " occurs only once, and that in a passing, very rapid and un-
accentuated way. I am indebted for the air to UotnAf A$AJ* (Ashe),
the Gaelic League Delegate to the United States in 1913. He is a fine
exponent of Irish music, particularly Kerry songs.
320
FAIR KATE OF GLENANNER.
A. Sloiu and tender.
( • l|»tt|| d : t , : 1 1 1 1 1 : s i :
( The I sun - light is sleep-ing
on
s, : s
Com- ragh's wild mountain,
f:l,.,tj!d :t| :1| 1 1, :m : lj.sM :- :1|.1||1| : 1|
7. And I gay shine the blossoms by j din - gle and fountain ;
5:l±,t,
( Sweet
d.y.d .r : m .fe | s : m : r
mur-murs the streams where the
m .r :
soft breez-es fan her,
(:l,..t ;d :r .d; t|.lt| t\ :ni : l|.s,
1 And j bright at my side sits fair
Kate
of Glen-an-nor.
2. The boughs of the elms in the cool breeze are swaying
With the clear waves beneath towards the wide ocean playing,
And the tall ferns wave like a green sunlit banner,
While I whisper my love to fair Kate of Glenanner.
3. She smiles as she points at the sunny wave near mo,
And I wish for a boat with its white sail to bear mo
From that spot, from the stream where the grey arches span her,
To some green isle of love with fair Kate of Glenanner.
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
This is a sweet, tender bit of music. It suits the above song whirl i
appeared in the first edition of the author's songs and ballads, publishc
in Boston about sixty years ago,
321
(: rn.se
(~A~
IP
( I come
WELCOME HOME TO YOU.
Andante.
hun - dred thou-sand
Air : "Lough Sheeling.'
s : m : d r,m
wel-comes, and 'tis
t'mo for you
From the
1 :_
far land of the
coun - try ard your
home.
s :m :d .d >
for - eigner, to your)
:ni .r Id :d .r :ro .d >
Oh ! I long as we are f
11
11
II
r
part
1
nev
i,
day.
:d
-ed,
:1 .t
- er
: d <r «ni
ev - er
passed a
1!
f
s'nce
S
dream
:f
you
:m
-IfSS
went
:d
night,
.r
a -
.d
or
ro
way,
2. Do you think I would reproach you with tho sorrows that I bore J
Sure the sorrow is all over, now I have you here once more —
And there's nothing but the gladness and the love within my heart,
And the hope, so sweot and certain, that again we'll never part.
3. You'll never part me, darling — there's a promise in your eye ;
T may tend you while I'm living — you will watch mo when Id'e;
And "if death but k:ndly Jf ad me to the blessed home on high,
What a hundred thousand welcomes shall await you in the sky !
MARY.
322
KEY F.
HERSELF AND MYSELF.
Air : " The Seasons."
( : m.f
('Twas be
s : f : s | in : d : m
-yond at Ma - cred-din, at
s :f
|r
>
Ow - en Doyle's wed-ding , The>
II
:t, :d |r :d :r
boys got the pair of us
in : d : in
out for a
r : - .m:f
reel. Says
s : f : s | in :d :m is : f :in | r : t, : S| )
It "Boys, ex - cuse us." Says'they, "Don't re - fuse us." "I'll*
:d
: in : f PI : s : PI | d : -
play nice an' ai - sy," says r Lar - ry O'Neill.
S.f>
So f
m : f : m | r : PI : f in : s : f I in : r : d.in >
! off we went trip - pin' it,
up and down step - pin' it — Her-)
!i
in : f : in | r : in : f
self and My - self on the
in : s
back of
:- :^f>
-e; Till f
d :- :s.f
doore
PI : f : PI
: in : f
Mol - ly — God bless her !— fell
d1 : s : in | r : in ; f
I tumbled o - vcr a
PI : f : in | r : in : f
self to My - self, " We're as
in : s : f | in : r : d >
in - to the dresser, An' >
CHORUS
in : s : in | d : - !' s .f
child on the flocre.
it
in
: f I PIT : d : s.f
good as thtbfsto
IT : d : s.l )
' them, " Says My-)
323
in :f
self to
in :f
self to
: in | r
Herself,
:n :f
' Shure we're
in :s :m |d :- :s.f)
bet - ter than gold." Says ll*-r-i
i»i | r : PI : f
My - self, " We're as
n : s : f | m.r : d
young as the re«to'
:s.f
: :s.?
them." SajiMy)
in :f :in |r :m :f Is :1 :t |d' :- I!
self to Her -self, " Troth, we'll! nev - er grow old."
2. As down the lane goin', I felt my heart growin'
As young as it was forty-five years ago.
'Twas here in the boreen I first kissed my stoireen — •
A sweet little colleen with skin like the snow.
I looked at my woman — a song she was hummin'
As old as the hills, so I gave her a pogue —
'Twas like our old courtin', half sarious, half sportin',
When Molly was young, an' when hoops were in vogue.
When she'd say to Myself, " You can coort with the best o' them."
When I'd say to Herself, " Sure I'm betther than gold."
When she'd say to Myself, " You're as wild as the rest o' them."
And I'd say to Herself, " Troth, I'm time enough old."
P. J. McCALL.
In sending mo this air Mr. McCall informed me that he took it down
from the singing of a Wexford labourer over 30 years ago. It should be-
come very popular. The song, like many of the author's, is delightfully
racy of the soil.
324
SONG OF SARSFIELD'S TROOPER.
KEY F. — Bold. Air : " Ye Natives of this Nation."
.s,m| d .d : d .d | d .,r : m .f
The night fell dark on Limerick and
f .,f :f .f |n .s :f .m
'or the foe in am - bush we
d : d .d | d .,r : in .f
patient - ly we wait - ed to
f .s : 1 .f | m .s : m ,d
no-ble Sarsfield at our head be
.,l |s
s .s
all the land was still
As )
m .,r : r .r | ms : PI .r j
lay be - side the hill ; Long im-j
:- .,n )
WTith >
: 1s \
From»
s .s :d' .1 |s
rush up - on our prey,
f .r :d ,t, |d
fore the break of day.
:s .s
.,1 |1 .s :s .,s |s
: - .t
(.Dublin came the foe - man, withj deadly warlike store — Huge
rid1 .t : 1 .s |m_._s :f -m |r ,d :r in | ms.,f :m .r
('guns with tons of pow - der andkhund' ring balls 50
d .d :d .d |d .,r : m .f I s .s :d' .1 |s
little was he dream - ing thati there to work his bale
We'd )
Jlf .s : 1 .f |n -s :n .d f .r :d .t, |d :- .11
\come with our com • maiulcr bold frosi dark Sliav Felim's Vale.
At the lonely hour of midnight each man leaped on his steed,
Down moor and vale to Cullen we dashed with lightning speed ;
Then eagerly we galloped to Ballyneety's wall,
Where lay our foe's encampment with guns and stores and all.
825
" Give the word ! " — " The word is Sarsfield and Sarsfield is the man :
And here I am ! " our General cried, as down on them we ran ;
Then God he cleared the firmament, the moon and stars gave light,
And for the battle of the Boyne we had revenge that night.
3. When the convoy all were scattered we took their mighty store,
Pontoons and carts and powder casks and cannons by the score ;
And hastily with eager hands we piled them up on high,
Laid down the fuse — applied the match — and blew them to the sky !
How pleasant laughed our General as fast we rode away ;
And many a health we drank to him in Limerick next day ;
Here's another health to Sarsfield, who in that midnight hour,
Destroyed the foe's artillery by Ballyneety's tower.
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
This is a fine, bold air, and, needless to say, a grand song, whoso subject
matter will fire the blood of everyone who deserves the name of Irishman
and is proud of the deeds of Sarsfield. I am indebted to Dr. Joyce's
collection of Irish Folk Music for the air.
326
LITTLE MARY CASSIDY.
KEY C. Moderate.
Air : " An
6|MiAti."
( Oh, 'tis
d1 .r1 : d1 .t | 1 ,n : in .r
lit - tie Ma-ry Cas-si - dy's the
< :m .s
( ry, T
s i 1 .d1 : t .s | 1 .m : in .r
The rai-son that I am not now the
( :s< 1 <t
( Oh, she
( : in .s
( ry, Sure
<:r .r
(, Trav-el
,:«'.f
^ Fairer
( ' S 1 1 < t
I OhTl'd
: m .s
dy Than
d1 .r1 : d1 .t | l_.m_ : in .r
bates the beau- ties all that we
in .d : 1,
cause of all my mis - e
in ,m : 1 .,1 | 1
boy I used to bo ;
in .d : 1, ,t| I d .r
read a- bout in his
.t, Id .r >
mv mis - e- J
.r >
is - to-)
1 .d1 :t' .s | 1 .in
half the coun - try side
in <s :1 .t |d'
Ire-land up and down - hill,
m .r
is as
l<t<d'
in .d : 1, .t, |d
lost for her as me.
r1 .d1 : 1 .t |d' .r1
vil-lage, vale and
q* .r >
town — )
r1 .t : d1 .,1 |s .m : in .r m -,1 : 1 .,1 I 1
than the Col-hen Dhoun you'll be look-ing for in vain
>
)
d1 .r1 : d1 .t | 1 .m : in .r
ra-ther live in pov-er - ty with
1 .d1 : t .s | 1 .in : m .r
em - per - or with -out her be o'er
in .d : 1| .ti | d .r
lit-tle Ma - ry Cas - si
m .d : 1, .t, |d
Ger-ma-ny, or Spain.
2. 'Twas at the dance at Darmody's that first I caught a sight of her.,
And heard her sing the •Opa.ijpiedti t)onn, till the tears came in my eyes,
And ever since that blessed hour I'm dreaming day and night of her ;
The divil a wink of sleep at all I got from bed to rise.
327
Checks like the rose in June, song like the lark in tuno,
Working-, resting, night or noon, she never leaves my mind •
Oh, till sing-ing by my cabin fire sits little Mary Cassidy,
'Tis little aise or happiness I'm sure I'll over find.
.3. What is wealth, what is fame, what is all that people tight about,
To a kind word from her lips or a love-glance from her eye ?
