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o Walsh, Edward 


Irish popular songs 





- . . 







Edward Walsh 


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isj} fftttrirsl IransMtons, 




Sftoitb CbrtiutT, 


















AT a time when efforts are being made to revive 
the use of the written language of our 
country, no apology is necessary for attempting 
to add our mite to the general fund, in the shape 
of a second and (so far as type, &c., are concerned) 
improved edition of the Irish words in native 
letters, with the translations and songs of the late 
Edward Walsh. 

Music is to the Irishman what salt is to the 
Arab it impresses his soul, it enters into his very 
being, and it is only the shame of exposing a 
weakness of his manhood that prevents his weep- 
ing when he hears some air of long ago some 
plough tune whistled, that erst he heard when 
wandering over the familiar paths of his child- 

" A stranger yet to pain." 

Well we remember (though now forty years 
since) following Walsh in the twilight of an autumn 
evening, drinking in the odd chords that came 
from the little harp that lay on his left arm as he 
wandered, lonely and unknown, by the then desert 
Jones's-rcad, or reposed himself on one of the 

Preface. v 

seats that at that time were outside the walls of 
Clonliffe House. It was then we first heard 
Cur4-6 at) -c-Su54it), " The Twisting of the Rope " 
that beautiful air to which Moore adapted the 
no less beautiful words, " How dear to me the 
hour when Daylight dies !" We have ever known 
a difficulty in singing the words of the great poet 
to the air there is none in Walsh's version ; but 
then it is the pure vintage, and words and music 
come from the same source. 

In our young days, in the remote lodges of Bel- 
mullet, away at Inver, and amongst the O'Donnells 
of that ilk who inhabited the almost unknown 
regions of Poulathomas, in wild Erris, we met many 
who could sing the native melodies, and give to 
the language that pathos which alone it is capable 
of receiving ; but the march of intellect has only 
taught us to be ashamed of our nationality. The 
generous but indiscriminate supply of small har- 
moniums by the Board of National Education, and 
the Hullah System, have sent the music of poor 
Erin to the right-about ; and you are much more 
likely now-a-days to hear " A che la Mdrte," " La 
Malle des Indes," or " Li Biama" from Brindisi, 
than " Colleen das cruthan a Mbhow " or the 
" Coulin " echoing from the parlour of some com- 
fortable shopkeeper of Killybegs or Westport, 
whose young ladies have just returned from school, 
where they learnt more of the phonograph than 
they did of " cut papers," and worked at hideous 

vi Preface. 

attempts at illumination when they should have 
been learning to make a shirt for their father, or 
to diaper-darn their own stockings ! The music 
of their country was not to be thought of, and 
shopkeepers' daughters who had perforce to speak 
Irish in Berehaven, did not know a word of the 
language when they came to fashionable Cork. 

But a brighter day is dawning, and the publi- 
cation of such songs as Walsh's must beget a taste 
and raise Nationalism and Patriotism from the 
low state to which they have fallen. 

We have made no attempt to fix airs, or insti- 
tute comparisons ; we give the book as it came 
from the author there is nothing in it that 
requires a justification or excuse. We believe it 
to be a noble specimen of native genius, and as 
such we offer it to our countrymen, confident in 
their verdict, and strongly hoping to live to hear 
the soul- stirring, heart-moving songs of the people 
echoing in the vernacular through the verdant 
groves of our NATIVE LAND. 

J. S. S. 

Dublin, June, 1883. 



Original Letters, never before published 33 

)-bACAill)tte&5 The Maid of the Fine Flowing 

ing Hair 41 

-SU5*MT) . . The Twisting of the Rope . 43 
F&|T)eA6 5eAl AT) lAe . . . The Dawniag of the Day . 45 
l)eAT) bub At) 3leAT)T)A . . The Dark Maid of the Valley 47 
} SeoUb T)A T)-3ATt)t)A& . . Leading the Calves ... 51 

CotiTijAe 05 Cormac Oge 53 

2ljtt bAttT 1 t) A 3-ctjoc . . . Over the Hills and far away 55 
Beloved of the Flaxen Tresses 59 

RosGealDubh 61 

The Fair Hills of Eire Ogh . 67 
UA]U Cuii)A]&AT) ?t)hAt)5Aitie Lament of the Mangaire 

Su5Ajc Sugach 69 

Cup&t) M GA5t%A . . . The Cup of O'Hara ... 75 

21 tifclb cu AS ATJ 5-CAtt1tAJ5 ? Have you been at Carrick? . 77 
AH c\U onjnA .... Amber-hair'd Nora ... 81 
The Graceful Maiden ... 83 
The Boat Song .... 8? 

SUxt) le ?OA]5 Farewell to the Maig ... 91 

plun T)A Tt)-bAT) hOTjT) 05 . . Flower of Brown-hair'd Maidens 95 
Sfle beA5 T)f ChoiT)&eAlbA|T) Little Celia Connellan . . 99 
21 b-Uirq6e cno|6e T)A TJ- Whiskey, Soul of Revelry . 101 


P^irc]T)p|OT)n The Fair Young Child . . 105 

2ln Seoco The Lullaby ..... 109 

Keilli&e bbAT) Nelly Ban 1J7 

t)e i) ejTW f ..... Whoe'er she be . .119 




?f)A16in 5Al SATT)ttA|6 

t^UAl) TJA SAO]|tfe . 

OU&Ai) 605 A] tj RUAI& 


Caitilin ni Uallachan . . . 123 
0, Judith, my Dear . . . 125 
The Vision of John M'Donnell 127 
One Clear Summer Morning 133 
. . . The Voice of Joy .... 135 
CIA b-i For Ireland I'd not tell herName 137 
The Maid of Ballyhaunis . 141 
The Lovely Maid . . 
Pulse of my Heart 
From the Cold Sod that's o'er 


Whoe'er she be, I lore Her . 153 
Fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland 159 
Caitrin, the Daughter of John 101 
The Song of Freedom . . J63 
Owen Roe O'Sullivan's Drink- 
ing Song 167 

Cashel of Munster . 173 








THE popular Songs and Ballads of Ireland are 
as completely unknown to the great mass of 
Irish readers, as if they were sung in the wilds of 
Lapland, instead of the green valleys of their own 
native land. These strains of the Irish Muse are 
to be found in the tongue of the people only ; and 
while, for past centuries, every means had been 
used to lead the classes which had partaken, even 
in the slightest degree, of an English education, 
into a total disuse of the mother tongue ; when 
the middle and upper ranks, aping the manners 
of the English settlers located among them, 
adopted a most unnational dislike to the language 
of their fathers ; when even in the courts of law 
the sole use of the vernacular was a stumbling- 
block in the way of him who sought for justice 
within their precincts, and the youth who may 
have acquired a smattering of education found it 
necessary, upon emerging from his native glen 
into the world, to hide, as closely as possible, all 

1 Introduction. 

knowledge of the tongue lie had learned at his 
mother's breast; it is no wonder the peasantry 
should, at length, quit this last vestige of nation- 
ality, and assist the efforts of the hedge school- 
master in its repression. The village teacher had 
long been endeavouring to check the circulation 
of the native tongue among the people, by estab- 
lishing a complete system of espiery in these rustic 
seminaries, in which the youth of each hamlet 
were made to testify against those among them 
who uttered an Irish phrase. This will easily 
account for the very imperfect knowledge which 
the rising population of various districts have, at 
this hour, of the tongue which forms the sole 
mode of communication between their seniors- 
The poor peasant, seeing that education could be 
obtained through the use of English only, and 
that the employment of the native tongue was a 
strong bar to the acquirement of the favoured 
one, prohibited to his children the use of the 
despised language of his fathers. This transition 
was, and is still, productive of serious inconveni- 
ence to the young and the old of the same house- 
hold in their mutual intercourse of sentiment. 
The writer of these remarks has been often pain- 
fully amused at witnessing the embarrassment of 
a family circle, where the parents, scarcely under- 
standing a word of English, strove to converse 
with their children, who, awed by paternal com- 
mand, and the dread of summary punishment at 

Introduction. 1 1 

the hands of the pedagogue, were driven to essay 
a language of which the parents could scarcely 
comprehend a single word, and of which the poor 
children had too scant a stock to furnish forth a 
tithe of their exuberant thought. 