Oh, though troubles throng my breast, sure they'd soon go to the right
about,
If I thought the curly head of her would be resting there by-an'-byo.
Take all I own to-day — kith, kin, and care away,
Ship them across the say, or to the frozen zone ;
Lave me an orphan bare — but lave me Mary Cassidy,
I never would feel lonely with the two of us alone.
F. A. FAHY.
This version of the air is that taken down from Paddy Conneely, tho
famous Galway piper. It is found in the Forde collection and is pro-
nounced by Dr. Joyce to be finest of all tho versions. With Frank
tFahy'a words it makes a beautiful song.
328
BEAUTIFUL IRELAND.
KEY G. Lightly.
P>
fou may
m :r :d |d :1, :d |d :1,
speak of the land where the toil - er
• W |
Can
}
build
:r
up
:d
a
Id :
free
i.
hap -
:d
py
|r :-
home,
:r .r
The
}
m
:r
:d
Id :
1,
:d
|d :r
:m .in
I
land
ne -
ver
cursed
by
the
spoil - er,
>
II.
:m
ver
:r
the
|r :
white
d
o
: *l
cean
Is, :-
foam.
II Oh,
}
m
dear
: s
- est
: s
to
Is :
me
1
is
: s
my
| s : in
sire - land
:d
The
}
m
:s
:s
11 :
S
:m
|r :-
:r
,
em -
e
raid
gem
of
the
sea,
My
I
beau
: s
- ti -
: s
ful,
Is :
beau -
1
ti -
:s
fui
I s :m
Ire - land,
:d
Oh!
}
f :n
would, would
:r
that
|r :
Ire -
d
land
: *i
was
Is, :-
free.
|
CHORUS.
I"1
1 Beau
:r
- ti -
:d
fui,
Id :
beau -
1.
ti -
:d
ful
Id :1,
Ire - land,
My
\
il
329
:d |d :1, ;d |r :-
beats on - ly for thee,
m :r :d |d :1, :d |d :r :m
Beau - ti - ful, beau - ti - ful Ire - land, Oh !
f :m :r |r :d : 1, | s, :-
will, will it ev - er be free ?
2. Ah, where is the land can compare her ?
Oh ! show me her lakes or her strands,
You may travel the world thro' and show me
A more beauteous and lovelier land.
Oh ! dearest to me is my sireland
The emerald gem of the sea ;
I'll cling to my home in old Ireland,
Oh ! would, would that Ireland was froc !
CHORUS.
3. They say that they're going to free her
Although her heart it lies low,
Ah, see how her enemies greet her,
Run down and oppressed by her foe.
My beautiful, beautiful Ireland,
My heart it beats only for thee,
I'll cling to my home in old Ireland,
And wish and pray Ireland were free !
CHORUS.
I link this song with the pretty, pleasant air above, which is well-known.
It will be found to be a very nice school song.
KEY D. Lively.
330
AN OLD IRISH JIG.
Air : " Drops of Brandy."
f : .s
s :
s :
in | in
:d
; [I]
ii-i
:d
: in >
< My
bless -
ing
be on you, old 15
- rin,
My >
<
*
S
: s
:m
>
:d
:m
If
:-
r \
own
land
of
fro -
lie
and
fun,
For }
{
mf s j _
all sorts
of
mirth
d
and
:m
di -
In
ver -
:d
sion
in )
Your >
flf
( | like
:m
is
:f
not
|r
un
: in -in | f : -
der the sun
in .r i
Bo- >
CHORUS : — Then a
x
d
he -
mia
: s
may
Id' :
boast
8
of
her
Id1
pol -
:s
ka,
HI )
And >
fig
for
your
new -
fash -
ioned
wait -
zes,
Ira-
(
d
:in
:s
Id1 :
S
:m
If
. _
r >
}
Spain
of
her
wait -
zes
talk
big,
Och, f
port
- ed
from
Spain
and
from
France,
And a
I
d
sure
:m
they
: s
are
no -
• s
thing
:m
but
limp -
:s
ing
' '^ )
Com- V
fig
for
the
thing
called the
pol -
ka,
Our
f
f
:m
:f
|r
§ —
:m .in
If
• —
:'-l
(
pared
to
an
old
Irish
jig.
I
own
I -
rish
jig
we will
dance.
331
2. I've heard how the jig came in fashion,
And believe that the story is true,
By Adam and Eve 'twas invented,
The reason was — partners were fo\v.
And though they could both dance the polka,
Eve thought that it was not quite chaste,
Sho preferred our old jig to bo dancing,
And faith I approve of her taste.
CHORUS.
3. The light-hearted daughters of Erin,
Like the wild mountain deer, they can bound,
Their feet never touch the Green Island
But music is struck from the ground.
And oft in the glens and green meadows,
The old jig they dance with such grace,
That even the daisies they tread on,
Look up with delight in their face.
CHORUS.
4. An old Irish jig, too, was danced by
Kings and by great men of yore, — •
King O'Toole, himself, could well foot it
To a tune they call Rory O'More.
And oft in the great hall of Tara,
Our famous King Brian Boru,
Danced an old Irish jig with his nobles,
And played his own harp to them, too.
CHORUS.
JAMES McKcowN.
This air and the song are as light-hearted as the daughters of Erin.
It will be heard at many a concert and fireside. The " Kerry dances "
won't be in it with it. I hope that between them they'll give a bad time
to the polkas !
KEY F. Lively.
332
FAR AWAY.
Air : " Up the Heathery Mountain.'*
:r r :- : r 1 r : d : r
f :- :- |f :- :s )
ig riv - er The >
d :- :- |- :- :d >
blow; The >
f :- :r |f :- :s >
A - long the wind - ir
1 :- :s |f :- :r
win - try tern - pests
r :- :r |r :d :r
sere leaves glance and
1 :- :s |f :- :r
in the wave be -
1 :- :r' | r1 :- :d'
sun is red - ly
quiv er With- )
r :- :- |- :- :^>
low ; The >
sink - ing Be- )
s :- :1 |f :- :r d :-
yond the moun - tains grey,
(I
:r
And
r
am
r
er
f :-
think-
If :-
ing
1 s- :s |f :-
her that's far
r :
way.
333
2. Her eyes are like the violets
In some green summer dell ;
The rose of Lene's bright islets
Her lips can ne'er excel — •
That wild lake of the mountain,
Its depth no man can say ;
My love's as deep a fountain
For her that's far away.
Oh ! were I like the Earls
That reigned o'er Desmond's towers,
Her hair should shine with pearls
Instead of fading flowers,
And robes of queenly splendour
Her fair form should array,
My love's so true and tender
"For her that's far away.
4. Oh ! would you see her golden
Bright looks and form so fine,
You'd think some goddess olden
Had witched those eyes of thine ;
And while the sun is sinking,
I'm spell-bound day by day,
For oh ! I'm ever thinking
Of her that's far away.
HUBERT DVVYER JOYCE, M.D.
334
KEY C.
O'NEILL'S VOW.*
Air : " The Boyne Water."
: r
How
f
cir •
1
first
f
plight
still
1
per
d1
Sax -
hand
1 :
man -
: m .r
1 .,t |l
year, in
:f .m
S
fleet
r :
black
s .f :
:m |d
ca - reer,
ened strand,
m .r | d
: r .ni )
Has f
:s ,
Since )
: r .n )
y a
|1 .S
cled
;1 .t
that
: m .r
o'er
Id'
VOW,
|1 .s
its
rta.l
for -
:f .m
got -
na
r1 :
those
r1 :
hour
s .f :
ten now,
r |p
tive land ?
- .d1 1 1
dark times
- .d1 |1
by hour,
s .m | d
Was \
s \
And \
: s >
Are J
* \
And >
r .m >
- ed
: 1 .d1
to our
I r1 : - .m1
crimes of
| r1 .d1 : r1 .m1
the
: 1 .r1
• pe
on
' PI .r
- tra
fraud,
| 1 .S
- ted
:1
by
:f .m
God
r :
Sax -
un - awed,
r |r
on power !
Goes (
I
in
hand
with
* " Quamdiu vita adcrit, ipsos impugnabimus pro nostri juris defen-
sione." — Letter of Domknal O'Neill to Pope John XXII. (ob. 1334). " So
long as we shall live, we will fight them in defence of our rights."
335
2. This lesson stern thoifst loft to learn,
Oft baffled, but unyielding King,
45 In peace or strife, in death or life,
The Saxon bears a poison'd sting.
Then weal or woe, strike home the blow,
And shun at least the coward's fate,
And far on high your destiny
Shall rank with stars of loftiest state.
3. Domhnal O'Neill swears on his steel
While throbs one pulse, or heaves one breath,
To meet thy hand with whetted brand,
Invading brigand to the death.
Nor length of years, nor blood, nor tears,
Defeat, . disaster, nor distress,
Shall mar the word, pledged on the sword
He clutches for the merciless."
MICHAEL DOHENY.
This, and another song of Doheny's. " A Cuishlo Gal Machroe," stamp
him as a first-class song-writer. The author of The Felon's Track got
his poetic inspiration, not in well-furnished drawing-rooms, b»t amidst
Glengariff's wild and splendid mountain scenery, where he was " on his
keep," after the failure of the Rebellion in 1848.
335
ASTHORE MACHREE.
KEY Q. Pretty quick. Air: " bjxuAc HA CA|\]AAije b^ine."
{":.
1 1 : - : 1 , | d-r : - : m
sthore Ma - chree ! when
r :t, :1, |s, : 1, : t,
you're far a - way From the
I
d :t, :1, |s, :n, :s.
fid :t, :1,
( I home that you'll
II
be
leav
man - y
time, thro1 the
night and the day, That your
i :- sii )
ing ; 'Tis j
s
: t
d : t| : 1| | S| : ni| : s(
heart will be sore - ly
1, :- :t, |d :r :m
stran - ger's land may be
II
(11, :1, :.Mj
( I rich in its
f :- :f
pine, I
griev - - mg.
rr\
s :1 :- |1,
bright and fair,
The
And)
: r : in
trea - sures
I : PI : PI
1 :- :- |s :- :!.!>
gold - en ; But you'll}
r ;t, :1, I s,
know, for the | long a - go
, And the >
d : t| : 1| | 8| : Pi| : S|
love that was ne - ver
1, :- :- |1,
old - - en.