Yet, in this despised, forsaken language are 
stored up the most varied and comprehensive 
powers for composition. Who that has heard the 
priest address his Irish-speaking congregation, 
and seen the strange power of his impassioned 
eloquence over the hearts of his hearers how the 
strong man, the feeble senior, the gentle girl, were 
alternately fixed in mute astonishment, kindled 
into enthusiasm, or melted into tears, as the orator 
pourtrayed the mercies of heaven to fallen man 
who that has witnessed this, and will not acknow- 
ledge its thrilling influence in the affecting sim- 
plicity of its pathos, and the energy of its bold 
sublimity? Who that has heard the peasant- 
mother lavish upon her infant these endearing 
expressions, which can hardly be conveyed in a 
comparatively cold English dress, and not call it 
the tongue of maternal tenderness ? And I trust 
that he who can read the following songs in the 
original, will likewise confess that the Irish tongue 
can also express the most passionate ardour, the 
most sweetly querulous murmurings of love, and 
that rending grief which beats its breast upon the 
margin of despair. 

It has been asserted that there is no language 

1 2 Introduction, 

better adapted to lyric poetry than the Irish. That 
array of consonants which is retained in the words, 
to show the derivation, and which appears so 
formidable to the eye of an un-Irish reader, is cut 
off by aspirates, and softens down into a pleasing 
stream of liquid sounds, and the disposition of the 
broad and the slender vowels gives a variety to 
the ear by their ever-changing melody. 

One striking characteristic in the flow of Irish 
verse must principally claim our notice namely, 
the beautiful adaptation of the subject of the 
words to the song measure the particular em- 
bodiment of thought requiring, it would seem, a 
kindred current of music to float upon. Or, to 
vary the figure, the particular tune so exquisitely 
chosen by the Irish lyrist, seems the natural gait 
of the subject, whatever that may be, from which 
it cannot be forced, in a translation, without at 
once destroying the graceful correspondence which 
gives its most attractive grace to the original. 

Miss Brooke has erred through her versions of 
the " Reliques " in this respect, and so also, almost 
generally, have the translators of Mr. Hardiman's 
" Minstrelsy." 

Another grace of the Irish language lies in the 
number of its synonymes, which enables the poet 
to repeat the same thought over and over without 
tiring the ear. Its copiousness permits the raising 
of a pyramid of words upon a single thought 
as, for instance, in the description of a beautiful 

Introduction. 13 

head of hair, the poet employs a variety of 
epithets, all of the same cognate race, yet each 
differing from the other by some slight shade of 
meaning. The rhymers of later times have carried 
this peculiarity in a blameable degree. In this 
species of composition, the translator is quite be- 
wildered, and he seeks, in vain, for equivalent 
terms in the English tongue to express the 
graceful redundancies of the original ! 

In the sentimental and pastoral songs of Ireland, 
will be found those varied and gorgeous descrip- 
tions of female beauty and rural scenery, which 
have no parallel in the English tongue, and which, 
as men of learning have asserted, are equalled 
only in the rich and exuberant poetry of the East. 
In these Irish songs are to be found none of the 
indelicate and even gross allusions which so greatly 
disgrace the lyrical efforts of the best poets of 
England in the last century. Not but that 
Irish rhymers have often composed in the cen- 
surable manner to which we have alluded ; but 
these reprehensible lays are to be found only in 
manuscripts, and are never sung by the people. 

Some of these popular songs are genuine pas- 
torals, possessing this pleasing feature, that while 
nothing fictitious blends with the strain, and the 
whole is perfectly true to nature, nothing coarse 
or vulgar is introduced, to displease the most 
refined ear, and all the beautiful and glorious 
objects of nature are pressed into the service of 

14 Introduction. 

the muse. The bloom of the bean-field is the 
cheek of the rural nymph ; her eye, a freezing 
star, or the crystal dew-drops on the grass at sun- 
rise ; her sudden appearance, a sunburst through 
a cloud of mist ; the majesty of her mien, the 
grace of the white-breasted swan surveying his 
arching neck in the mirror of the blue lake ; her 
voice, the cooing of the dove, the magic sounds 
of fairy music, or the speaking note of the cuckoo 
when he bids the woods rejoice ; her hair 
either ambery, golden, or flaxen ringleted, 
braided, perfumed, bepearled, sweeping the tie of 
her sandal, or floating on the silken wing of the 
breeze ! The enamoured poet will lead his love 
over the green-topped hills of the South or West, 
will show her ships and sails through the vistas 
of the forest, as they seek their retreat by the 
shore of the broad lake. They shall dine on the 
venison of the hills, the trout of the lake, arid the 
honey of the hollow oak. Their couch shall be 
the purple-blossomed heath, the soft moss of the 
rock, or the green rushes strewn with creamy 
agrimony, and the early call of the heath-cock 
alone shall break their slumber of love ! 