2. Asthore Machree ! in the stranger's land
There is plenty of wealth and wailing ;
Where gems adorn the great and grand,
There are faces with hunger paling.
837
When the road is toilsome and hard to tread,
When the lights of their cities blind you ;
O, turn, Asthore, to the East'rn shore,
And the ones that you leave behind you.
3. Asthore Machree ! when the evening mist
O'er mountain and sea is falling ;
Then turn away from the throng, and list,
And maybe you'll hear me calling —
For the sound of a voice that I'll sorely miss,
For somebody's quick returning ;
Aroon, aroon, O, come back soon,
To the love that is always burning.
BRIAN O'HIGGINS.
This song is taken, by permission, from The Voice of Banba. I
hope it will turn many an intending emigrant from his or her purpose of
quitting their native land. The version of the air is the traditional one
sent to me by Annie O'Reilly, Professor of Traditional Singing at Ballin-
geary Irish College.
338
OH, COME WITH ME MY IRISH GIRL.
KEY A. Sweetly.
: .s, d :- .r |m :s
Oh, come with me, mj
s, :l,.,t,|d :d
ta, :- .d |s,.f
i : NI -f i I
r I - - rish, girl
d :- 1
sea;
s :- .m |f
bright - est pearl
s, :- 1
s : s .m | f
To f
For >
IB .f )
1 climes be - yond
In :d |m :
1 oh, thou art
I1" :r Id j-1, i
\ my heart's trea -
m :d |m
may re - gret
Im :r |d .,t, :
the
f
the
S, .f,
su -
f
my
s, .f,
In J
: d .r >
:s.f >
na - tive isle,
s, :- 1
riven ;
ta, :d .,t| | s, .f|
And >
ties as yet
d :- .r 1m :
oh, wher - e'er
s, : 1, .,t, | d
be my home,
un -
thy
d
my
But f
:i»i, .f, >
gra - oes smile
d :- 1
heaven.
Shall >
2. And thou wilt soothe me with thy sighs,
Should sickness cloud my brow ;
And bless me with those angel eyes,
Should fate my spirit bow.
And I will cling till death to thee,
In weal, or woe, or peril,
And bless my lot, whate'er it be,
With my sweet Irish girl.
ANONYMOUS.
The above is a beautiful and sweet air. Singers will notice what a
peculiarly tender effect the prolonged and accented note ta lends to the
•first strain of the music.
339
THE SWEET WORDS SAID TO ME,
(For air see previous song, page 338.)
1. Sing on, O darling little bird
Upon that shining spray ;
My heart is singing since I heard
Some sweet, fond words to-day.
Sing gaily on, O best of birds 1
Your glad notes seem to be
The music of the happy words
That late were said to me.
2. Bloom on beneath the summer skies,
O bright and fragrant flower !
Lit by the light of radiant eyes,
So blooms my heart this hour.
Sweet are the perfumed airs that rise
From off your blossomed tree —
As sweet the breath that spoke in sighs
The fond words said to me.
3. O darling bird, the winter hoar
Will hush your merry tune ;
O blooming leaves and fragrant core,
You'll fade and drop too soon.
But joy is mine for evermore —
A life from sorrow free ;
For I shall hear them o'er and o'er —
The sweet words said to me.
T. D. SULLIVAN.
340
KEY G. Lively.
KITTY NEIL.
Air : " Tatther Jack Walsh."
("Ah,
I!
m : r : m | d :_m : d
sweet Kit - ty Neil, rise
t, : s, : 1, | ta, :- :jd.d>
up from that wheel — Your)
: s,
neat lit - tie foot will be
m : r : PI | d : n : d
trip down with me to the
s, :d :d , jms
wear - y with spinning ; Come)
t, :s, :1, | ta, ;- :d.d
syc - a - more tree, Half the
U
il
II
:s, |f, :m, :
s, :d :d |d :d
)
dance is be - gin - ning.|| The)
:m : s
s
full har - vest moon Shines}
- ish is there and the
d : m : s | s : m : d
sun is gone down, but the
f :f :f |m :r :d
sweet-ly and cool in the
PI : r : m | d : m : d
all the air rings with the
lit - tie bird sings in the
2. With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while,
Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing ;
'Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues —
So she couldn't but choose to go <*ff to the dancing.
t«. :d
dew - whi
:r | rm :- :f >
- toned valley ; While >
t,
soft
lov
: 1|
- ing
|ta, :-
things,
:d j
Each)
S, :d
gi'een sha
:d
- ded
Id
al -
:d
ley."
341
And now on the green, the glad groups are seen —
Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosing,
And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil —
Somehow when he asked, she ne'er thought of refusing.
3. Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee,
And with flourish so free sets each couple in motion ;
With a cheer and a bound the lads patter the ground —
The maids move around just like swans on the ocean.
Cheeks bright as the rose — feet light as the doe's,
Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing —
Search the world around, from the sky to the ground,
No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing !
4. Sweet Kate ! who could view your bright eyes of deep blue
Beaming humidly through their daik lashes as mildly, —
Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, rounded form,
Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulse throb wildly ?
Young Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart,
Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet love ;
The sight leaves his eye," as he cries with a sigh,
" Dance light, for my heart it lies under your feet, love."
JOHN F. WALLER, LL.D^
This bright song and air should soon become favourites. The air is a
traditional version, taken down from the singing of Danny Warren of
Toames, near Macioom. In the second and sixth lines of music there is a
grace note, on which should be sung quickly the first syllable of the word
underneath.
342
THE LITTLE RED FOX.
KEY Ep. Lively.
: s .,m
d :
PI 1 8
:s .,s s .]
[ : s .m | s
: s .s
)
The
Little
Red Fox is a | raid
- er sly,
In the
f
d
: m
Is :
n
r :
Id
: s .,s
v
mis -
ty
moon -
light
creep
- ing ;
With a
1
d1 .d1
mor-se]
:d' .d1 |t :
to his taste
- .1
he
s .1 :
hurries
s .m | r
off in haste,
:d .1, ,
While thej-
d .r
:ro .d
|r :
sound -
I
d :
sleep
Id
• ing.
|l " A"
I
farm -
yard's
CHORUS
:— Oh !
d .r
:m .f
Is :
S
s .1 :
s .m | s
; |l) tY
}
duck,"
says
he,
" has
charms
for me,
Like -
)
Lit-tle
Red
Fox,
Red Fox,
Red Fox,
Oh!
d .r
:m .f
Is :
young
ni .d
r :
crow
Id
ing ;
:s .,s
But a
}
wise
a
cock
Lit-tle
Red
Fox,
none bold
er,
Lit tie
id'
| fine
:d' .1
It :
goose
is
s .1 :
most
s .m |r
:d .1,
To a
I
fat
of use,
Red
Fox,
creep -
ing through
the rocks,
With a
d .r
:m .d
|r :
- .r
d :
Id
1
fa -mi
- ly
young
and
grow
ing."
!
fat
goose
o'er
his should
er.
343
2. The Little Red Fox is a family rnan,
By his own fireside reposing,
Till the cry of the hound shows his lair is found —
There's no time left for dozing.
I'm off," says he, " don't wait for me,
There's a long, long road before me,
But home I'll be in time for tea,
When I put this trial o'er me.''
CHORUS —
Oh ! Little Bed Fox, Red Fox, Red For,
Oh ! Little Red Fox, low keeping ;
Little Red Fox, stealing through the rocks,
And the tips of his two ears peeping.
3. The Little Red Fox is a hero bold,
And he rates his foes but meanly,
With a turn, twist and wind, they're left far behind,
And he rests on the hill serenely.
" I like," says he, " the breeze from the sea,
And the view up here is glorious,"
And sweet from below comes the merry " Tally-ho,"
And the hounds' melodious chorus.
• CHORUS —
Oh ! Little Red Fox, Red Fox, Red Fox,
Oh ! Little Red Fox, swift leaping ;
Little Red Fox flying o'er the rocks,
And his brush through the keen air sweeping.
4. The Little Red Fox is a gallant knight,
"When the hour of stress has found him,
He crouches at the feet of the beauty of the meet,
While yelping foes surround him.
" Fair maid," says he, " were it not for thee,
Some sport I'd show them daily,
But my brush I yield to the fairest of the field,
And I die at hor dear feet gaily."
CHORUS —
Oh ! Little Red Fox, Red Fox, Red Fox,
Oh ! Little Red Fox, low lying;
Little Red Fox taken 'mong the rocks,
For the love of two bright eyes dying.
F. A. FAUY,
BOOCHALEEN BAWN.
KEY C.
:d
And
m : -,m : d | s : s : f
where are you go - ing ma
m :-.
|d :- :d.d>
voo - cha-leen vawn. From)
fa
.r : r
ther and mo - ther so
ear - ly at dawn ?
:_s .s )
Och !)
d1 :-.d':
d1 :t
ra - ther run i - die from
Q • - f • m If • • G \
b • »1 . I'l | 1 . ~ . S )
ev' - ning till morn Than >
dark - en their thres-hold ma
ni : -.r : r | r : -
v oo - cha - leen vawn !
2. For there they would tell you, ma voochaleen vaipn,
That the mother whose milk to your heart you have drawn,
And the father who prays for you, evening and dawn,
Can never be heard for you, boochaleen bawn.
3. That the faith we have bled for, from father to son,
Since first by a lie our fair valleys were won,
And which oft in the desert, our knees to the sod,
We kept from them all, for our sons and our God.
4. That this was idolatry, heartless and cold,
And now grown more heartless because it is old ;
And for something that's newer they'd ask you to pawn
The creed of your fathers, ma voochaleen vawn I
5. And now will you go to them, boochaleen bawn,
From father and mother, so early at dawn ?
Och ! the cloud from your mind let it never be drawn,
But cross not their threshold, ma voochaleen vawn I
JOHN BANIM.
345
OVER THE MORNING DEW.
KEY G. Pleasantly. Air: "1f cjuiAg gan peACArn
: .,s
m .d :d .r
m .f :
BIM
• )l 1
1 .f
: s
.m
it
is the sweet-est
hour for love : The
sun is
o'er
the
f .1
: s .,f in .d : d
r
m
.f
:s
,m
eas -tern grove, And; nought is heard
but
coo of
dove
And
CHORUS.
1 .f
: s .m
f
:s
Id
:t, -
B|
wild streams in the
green
- wood
; l|0
-
ver
the
i, .f,
:f,
s, .d : d .r
m
.f
: s .
,m
morn-ing
dew,
0
ver
the
morn-ing
dew,
d .d
:t, .s,
1. -f, :fi
•>1|
B|
•1,
• *i
S|
Come with me young
Grra Ma - chree, Un-
to
the
leaf -
y
d
: d .,||
green -
wood. l|
2. With flowers that bloom so sweetly there
I'll deck thy dress and golden hair,
And thou hast never looked so fair,
As there in that wild greenwood.
CHORUS.
3. There rears the Rath its lonely height,
Where fairies dance at noon of night,
And there my faith I'll fondly plight,
To thee in that wild greenwood.
4. Oh ! fear not here to stay with mo ;
You know me from your infancy;
I'll ask but look of love from thee,
And fond word in the greenwood.
CHORUS.
CHORUS.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D
346
A MOTHER'S LAMENT.
KEY G. With
feeling.
Air : ' ' C A
tin 65 A fcop
»»
\ : S|
PI :
-
: PI .PI
In :•
: r .m
f :-
:n |r :
-
( A voo
- dial Ma-chree,
on the
moun
- tain side,
<:s,.s
r :
-
:r.r
|r :d
:r
PI :f
:PI |r :
_
(You arc
iy
•
ing to
- night —
- but
not
a - lone,
(IS,
PI :
f
: s
Is :-
: m.d
U | I ~~
:1. Hi :
-
( For
round
you are
gathered
the
men
who died,
f:t,.d
s, :
—
:d
|d :r
:n
r :d
:r |d :
_
( And
left
us
lone - Iy,
o -
66ti,
o - ton.
2. Your father fell at our cabin door,
I fled in fear from the brutal Yeos ;
And you were gone with the rest, Asthoro,
Where Eire called you to meet her foes.
3. And you fought — they told me — as heroes fight,
Who feel and know that their Cause is just;
And many a Sasanach pale with fright,
You paid full well for his greed and lust.
4. Sleep well, you're weary, avoorneen O,
Your young heart's blood has not flowed in vain ;
The high and haughty shall yet be low,
The land you loved shall be free again.
6. A voochal Machree when I hear them tell,
Of Yeomen routed and battles won,
When tears are shed for the ones who fell.
'Tis I will be proud of my noble son.
BRIAN O'HIGOINS,
347
LET ERIN REMEMBER.
KEY F. Martially.
ml
l'»l
( Let
d : d .,r | m : m ,,f [ s ; s
E - rin re - mem - ber the] days of
If
old
:«.,f )
Ere her)
(I"
< \ faith
:- .1 |m :d
less sons be -
r :-
trayed
Id
her,
When >
(Id
:d .r |m :m .f
s .s : s
If
:m .f )
1|Ma -
la - chy wore the
col -lar of
gold,
Which he >
(|S
:s .1 |PI :d
r :-
Id
:s .s *
( I won
from the proud in -
va
der ;
When her )
dim.
cjd|
( | kings
:d' |t :1 .s
with stan - dard of
1 :s .m
Is
furl'd
:m .r j
Led the )
green un -
/Id
:r .m |r :d
d :-
Id
: s ,s )
( | Red Branch Knights to
dan
Ere the )
dim.
x—«
P
(Id1
:d' |t :1 -s
1 :s .PI
Is
:m .r ^
( | em' -
raid gem of the
west - ern
world
Was )
jld
: r .m | r : d .m
r :-
id
M
( 1 set
in the crown of a
stran
ger.
II
2. On Lough Neagii's banks, as the fisherman strays,
When the clear cold eve's declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining.
Thus shall memory often in dreams sublime
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
And, sighing, look through the waves of time
For the long-faded glories they cover.
THOMAS MOORE.
I remarked in a note elsewhere that this fine air is one of three which
may justly claim to b 3 selected as our Irish National Anthem. It has
a grand, noble, martial swing about it.
348
"FOR GOD AND IRELAND."
KEY C. With spirit. Air : " The Boyne
(
: r
1
: 1 t
Id'
: 1
s :m
Id
1
(
For
thee
we
stand
, o
Na - tive
Land,
<
: r .m
f
: in .r
| 1 .S
• f m
r :- .d
111
i
To
thee
we
pledge
de -
vo
tion :
j
: s
1
:1 .,t
Id1
:ta.l
s .f : in .r
Id
(
Our
love
for
thee
will
ev - er
be
J
: r .in
f
: in .r
|1 ,s
: f .in
r : -
Ir
I
As
bound
- less
as
the
0
cean;
I
: s
For
1
a
:1 .d'
past,
with
r1 : - .d1
voi - ces
11
massed,
ges
CHORUS. —
Then, for -
ward
! for
the hour is
come
i
: s
Have
1
po -
1 r1
| r1 .d1
hymned
: r1 .m1
thy
r' : - ,d'
U i
ry J
ets
sto
To free
our
fet -
tered sire
land ;
I
: t
But
d1
sol -
diers
id'
now,
up -
s ,f : s .in
Id )
brow )
on thy
To can
non
boom
and roll of
drum
|
: r .m
f
in .r
| 1 .3
f .in |r :-
Ir
1
Shall
poise
a
crown
of Iglo
ry.
We'll strike !
For
God
and Ire
land !
349
2. What matter if the foe be st.rong,
Our country we'll defend, boys,
What matter if the road be long
We'll tread it to the end boys !
The star of Hope illumes the way
Our fathers trod before us :
God send the sun of Freedom's Day
To flame in splendour o'er us.
CHORUS.
3. Lo ! yonder leap the beacon fires
That guide us from the valley ;
Around us throng our martyred if
To hearten and to rally.
Draw blade ! for God and Ireland now !
Strike home ! for all we treasure !
And if the foeman drink, we vow
To give him brimming measure.
CHORUS.
P. KEHOE.
This song was specially written for this series and to this fine rousing
air by the author of " Ireland over All," see page 218. The present song
enhances still further the writer's reputation as a song-writer.
350
THE GREEN FLAG.
KEY A. Spiritedly. Air : " Vive La."
The
m,
raised, and
d ,,r : d
neath its fold
.s, >
The )
nil .s, :s, ,m
flash - ing hue of
PI
.8 IS .1
green and gold-, So j as our fa - thers
.,r :m .,
stood we'll stand For
in .s :r .in
by that ban - ner
.d
.f
in .r :d .' r >
Y
thee our own dear mo - ther - land. || Stand)
d ,,r :m .d I in .s :r .in
*
f ,m .r ,d : s .d ,r
in .s : r .m
while a tat - ter
in .r :d .|
I - rish skies. II
rope and steel, Stand
s .d :1, .f
neath the light of
true and leal, 'Gainst fraud and force 'Gainst)
.,r :m ., £
proudly flies Be- )
CHORUS : —
.W,
The
.S,
: s
,1.
raised and
:d
'neath its fold The >
m .s
.in
flash - ing hue of
d .,r :m .,f
stood we'll stand For
jUL'Ejd • ^i >mi
green and gold ; So
in
.s, :s, .1
as our fa-thers
s .d : d ,,f in .r : d .1
thee our own dear jmo - ther - land.)
351
2. Wo raised it up — no foot shall back
A step upon the forward track,
For 'tis not in the days of wrath,
When woe and darkness haunt our path —
It is not when the gallows tree
Is decked with fruits of liberty —
That we should bend the knee or pull
Thee down, our banner beautiful.
CHORUS.
3. Blessings upon thee shining there,
The storm is louring in the air,
And faithful hearts are underneath
To face the brunt unto the death.
No faces pale with coward fear
Because the treacherous foe is near,
No hearts quail at the tempest strong,
We've borne its deadly brunt too long.
CHORUS.
4. But now, thank God, from sea to sea,
United in our strength are we —
From West to East, from South to North,
The millions rush in gladness forth.
In power and strength a mighty host,
To claim the rights their fathers lost,
To win the gold for which they toil,
To have and hold their native soil.
CHORUS.
5. Six centuries of wrong and hate
Have left our island desolate ;
But year by year the seed was sown,
Until the blossom true had blown.
And now that blossoming has come
We wait to bear the harvest home,
And every hand and every heart
Know how to act the reaper's part.
CHORUS,
352
6. Chained, trampled, weakened by the force
Of treason's ancient deadly curse —
We still can show a gallant face
To fire the old heart of our race.
And young and old will feel that fire,
Whose burning flame can ne'er expire,
Till strong and weak alike can claim
An equal share, the patriot's name.
CHORUS.
7. Hurra ! hurra ! God bless the sword
That rids us from this foreign horde — •
Hurra ! hurra ! the fields of France
Are lit by Freedom's sunny glance.
Old Tyranny has lost its sway,
The lord who ruled must now obey —
Man stands up in his dignity,
And so, in time — by Heaven — shall we.
CHORUS.
J. K. CASEY (" LEO").
353
SLAUN BEO.
KEY F. Slow.
f:d .r PI : 1, :t d :- ;m .1
( My grief and my woo ! I mu
Air: " sUn be6."
* s : - : m .d i
st go to some)
< r :d
( far dis
:d
- tant
d : - : d .r
m :d :r >
way o'er the )
part, A -
M"d' :-
( 1 foam
: t .d1
from my
1 :- :1 ,s
home and the
m :d :r >
wife of my >
( In :-
( Iheart !
' PI iF
From the
m : d : r
chil - dren I
"d1 :- :t.d'|
love — God a- )
r 1 :-
( bove !