Allegory was the favourite vehicle of convey- 
ing the political sentiment of Ireland in song, at 
least since the days of Elizabeth. To this figure 
the poets were inclined by the genius of the 
tongue, as well as the necessity which urged to 
clothe the aspirations for freedom in a figurative 

Introduction. 15 

dress. Erin, the goddess of the bard's worship, is 
a beautiful virgin, who has fallen within the grasp 
of the oppressor all the terms of his tongue are 
expended in celebration of the charms of her 
person, her purity, her constancy, her present 
sufferings, her ancient glory ! Her metaphorical 
names are many : the chief among that class are 
" Rds geal Dubh," " Graine Mhaol," " Droiman 
Donn ;" or she sometimes appears invested with 
all the attributes in which the beautiful fairy 
mythology of the land enwraps the fabled beings 
of its creation. She leads the poet a devious route 
to many a rath and fairy palace, till at length, amid 
the shadowy forms of olden bards, and chiefs, and 
regal dames, and sceptred kings, she bids the 
wondering mortal proclaim to the Milesian Race 
that the period was at hand when her faithful 
friends would burst her bonds of slavery ! The 
" Vision of John MacDonnell " is a beautiful 
instance of this species of composition, and is also 
very curious in illustration of the fairy topography 
of Ireland. 

A few specimens to prove our remarks upon 
the power of Irish verse, may not, perhaps, be 
unacceptable to the reader. The following noble 
stanza is from a poem by Eoghan O'Rahilly, a 
poet of the last century, on a shipwreck which he 
witnessed on the coast of Kerry. The stanza and 
its translation are taken from O'Reilly's " Bio- 
graphy of Irish Writers " : 

1 6 Introduction. 

4)ob 6431140 ift))]tT; t)4 -crjte tie 

t)4 540 

T4 FitlJOtJT) 4)Jl / GtieUT) 

50 SJiiWjol 5411 T>4jl 

The roaring flood resistless force display'd, 
Each whirling blast the swelling surges sway'd, 
The vessel burst alas ! the crew she bore 
ScreamM in the deep, and sank to rise no more ! 

Donough MacNamara, a Waterford poet of the 
last century, in his mock ^Eneid, thus describes 
the roar of the Stygian ferryman as penetrating 
the remotest boundaries of creation : 

4)o 16)5 re 54ifi or 4jvo jr b6jce4c, 

te TPU41H) 4 50*64 T> 

Do CU4U-6 4t) cjirjtine 6 'r 

He uttered an outcry and a roar 

At the sound of his voice the heavens were shaken, 

All creation heard it, and hell rebellowed ! 

The following incentive to battle is from the 
pen of Andrew Magrath, called the Mangaire 
Sugach, another Munster poet : 

Sjn 4547 b 4t) -c^n) 45ur 54b4J5 le t)4 c6jle, 
Ptte.4.b475 le -pot)!) 43ur pl4tii)C4i5 rneit-p^c, 

4T) ^054 4tl t>tte^tT) 4T) 6jt)5, 

le rs^t <5'o-3le<5! 

The hour hath come unite your force ; 
Rush with ardour, and strike the fat he-goats ; 

Introduction. 1 7 

Follow up the assault on the perfidious race, 
And let none swerve in terror from the conflict ! 

In " The Boat Song," one of the songs in the 
present collection, the poet thus apostrophises a 
rock in Blacksod Bay : 

4T) JllUfO-tMllC-f O ^UTTJ-f 


O ! Dilion, tempest-beaten rock, all rough and dark I 
Look forth, and see beneath me now this bounding 


And say, if e'er thou boat beheld within this bay, 
Wave mounted, cleaving, confident, like mine to- 


The wind agitating the waters of the River 
Funcheon is thus described by one MacAuliff , a 
blacksmith of Glanmire, near Cork. I would beg 
of the classical reader to compare this line with 
that frequently quoted one in the first book of 
Homer's Iliad : 

t)4 '0-'COT)T). 