:1 .s
must I
PI :d :r
bow to Thy
m :- :m .d )
will ; If >
1 r :1,
( so, ere
It,
I
d :- .r :n .f
s :- :PI .d >
Be6 with the)
go — • Slaun
< r :d
' House on
:d
the
d :- j.
Hill!
2. As I gaze on the spot where my lot with my darling was cast,
I think of the day hid away in the folds of the past,
When the joy of my life, my young wife, passed in like the dawn-
Once more, ere I go — Slaun Beo with thee, Vourineen Bawn !
3. How changed, och ochone ! and how lone seems the same place to-day,
A heart there is sad that was glad as the meadows in May !
A heart there is dark where a lark ev'ry morning would trill !
Once more, ere I go — Slaun Beo with the House on the Hill !
I- 13
354
4. Take courage, my dear, do not fear, but be trusting and brave !
With God's blessing above, soon, my love, I will cross o'er the wavey
With silver and gold, and the old happy mornings will dawn —
One kiss and I go — Slaun Beo with thee, Vourineen Bawn !
P. J. McCALL.
This is a beautiful old air and a sweet song. Mr. McCall gives us here
one of his happiest and most Irish pieces in which he scores an admirable
success by his imitation of the vowel assonance for which the Irish poets
are so famous. I hope the song will be often heard. I have spelt the
second last word of the song exactly as the notes require it.
DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO ALBA.
KEY A|?. Slow and with pathos.
<:m_.,f
I Fare -
s :- .1 :f .s |m
well to Al-ba's Isle—
ta, :
glens !
:d.,r
Sweet
:-,t, :
seat
s, :- .d :d .r Irt* :
hunt - ers o'er the benns !
Air: "SUn be6 UAC."
:- :r d :- .t,:s,.l,)
Its pleas - ant ports and)
f I ff f V
li#ii| i, :- ,ni| .1, )
of Us-na's| sons, Strong )
s :- .1 :f .s
:f.s )
i of a )
( n :-
( day
:r
They
d I — tt, '. S,
feast - ed in
( d :-
( daught -
er of the
Boon St
* or, doh.
ta,
lios.
,d : d .,r I
The Earl's>
s, :- .d :d .r >
Nais - i's se-cret)
355
d
kiss !
S
maid
n
bow'r
S
heard
ta,
woe :
piu moto
||Hebe-
d :-
stowed
.r : n .f I s
a gen-tlel fawn
.1 :s«f«n
ress;
:m .f
S
ling
for her ca-
And
:r.r
From the
d :-
hosts
.t| : S|.,f|
of In-ver-
S|
ness !
.1 :f .s |m :-
this jealous! tale,
:r
My
d
heart
:d .,r
d
launched
.t, :s,<f,<n
f
i
an oar-less| boat
=f,f)
On the}
ered in her)
A tempo
When I)
•'- -ti :s, .1,)
was filled with)
rail
On the
s, :- .d :d .,r Id :-
o - cean's west'ringl flow !
2. Lo, Annla and Ardan swift followed on my track ;
And these hero brothers brought the lovelorn wand'rer back !
My Naisi pledged his faith, thrice sworn, with whispered breath,
I never should see grief till I saw his face in death.
Earls' daughter could you know of Naisi 'neath the clay,
You would weep as I shall weep for a twelve-month and a day !
Farewell to Alba's hills — to days now past and gone,
When Naisi's smile of love brought to my heart the dawn !
P. J. MCCALL.
The above is a metrical rendering of an ancient Irish piece of poetry.
It is on the whole fairly literal and retains the simplicity of the original.
It was done by Mr. McCall at the request of the editor. The air was
sent to me by Miss Annie O'Reilly, of Macroom, who wedded it to the old
Irish lyric named at the top of the music. It was found in O'Neill's
collection of Irish music, but we have changed the key, time, and some of
the phrasing. I think those who are lovers of old traditional Irish music
will agree with Miss O'Reilly's remark that the air is a gem of its kind.
It is one of those airs that keep haunting the memory. Words and air
make a very beautiful song.
356
MY FIRST LOVE.
KEY F.
: m«f <se
Slow.
1 : - .t | d1 : t
towers the rock a
:- .t, |d :r
bells bloom - ing
:- .t |d' :t
the fern in
:r .t, |1, :1,
1 :- .s | in :r .t,
Where
1,
heath
waves
Iin
shines
d
wood
1,
sit
|i
! love
r
| one
bove the trees, With c
in :- 1- :ni >
o'er, Where )
1 :- .s |m :r .t, L
sum - mer breeze, And '-*
1, :- |- nm .r >
the
:d
»ed lus -
Id :t, .1,
more. |j In )
t, :t, It, . : 1, se,>
- land nook be -
:- .t, |d :r
and sad - ly
:- .t |d' :t
I nursed in
:r .t, |1, :1,
side the brook, I )
m :- I- :m >
pore On )
1 :s |in :r .t, ^
boy - hood first For )
1, :- 1- J
more.
I'll
ne'er see
2. How fair, when shines the summer beam
Upon the hillside warm,
The lady fern beside the stream :
So fair my Margaret's form;
357
The snow-white crystals shine beneath,
The red lusmores above :
Ah ! such the bright bright laughing teeth
And lips of my first love.
3. The gorse flowers Ullair's dells illume,
One sea of golden light ;
My Margaret's hair was like their bloom,
As yellow and as bright.
'Twill haunt me still through joy or ill,
Till death shail end my care,
The wondrous grace of her fair face
Beneath that golden hair.
4. I loved her with a burning love
That matched my boyhood well,
And brilliant were the dreams I wove
While tranced in that sweet spell ;
And in my breast she'll ueign and rest
Each eve while sad I pore,
Where ferns are green the rock between.
And shines the red lusmore.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
This fine melody is from Dr. Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," where he
gives one verse of a song. It may be said that until now it has remained
unwedded to words accessible to the public. The song to which I now
link it is as fine as the melody itself.
358
YOU'RE A DEAR LAND TO ME.
KEY Ab» Air : " An ton-cub.
s, Mf, :j^.ta^|d__Mt, : d
|
(There's a
stream in Glen-
ra whose) sil
fi,S|.f|,m,:d| .dhr||pi, .f, :s,
foun - tain Leaps' up ir
fi,S|.f,,Pi|:d, .d. Id,
hea - ther bells I bloom
life
ve - ry
t| :S|,f, .P1|,S,>
where the )
, f, , s,
moor - land and
.f,
ii
laugh
d,
gloom.
.,m
ing in
«l,<t,
And
.s
That
d Mt, :d.ta,fS|,Pi|
winds round the
d t>ta| : S;,f i.tinSj
sun - light now
d .,r :m .f
by its mer - ry
:d .s
,
:ta,.l,
.d,,r
moun - tain Now
f|,S|.f,,m, :
weep
.f
: d, .d, )
- ing in )
ru - ral sight en - tran cing, From
dan
d
ing
:PI .s
cing, a
: in .f )
out the green wood )
s _ ^f :m .s
glan - cing, my
f .?m :d .d Id :- .n ,f
home you once could| see ; Now an
s
ex
;m,f -s ,m
ile far a -
f .,1 :s,f
way
from that
ta, .s,,!,:
home
.d,r
359
d,r .m ,f : s .mi ,f ,1 s, .,f | :v^
sigh and say, O |green-hilled plea - sant| E
5|d,r
v I sig
il
: d ,ta, .s,,nv
rin you're a )
i .»Pi| : d, ,d|
dear land to
me.
2. There's a tree by that streamlet in bright beauty shining,
With green leaves and blossoms all brilliant and gay,
With the birds on its branches wild melodies twining,
Where I sat with my friends on each blithe summer day,
When the sunset clouds were glowing and the gentle kine were lowing,
And the perfumed airs were blowing around that blooming tree ;
Tree or friends I'll ne'er see more by that murmuring streamlet's shore,
O, green-hilled pleasant Erin, you're a dear land to me.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
This air — " The Blackbird " — has been always a favourite in Monster.
It was commonly whistled in my native county when I was young.
The best version of it that I heard was that which my brother used to
whistle and which he learned from my mother. The air and Dr. Joyce's
words make a lovely song and I hope they will be often heard at social
gatherings.
360
OUR FLAG OF GREEN.
KEY A. Moderate.
S|
Boys,
:s, .1, |d
fill your glass
:d
- es,
r
Each
:r .,PI |p
hour that pass
:d
- es
i,
Steals
:f
, it
|m .f
may be
: s .PI
, on our
d
last
:d .r
|PI .r
:d .1
night's
cheer ;
I*'
1 Day
:s, .1, |d
soon shall come
:d
boys,
r
With
: r .PI
fife and
Ir
drum,
:d
boys,
I1'
1 Break
:f
- ing
If
PI .1
shril - ly
: s .PI
on the
d
sol -
:d .r
d
• _
dier's ear,
m
Drink,
:- .f
the
Is
faith -
ful
f
hearts
that
Ir
love
:d
us —
In,
| 'Mid
:- .f
to
Is
- mor -
row's
r
thick
:t,
- est
s,
fight,
:-
m
While
:- .f
our
Is
green
flag
f
floats
:m |
a
r
bove
:d
us,
I1'
Think,
:f
boys,
| PI .f
: s .m
d
them
we
d
smite.
:-
'tis
for
REFRAIN. —
s, :s, .1, |d
Down with each mean
:d
flag,
r
None
:r .PI
but the
r
green
:d
flag
361
1. :f
Shall in
IM1 f n
n »i :s .PI
tri-umph be a -
d :d .r
bovo us
s, is,
think of
.l,|d :d
its glo - ry,
r :r .m
Long shrined i
11, :f
1 Charge for
|m .f :s .m
ei-|\e and her
d :d .r
Flag of
2.
Think on old Brian,
IN .r :_& .1| )
seen : Oh !>
|r :d )
sto - ry,
Id :-
Green.
War's mighty lion,
'Neath that banner 'twas he smote the Dane,
The Northman and Saxon
Oft turned their backs on
Those who bore it o'er each crimsoned plain.
Beal an a-ha Bwee beheld it
Bagenal's fiery onset curb,
Scotch Munroe would fain have felled it ;
We, boys, followed him from red Benburb.
Down with each mean flag,
None but the green flag
Shall above us in triumph be seen ;
Oh ! think of its glory,
Long shrined in story,
Charge with Eoghan for our Flag of Green t
And if at eve, boys,
Comrades shall grieve, boys,
O'er our corses, let it be with pride',
When thinking that each, boys,
On that red beach, boys,
Lies the flood-mark of the battle's tide.
See — the first faint ray of morning
Gilds the east with yellow light ;
Hark ! the bugle note gives warning — •
One full bumper to old friends to-night.
Down with each mean flag,
None but the green flag
Shall above us be in triumph seen ;
Oh ! think on its glory,
Long shrined in story,
Fall or conquer for our Flag of Grecm 1
M. J. BARRY.
362
KITTY O'HEA.
KEY C.
Now
1 :
Kit -
r1 :r' |1 :t :d> |t :1 :s >
ty O' Hea, dar - ling jew - el, I )
Let
ro -
ses be jeal - ous, no
mat - ter I The
1
wish
you'd
con -
sid -
1
er
:t
my
Id1 :- :1 >
case 1 Oh, >
sun -
shine's in
love
with
your
cheek ; What
1
. pi
.rl
H :
t
:d'
|t :1 :s >
who
could
be -
lieve
you
so
cru - el To >
sing -
ing
bird
would
n't
I
flat - ter To
D.C.
look
:s
in
your
|r :
beau -
in
ti -
: s
ful
H :- I!
face ? 1
say.
it's
her
voice
when
you
speak ?
CHORUS.
.
r :
in :
s 11
• _
:t
Id' :- : ^
Kit -
ty
O' Hea,
0'
Hea, >
in
IKit -
: s
ty,
give
Is :
ear
f
to
my
|r :- : >
song, )
r
:n
: s
H :
_
:ro
Id' :- : )
Kit -
ty
0'
Hea,
0'
Hea, )
m
:1
:1
Is :
m
:d
|r :- I
Kit -
ty
I'm
court -
ing
you
long.
363
2. My thoughts I can never keep steady,
No more nor a man in a dream,
They caper like straws in an eddy,
In place of pursuing the stream.
Amusement or meat I don't care for,
I moan like a cow gone astray ;
Myself knows the why and the wherefore,-—
I'm thinking of Kitty O'Hea.
CHORUS.
3. I never objected in reason,,
To bear with a slight or a scoff,
But snow isn't always in season,
And Lent isn't very far off.
Shrove Tuesday's the tune for to shake one,
And single I'll not pass the day,
Young, old, maid or widow, I'll take one, —
So mind yourself, Kitty O'Hea,
CHORUS.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
The above air, which is racy and pretty, is the air to which the author
wrote the song. If it be objected that the repetition of the air for the
second four lines of each verse makes for monotony, I suggest that the
verses may be made four line verses and the Chorus repeated after each.
Another air that suits the song well is found on page 328 of this series,
No. XI.
364
THERE IS A TREE IN DARRA'S WOOD.
KEY D. Bright. Air : " Barrack Hill.'
:1 1 : - : r | r : - : m 1 : - : s | m : -
"here is a tree in Dar - ra's wood
:s I
That)
1 :- :r |r :- :n
bears the rose - red
d :- :r |m :-
•s i
rhere )
ber - ry, \\
11 :- :r |r :- :m
sweet - ly sings the
1 :- :s |m :- :s ^
fai - ry flood With }
!1 :- :s |d' :- :ro
ca - dence wild and
r :- :- |r :-
mer - - ry;
ij
1 :- :s |1 :t :d'
of that tree,
Thy )
love, like ber - ries
s :- :m |s :- :1
red lips smile so
s :- :ro | s :-
And )
dear - ly,
11 :- :s |1 :t :d'
min - strel - sy
Thy j
1 like the streams glad
Is :- :m Id1 :- :m
| laugh rings soft and
r :- :- |r :-
clear - ly!
1
KEFBAIN.
:1 1 :- :s | 1 :t :d' r1 : - :m' |d' : -
so r
So clear - ly, so clear - ly,
365
^|s -~ :w Is :- :1 _s :- :rn |s :- :d' >
( I witch - ing, soft and clear - lv. That >
:s |1 j_t :d' I r1 :- -in1 |d' :- :1
er - more I I must a - dore And
Jl
s :- :in |d' :- :m
love thee, true love,
r :- :- |r
dear - ly !
2. Beneath that tree I've built a bower,
Its roof with love-knots twining,
And there the snowy shamrock flower
And blue-bells gay are shining, —
I've built a bower within my breast
And placed thee on its throne, love,
And ever there I'll love thee best
My dark-eyed Grace, my own love !
My own love, my own love,
I have placed thee on its throne, love,
And day and night, for ever bright,
There you shall reign, my own love !
3. 'Mid Darra's wood a castle tall
Stands wrecked with age and hoary ;
A white rose tree hangs from its wall
With bloom of star-like glory ; —
Thy fair brow hath that rose's hue,
Kind nature's own adorning ;
Thy heart is stainless as the dew
That gems its leaves at morning : —
At morning, at morning,
When dew that flower's adorning
When out I rove thro' Darra's grove
To think on thee at morning.
4. Oh ! still may wane the summer moon,
The gay flowers follow after ;
The merry birds may hush their tune,
And glad streams cease their laughter ;
366
The leaves may wither on the tree,
All things grow cold and drear, love !
But that sweet bower I've built for thee
Shall ever bloom, my dear love !
My dear love, my dear love,
You'll reign without a peer, love,
That bower within, the glorious queen
Of my fond heart, my dear love !
ROBERT D. JOYCE, M.D.
THE DEAR IRISH BOY.
KEY G. Slow.
f lt!*l
I My
d :t, :1, 1 1, :m :r,,t
Con - nor, his cheeks are as
rud - dy as morn-ing, The
ild :t, :1, |t, :m :rvt
1| bright-est of pearls do but
:-.d : t^l 1, :- :l,.t,)
mi - mic his teeth,
While)
d :t| :1, | tj :'n :r_._tj
na - ture with ring - lets his
mild brows a - dorn - ing, His )
:r : m
. 1 : m : - .r
hair Cu - pid's bow-strings, and
REFRAIN.
,11 :n :-.r|l_L!!L :--r
(I Smi - ling, be - gui - ling,
ro - ses his cheeks.
d : t,
cheer-ing,
., 1 , :s, :m
en - dear - ing, To
1 : m : -.r 1 1 : m : -.r [ m : ba : se 1 1
!
- ther how oft o'er the moun-tains we strayed
:1 :t ,
I, By each )
367
d1 :t
o - ther de - light - ed and
fond - ly u - ni - ted, Ihave>
:r :m
: m : -.:
lis - tened all day to my
dear I - rish Boy.
2. No roebuck more swift could fly over the mountain,
No veteran bolder meet danger or scars ;
He's sightly, he's sprightly, he's clear as the fountain,
His eyes twinkle love — oh, he's gone to the wars.
REFRAIN — Smiling, etc.
3. The soft tuneful lark, his notes changed to mourning,
The dark screaming owl impedes my night's sleep,
While lonely I walk in the shade of the evening,
Till my Connor's return I will ne'er cease to weep.
REFRAIN — Smiling, etc.-
4. The war being over, and he not returned,
I fear that some dark, envious plot has been laid,
Or that some cruel goddess has him captivated,
And left here to mourn his dear Irish maid.
REFRAIN — Smiling, etc,
O'DONNELL ABOO.
A.D. 1597.
KEY C. In Marching Time.
11
i
d : in ,,f | s : s .,s
Proud - ly the note of the
.,1 |s
:f .m
trum - pet is sound - ing,
: r .,
: m .r
Jl
si
11
Loud - ly the war - cries a -
d : m .,f I s : s .,s
Fleet - ly the steed by Lough
r : r1 .d1 |t .s : 1 .t
join the thick squad-rons in
m1 :m' .,r'|d'.l :s
On, ev'-ry mountain-eer,
f :f ,,f | in :s .m
Rush to the stan - dard of
d :d .r |m
rise on the gale,
m1 :d! .,1 |s
:f .
Swil - ly is bound -ing To
Sai - mear's green vale.
d1 :d' .1 | s ,,n :d
Stran - gers to flight and fear ;
r : r .,in I r
daunt - less Red Hugh !
i :n .f | s .1 :s |m' :d' .,1 | s ,f :f .in
Bon - nacht and Gallow - glass [Throng from each mountain pass !
r : r1 .d1 |t .s : 1 .t
On for old E - rin ! O'
d1 :d' .,d' Id1 :
Don - nell A - boo !
2. Princely O'Neill to our aid is advancing
With many a chieftain and warrior clan ;
A thousand proud steeds in his vanguard are prancing
'Neath the borderers brave from the banks of the Bann :
369
Many a heart shall quail under its coat of mail ;
Deeply the merciless foeman shall rue
When on his ear shall ring, borne on the breeze's wing,
v Tir-Conaill's dread war-cry — O'Donnell Aboo !
3. Wildly o'er Desmond the war-wolf is howling,
Fearless the eagle sweeps over the plain,
The fox in the streets of the city is prowling —
All, all who would scare them are banished or slain !
Grasp every stalwart hand, hackbut and battle-brand — •
Pay them all back the deep debt so long due,
Norris and Clifford well can of Tir-Conaill tell —
Onward to glory — O'Donnell Aboo 1
4. Sacred the cause that Clann-Conaill's defending —
The altars we kneel at and homes of our sires :
Ruthless the ruin the foe is extending —
Midnight is red with the plunderer's fires !
On with O'Donnell then, fight the old fight again,
Sons of Tir-Conaill all valiant and true !
Make the false Saxon feel Erin's avenging steel !
Strike for your country ! — O'Donnell Aboo !
M. J. McCANN.
This magnificent song and air will not, I hope, be the less appreciated
because people often hear it. May I suggest to the enthusiasts of our
hurling and football fields that they would do well to drop expressions
like " Up, Kerry " ; " Up, Wexford " ; and adopt the war-cries of their
ancestors — " Kerry Aboo " ; " Wexford Aboo," etc.