Loud-clanging, forceful, wild-tossing the waves. 

The following instance from the song of Eadh 
monn an Chnoic will shew how the consonant 
sounds are softened down by aspiration : 

18 Introduction. 

2i cijl 4b}T)ii -6e4r t)4 b-^Tjt)e-4'64 3 

Maid of the wreathed ringlets, beautiful, exceedingly 

Blue and splendid are your eyes ! 

And again, in the same song as it is sung in the 
South of Ireland : 

cun)4jt) r<* re^ftc tt4C4nr)'ot)e 
cojlVce 413 tY^U T>|iuc'C4, 

b]te4C 'it lot) 4)ji 4 t)e4"c>, 
43 bv}tjie ; 

|i 5^-434^ 43 

CU4)C)r) 41|l b4|l|l 4T) U 

30 b|i4T; ui TIJOC^ 4t) b 

My hope, my love, we will proceed 

Into the woods, scattering the dews, 

Where we will behold the salmon, and the ousel 

in its nest, 

The deer and the roe-buck calling, 
The sweetest bird on the branches warbling, 
The cuckoo on the summit of the green hill ; 
And death shall never approach us 
In the bosom of the fragrant wood ! 

In the allegorical song, R6s geal Dubh, the 
poet's love for his unfortunate country, and his 
utter despair of its freedom, are thus expressed: 

Introduction. 19 

434111 4Tt) 

ler bl)434JT) 4t)OJT 


rt) 3411 

54T) ]llAl), 54T) 
30 b|l4'C, btl4t, 54t) 40T) >!41U 434 ft) 


My love sincere is centred here 

This year and more 
Love, sadly vexing, love perplexing, 

Love" painful, sore, 

Loye, whose rigour hath crush'd my vigour, 

Thrice hopeless love, 
While fate doth sever me, ever, ever, 

From R6s geal Dubh ! 

In the song of " Beautiful Deirdre," the follow- 
ing will illustrate what has been already said of 
the power of the Irish in the use of synonymes : 

Jr C4Tt)4nT4C Cl40IJ, 'T IT C|l40b4C, Ctl4*-U|lt4C, 

, Uob-64, 


Her ringlet-hair 

Curve-arching, meandering, spreading, curl-quivering, 

Fascinating, stringlike, pliant-wreathing, restless- 


Free-extending, inclining, abundant, thick-twining, 
Mildly-bright branchy, far-sweeping. 

20 Introduction. 

The next is a proof of the exquisite feeling of 
the elegiac muse of our valleys. A lover is weep- 
ing over the grave of his betrothed : 

rr v6?5 le n)o TT)Y}TTG)JI 50 n)-bjtt>re 4ijt rno 

-DO tU4tt)b4 re4t> Bftt) rfa'Ce O OJ-6ce 50 TT)4J-0- 


215 CU|l TJOr tt)0 CjlUA-DUdTr), IT 45 CJtlU-D-SOl 30 

When the folk of my household suppose I am sleep- 

On your cold grave till morning the lone watch I'm 

keeping ; 
My grief to the night wind for the mild inaid t 

Who was my betrothed since infancy tender ! 

I shall conclude these quotations with this 
simile, taken from one of the songs in the present 
collection : 


i'D 411 5- ceo! 

I saw her approach me along the mountain, 
Like a star through a mist ! 