370
THE CANNON.
KEY G. Not so quick as Jig Time.
I: 8,
d :m :
d 1 1,
- : d |S| : m, : s,
! s, r -
: *l I
l We
are
a lov
ing j com - pa
- ny
Of]
IB, :
| sol
diers brave
: r
and
m :- :s
f :m
We >
hear
ty ;
|d.r:
m :d
M : ~
fought
:d
for
S| : PI, : S,
s, :-
fee,
For ("
| ne
- ver
gold - en
Is, :
- :f
m :f
:r
d :- :- |
d :-
Si )
I fac
tion
or
for
par
ty;
The)
d :
- :m |
s :-
:m
1 :- :f I
s :-
•m >
will
to
make
old
Ire - land
free, That )
Id :
| set
- : 11 |s : -
each daunt
: n
less
f :- :r
1 :f
And \
man
on,
d :
- :m |
s : - .f
:n
f :s :1 |
is :- :
f |
ban
ished
us
be-
yond the
sea With f
CHORUS.
m :d :1, |
s, :d
:r
m :d : s |
f :n
r I
our
brave
i
ron
can
non.
And >
im :
d :1, 1
1. :-
gal -
:d
lant
s, :n, :S| |
s, :- :1, |
ny That >
| here's the
com - pa -
Is' :
:1. 1
d :-
:r
m :- : s |
f • m
r i
fough
it by
Boyne
and
Shan
non That f
371
With
| >
>
2. Come fill me up a pint of wine,
Until 'tis brimming o'er, boys,
Our gun is set in proper line,
And we have balls galore, boys, —
Now here's a health to good Lord Clare,
Who'll lead us on to-morrow,
When through the foe our balls will tear
And work them death and sorrow.
CHORUS: And here's the gallant company
That always forward ran on
So boldly on the enemy
With our brave iron cannon !
3. I've brought a wreath of shamrocks here,
In memory of our own land, —
'Tis withered like that island drear,
That sorrowful and lone land ;
I'll hang it nigh our cannon's mouth,
To whet our memories fairly,
And there's no flower in all the south
Could deck that gun so rarely.
CHORUS : And here's the gallant company
That soon shall rush each man on,
And plough the Saxon enemy
With our brave iron cannon !
4. At Limerick how it made them run,
The Dutchman and his crew, boys j
'Twas then I made this gallant gun
To plough them through and through, boys ;
And since that day in foreign lands,
It roared triumphant ever —
It blazed away, yet here it stands,
Where foeman's foot shall never !
372
CHORUS : And here's the gallant company
That soon shall rush each man ony
And break and strew the enemy
With our brave iron cannon !
5. The dinted well from mouth to breach
With many a battle furrow ;
A fitting sermon it will preach
At Fontenoy to-morrow.
Then never let your spirits sink,
But stand around each man on
This foreign slope, and we will drink
One brave health to our cannon 1
CHORUS : And here's the gallant company
That soon shall rush each man on,
And plough the Saxon enemy
With our brave iron cannon !
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D.
" This air is a very fine old Irish melody," says Dr. Joyce. It is the
one that is sung at the yearly celebration of the shutting and opening of
the gates of Derry and is probably much older than the siege. It is
printed in the " Ordnance Memoir of Londonderry." To lift it out of
the hands of a faction and make it a national tune is the object I have in
view in linking it with this fine, rousing ballad.
THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS.
KEY P. Moderate. Air: "An ftriAcrin cpon."
( : .s, Id .,d :ro .d |m .s :- .s >
( 1 Hear it on the moun - tain, O )
fid .,d :m .r ,d It, .r :- .r >
!|Hear it in the glen, )
(Id .,d :m .d |m .s :- ,s >
( I Hear it in the cities — The )
373
D.C.
( | tramp
• S ,1
^1 id
march
.r
- ing
of
nd'
(I light
.t
the
way
.8
they're
/Id' ,t
( j give them
strength
.t
and
(id'
( j str:ke
.,t
a
blow
for
HI.
.m
rish
:d
Vol
.r
- un -
CHORUS.
Sit]
God j
To )
Id :
men.
11 .a :- .s
far - icg ! God
Is :1
da . ring
In .1 :- .1
E - rin, The
D.C.
Id :-
teers.
2. A hundred years of waiting,
Of sorrow and of pain,
And now the heart of Eireann
Beats high with hope again. Chorus
3. Lift up the flag of Freedom,
And be your marching song
The music of the rifle —
'Tis clear and sweet and strong !
CHORUS : God light the way you're faring !
God give you strength and daring
To strike a blow for Eirinn,
O Irish Volunteers !
4. Close ranks ! too long they're broken,
Wipe out the wasted years ;
March on, march on to Freedom
With Ireland's Volunteers ! CHORUS.
BRIAN O'HIGGINS.
The words and music are so short that I recommend that each verse
be repeated before taking up the chorus, and this might itself be repeated.
The song is a very fine one. I hope it will be often heard.
374;
HOW D'YOU LIKE HER FOR YOUR WIFE?
KEY A. Spirited.
s, .d :d .d 1 1, .d : r
'How d' you likelier for your wife,
Pi .d : d .d | t| .d : r
wedded mate and true for life,
s ,s : s .m I f : r .f
fit to
d
Rap -
be my wife,
:t, .,d |r
pa - ree troop
As my
:s -,f
- er,
:f
: s
;•!}
Rov-ing Brian O'Con - nell ?
s .,s : s .,m | f : HI .m,f >
Roving Brian O'Con-nell ?" " she's as)
n .r :d .t, | s, : s, ,,t, )
sword is for the strife," Said the
n ,d :n .r |d :d II
Roving Brian O'Con - nell!
2. " Never man my child will take, Roving Brian O'Connell.
Save him who'd die for Ireland's sake, Roving Brian O'Connell."
" O, I'd die for Ireland's sake
And her bonds we soon will break" ;
Said the Rapparee trooper, Roving Brian O'Connell,
3. " How will you your young bride keep, Roving Brian O'Connell ?
The foeman's bands are ne'er asleep, Roving Brian O'Connell."
" In our hold by Connaill's steep,
Who dare make my Mabel weep ! "
Said the Rapparee trooper, Roving Brian O'Connell.
4. " Ne'er to Mabel prove untrue, Roving Brian O'Connell,
For O, she'd die for love of you, Roving Brian O'Connell."
" O, my wild heart never knew
A love so warm and constant too,"
Said the Rapparee trooper, Roving Brian O'Connell.
6. " This day in ruined church you stand, Roving Brian O'Connell,
To take your young bride's priceless hand, Roving Brian O'Connell."
" O, my heart, my arm, and brand,
Are for her and our dear land,"
Said the Rapparee trooper, Roving Brian O'Connell.
ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D,
ASTHOREEN MACHREE.
KEY F. Slow.
II, i^dr
{
II
II
<|> :-.t:Li
( | dark ty-rant
jSpring with its
s : s : 1
Streams thro' the
d1 :t :1
'scaped from my
in
gay flowers the
fields was a -
s : in : r I m : 1
wild-wood sang |sweet-ly
s : - .t :l.s
cell at the
f : m : r
scorn-ing, A -
f :m
dawn of
and
the
dorn-ing,
1 :- :l.t
free, As
\\
m :d :d.,r
stho -reen Ma-
1, :1, :-.s>
morn-ing, My )
d :- :- I
chree.
2. O, in that prison my heart was all sadness ;
The long days fell gloomy and heavy on me,
Still thinking I never might see thee in gladness,
Still brooding in madness, Asthoreen Machree.
3. Now, I've escaped, but such darkness was never ;
How could the brightness arise save from thee ?
Black woe and despair, they have crossed my endeavour ;
Thou art sleeping for ever, Asthoreen Machree.
4. Out in the forest the branches are shaking ;
There the lone Banshee is wailing for me ;
From the wide-spreading trees the boughs she is taking,
My bier she is making, Asthoreen Machree.
6. Soon we shall meet in the grave's silent dwelling ;
O, but 'tis joy thus to slumber with thee ;
Soon, soon shall the caoiners my hard fate be telling,
And my death-bell be knelling, Asthoreen Machree.
ROBERT DWYEB JOYCE, M.D.
This air is taken from Ancient Irish Music, by Dr. Joyce, who noted
it down from the whistling of a native of Orossmolina, Co. Mayo, in 1852.
376
THE COMICAL BOY.
KEY P. Lively, Air : " The Swaggering Jig."
< :f
rcoijx
:r :d |1, :d :d 1 1, :d :d >
-in, O, how can you tease, When you j
CHORUS. And O, H6iy - in, A
fcoif\ - in, No
rift
:r
:d
U,
:d
:d
|r :-
:f .f
( 1 know
that
I'm
faith
- fill
and
true ;
Sure my)
pa -
lace
or
cas
- tie
for
me ;
I'd
j 1 ni
\ 1 heart
:r
is
:d
as
U,
light
:d
as
:d
the
11,. :d
breeze
:d ,
When- >
ra -
ther
a
cot
in
a
boic - tAin
With
ir
(1 ev -
:r
er
:d
I'm
ii,
look
:d
- ing
at
Is, :-
you.
ir \
||There >
you
in
it,
'rco,r
- in
mo
c|xoix>e.
IIV.
:f
n't
: s
a
Is
land
or
: S
a
throne,
:n |
Or )
ii'..
:s
- thing
U
un -
:t
der
the
U :-
sun,
:t .t }
But I'd)
it*
I | give
:t
for
one
U
jew -
:s
el
:f
a
|m :-
lone —
:r .d )
A >
( 1 jew -
:d
ei
:r
that's
In
hard
:d
to
•'I,
be
U, :-
won.
II
377
2. You give me a glance of your eye —
I dance in the height of my joy ;
Then you say with a sort of a sigh,
"rhaife now, you're a comical boy."
You frown — and I wish I were dead ;
You smile — and I'm anxious to live;
Sure I'd rather one hair of your head
Than the riches the world can give.
CHORUS.
3. I'm wasted to nothing — or less —
With the weight of my grief and my woe.
I want you to answer me " Yes,"
And you're constantly answering " No ! "
As you trip with a laugh through the dance,
I sit in a corner and pine,
A-dreaming, like one in a trance,
That maybe some day you'll be mine.
CHORUS.
1. A fc6ipiti, I'll wait for the word,
I know that you'll speak it some day;
And then, with a heart like a bird,
I'll bear you in triumph away :
And there won't be a happier pair
From far-away Foyle to Fermoy,
When your beautiful self is my share
And yours is — the " comical boy."
CHORUS.
And O, Uoipti, A fc6i|\^ti,
No king will be equal to me,
When I come to that cot in the b6itpiti
With you in it, 'fcotpin nio 6|\oi-6e.
BRIAN O'HiaaiNS
378
CHRISTMAS EVE.
KEY C. Andantino. Air : " An buACAit CAot -cub."
•d ,r :m .f Is .d1 ;t .s
i:
the snow
dim.
: ''HI I
now is >
p
O'er I - rish | hills
1[nr .d,t,:d .s, :d .r m .s ;f,r .d tt,;r .,d >
<• I fall ing, Float-ing calm - ly, gent-ly )
:t .s :f .in >
d
down ;
ores.
.d.r;n .f
Bree - zes,
II
J[n,r .d,t,:d .s, :d .r
v I call - - ing, Croon a -
{
il
soft
an - gels'
mg,
cres
d :- ,slt:d' .r1
brown ; Moon - beams
glo - ry, O - ver
r1 :- .r1 ,d' : t .s
land — Heir to
x^x« dim p
m .s : f ,r .d ,t, : r .d
bove the hea-ther
}
n1
rest,
in1
all
like
;r' .d1
that
robes of
:n' .r1 I
fair briht )
fair bright
M'-r'^: t .s : f
sor- row — rich
m,r.d,t|:d .s, :d .r
|
sto - ry,
d ; .11
hand.
E - ver
^ dim
m .'s : f ,r .d ,t| :
blest
by
H f
p ,
:r .d >
Na-tiire's )
379
2. Far away, the bells are pealing
O'er the cities grand and bright,
Here are humble people kneeling
By the log-fires' flickering light,
Pouring forth their hearts' devotion,
Full of trusting, tender love,
Fraught with every pure emotion
That can throb for Him above.
3. Some have borne their load of sorrow,
And have felt the pangs of care,
But to-night their old hearts borrow
From the young ones gathered there
Hope and joy and peace and gladness,
And their eyes with pleasure gleam,
While the weary look of sadness
Passes like a changing dream.
4. There are others — bright, glad faces,
Hearts unclouded yet by woe,
Minds undimmed by suffering's traces,
Cheeks that yet bear childhood's glow,
And their souls are raised in pleading
To that Babe they love on High,
That His Word may be their leading
As the stormy years pass by.
6. May the King of Kings watch o'er them,
Fresh and faded — old and young —
May He guard the land that bore them,
Where His praise is ever sung ;
Where the humble ones are kneeling
To that Saviour Babe to pray,
For whose Birth the bells are pealing
In the cities far away.
BRIAN O'HIGGINS.
The above air is taken from Petrie's collection. He says of it : — " It is
strange that the air commonly escaped the notice of former collectors,
as there is not, perhaps, in the whole range of Irish melody, an air more
generally known throughout Ireland, or one more admired for its flowing
beauty." " O' Curry says that in Munster it ranks as one of the finest tunes
they possess, if not the very finest one." Petrie is "disposed to concur in
this opinion. Petrie had some forty or fifty settings, from which he
selected three as the best. Two of the three are Munster settings, of which
the above is one. They appeared to him the most beautiful. The above
version was given to Petrie by Thomas Davis.
380
A SONG OF ROZHEEN DHU.
KEY G. With spirit.
( The
d
song
:d
I
U,
sing
is a
s : - .s I s
song of home,
i :n .8
1
song
• s .ni
Id
R6 -
: r
zheen
1, :- 1
Dhu
1 A
of
i:s,
< Of
d
glade
:d
and
Hi
glen,
:s, Is :- .s |s
of j ford and fen,
f :ro .s
1
lake
: * .n
and of
Id
moun
:d
- tain
d : 1
blue!
( Of
( :m .s
\ Of the
1
signs
that
stand
: s .PI
o - ver
s :- .s | s
all the land
<:m .s
1
tell
: s .n
of the
Id
long
:r
a -
1. :- 1
1 To
< :_s, _.s,
v Let your
d
voi -
:d
ces
Hi
ring
• O O
. S| .b|
in the
s :- .s | s
song I sing —
rail.
( : m .s
1
! S I'l
Id
:d
d :- |.
t>e6 !
CHORUS.
< :ro .s
1
: 1
| 1
: s .m
s :- |s
} Hur -
rah!
the
night
is
end - ed !
381
j : m .s
< We
the
:r
dawn's red
i,
glow,
O!
:m .s
SeAtiA-
d :d
shout it
:s .s
1,
high, 'tis a
:s .n |d :d
|\e HA nSAe-DCAL 50
S
free
d
•oeo !
•8 |S )
man's cry — )
2. I sing of every wood and stream,
Of tower, and vale, and town,
Where brave men died, where brave men tried
To tear the red rag down ;
From CiA|\pAige brave to the widest wave
Where Lagan's waters flow,
From UeAtriAi|\ nA Hi 05 to the winding Lee —
SeAtiA-ei|\e tiA nSAe-oeAl 50 -oeo !
CHORUS.
3. I raise a rann for the ones who tread
The path to the dawning day,
Who will pause no more till their native shore
Is free from the Saxon sway ;
Till from ev'ry hill and from ev'ry rill,
The freedom-cry shall go,
From old and young, in the Gaelic Tongue —
SeAtiA-6ipe HA n^Ae-oeAl 50 -006 !
CHORUS.
BRIAN O'HIGGINS.
This fine air was, unfortunately, associated for a long time with a
vulgar music hall ditty. I don't know the Irish name for the air. I
leave it without a name rather than give it the name of the said vulgar
song by which it was known. The air has all the marks of a very old
Irish air — two-strain, gapped scale and threefold repetition of final note.
Brian O'Higgin's fine song will lift it to a higher plane than it was accus-
tomed to occupy.
382
ERIN FREE.
KEY D. Lightly.
P
( * ri
'
d :
r :
PI
In :
r
:n (d :
m :
s 1
1 :-
( Last
night
as
I
poii-dered
in i sor -
row
and
dole,
J : s
d1 :
t :
1
|s :
f
: PI
m :
r :
r 1
r : -
( A -
griev-ing
for
E -
rin,
her
thral-dom
and
pains,
< : Pi.r
d :
r :
PI
|n :
r
: m
d :
m :
s 1
1 :-
( A
vis -
ion
of
glo -
ry
stole
0 -
ver
my
soul —
cres.
<:*
r1 :
t :
s
If :
m
:r
PI :
d :
d 1
d :-
( I
thought she
was
free
and
no
long-
er
in
chains.
( : (BJ
s :
1 :
t
Id' :
t
:«
r' :
d1 :
t I
1 :s
<
Past
was
the
night
of
her
bon
iage
and
woe,
< : PI Id1 : t : 1 | s : f : m In : r : r | r : - )
( And (dawned had the mor - row we're] long - ing to see; )
( ; nt.
( All
: n.r
d :
r
: m
I1! :
r
: m
d
: m
: s
11
All
na -
ture
re -
joiced
in
the
fall
of
her
foe
cres.
:d"
y»l •
t
:s |
f :
PI
: r
PI
:d
:d
Id
And
birds
in
the
bush-es
sang
"E
- rin
is
free
2. I looked down the valley where want used to reign
In ruin and grief through the desolate years ;
And happy homes smiled amid fields of ripe grain,
And laughter and song floated up to my ears.
383
The bonfires were blazing along the hillside,
And the boys and the colleens were dancing in glee.
And tho old people weeping with gladness and pride,
That Heaven had spared them till Erin was free.
3. I looked on the hill for the castle that frowned
Through ages of hate on the serfs of the land ;
Its halls were all lonely, and echoed no sound,
Its haughty and mighty were humbled and banned*
Afar on the ocean a thousand white sail
Were bearing glad exiles from over the sea,
The hymn of their triumph rose high on the gale —
" Be glad, O ye nations ! our Erin is free ! "
4. And oh ! my heart leaped when I saw down the glen
An army of valour pour into the plain ;
And proud in their van rode the leader of men,
Whose bright sword had riven her fetters in twain
" O, Erin ! " I cried, " how thy sons must rejoice
This hour of thy pride and thy glory to see ! "
But the bright vision fled at the sound of my voice,
And ah ! 'twas a dream that my Erin was free !
6. O sea-severed sons of our sorrowing land,
If surely you wish that my dream should come true,
Vow now in her service brave heart and strong hand,
And all things for Erin to dare and to do.
Her glory, the theme of your hopes and your sighs ;
Her freedom, the aim of your lives ever be —
And soon from her slumber of ages she'll rise,
And stand 'mid the nations, unfettered and free.
FRANCIS A. FAH?
384
COME REST IN THIS BOSOM.
KEY C.
j: rc.se
( Come
1
rest
Air; "Lough
:l.t :d' .1 s :in :dir«n If :
Sheoling."
f :rc.rl
in this bo - som, my | own strick - en )
<|m
( 1 deer !
:-
:m .se
Tho' the
herd have fled
O til
from thee
:d )
, thy {
ir
( 1 home
is still
1, :- ;n .r
here; Here
d :d_
still is
.r :m .d ^
the i
m
(1 r :d
( 1 smile that
: d «r «n
f :f ;n .r
cloud can o'er -
m :-
cast,
:rc .se)
And the)
no
5|i •
( | heart
1 .t
and
:d' .1
s :n :d
hand all thy
r .,d :1,
:li I
the )
the
own to
II1'
I] last 1
:-
I'
Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame 7
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
But I know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
3. Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss,
And thv angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this,
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too.
THOMAS MOORE.
PR
8860
W35
1922
Walsh, Patrick
Songs of the Gael
Rev. and enl.
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