I shall now introduce to the reader's notice 
some of the poets of the last century, from whose 

Introduction. 21 

writings many of the songs in this collection are 
taken. Some of these songs belong to an earlier 
period. R6s geal Dubh, for instance, is supposed 
to have been composed in the time of Queen 
Elizabeth ; but the names of the writers of some 
of the best in the collection are now unknown. 
In these songs, the historian or moral philosopher 
may trace the peculiar character of our people; 
and from fragmented phrases and detached 
expressions, ascertain the " form and pressure " of 
the times to which they belong, even as the 
geologist bears away fragments of old world 
wonders, whence to deduce a theory or establish a 
truth. He will trace the ardent temper and un- 
broken spirit of our people in these undefined as- 
pirations for freedom the allegorical poems ; 
their vehement and fiery love, chastened and sub- 
dued beneath the yoke of reason, by deep 
religious feeling, in their pastoral songs ; and in 
the elegiac strains he will trace the intense feel- 
ings that exist in the Irish heart, as the mourner 
pours his despair over the grave of departed 
beauty, or sighs, on the margin of a foreign shore, 
for one green spot in his own loved island which 
he can never more behold. 

These song writers are, doubtless, the lineal 
descendants of the bards of preceding centuries. 
Their poems, however, are not works of art ; they 
are, with few exceptions, the efforts of untutored 
nature the spontaneous produce of a rich poetic 

22 Introduction. 

soil. But if these wild lyrics thrill with electric 
power to the heart, what must be the effect of the 
finished productions of that happier period when 
the chiefs of the land protected the craft of the 
minstrel ! 

Chief among these poets, as distinguished for 
his extensive learning and bardic powers, stands 
John MacDonnell, surnamed Claragh, a native of 
Charleville, in the County Cork. He was the con- 
temporary and friend of John Toomey, a Limerick 
poet, celebrated for his convivial temper and 
sparkling wit. The " Vision," of MacDonnell, 
with some other pieces, come within the present 
collection. He was a violent Jacobite, and his 
poems are chiefly of that character. In his time, 
the poets held " bardic sessions " at stated intervals, 
for the exercise of their genius. The people of 
the districts bordering upon the town of Charle- 
ville yet retain curious traditions of these literary 
contests, in which the candidates for admission 
were obliged to furnish extempore proofs of 
poetical ability. O'Halloran, in his " Introduction 
to the History of Ireland," makes honourable 
mention of this gifted man, and says that he was 
engaged in writing a history of Ireland in the 
native tongue. MacDonnell made also a proposal 
to some gentleman of the County Clare to trans- 
late Homer's Iliad into Irish. " From the speci- 
men he gave," says O'Halloran, "it would seem 
that this prince of poets would appear as respect- 
able in a Gathelian as in a Greek dress." 

Introduction. 23 

MacDonnell died in 1754, and was interred 
near Charleville. His friend and brother poet, 
John Toomey, wrote his elegy, which may be 
found in Mr. Hardiman's "Minstrelsy." 

Andrew Magrath, surnamed the Mangaire 
Sugach, from whose writings I have largely ex- 
tracted, was a native of the County Limerick. 
He practised, for a considerable time, the business 
of a pedlar, or travelling merchant, an occupation 
that gave occasion to the designation, Mangaire 
Sugach, which denotes the Jolly Merchant. His 
poems are very numerous, and greatly varied, 
being chiefly satirical, amatory, and political. 
This man possessed a genius of the highest order. 
His humorous pieces abound with the most deli- 
cate touches, for, as his occupation of pedlar led 
him into all grades of society, his discrimination 
of character was consequently very acute. His 
love songs are full of pathos, and, so far as I have 
been able to observe, entirely free from the taint 
of licentiousness. He, however, lived a vicious, 
sensual life, and by his irregularities incurred the 
censures of the Roman Catholic priesthood. It 
was on occasion of his being refused admittance 
into the Protestant communion, after his expulsion 
from the Catholic Church, that he wrote his 
" Lament," where the portraiture of his strange 
distress leaves the reader at a loss whether to 
weep at his misfortune, or laugh at the ludicrous 
expression of his sorrow. 

24 Introduction. 

Owen O'Sullivan, usually named Eoghan Ruadh, 
or Owen the Red, from the colour of his hair, was 
a native of the County Kerry. He lived at a 
somewhat later period than either MacDonnell or 
Magrath, and was also, like Magrath, a very 
eccentric character. O'Sullivan sometimes fol- 
lowed the employment of an itinerant labourer, 
in which occupation he would make periodical 
excursions into the Counties of Cork, Limerick, 
and Tipperary, during the reaping and potato- 
digging seasons. In the summer months, he 
would open a hedge school in the centre of a 
populous district, where the boys of the surround- 
ing hamlets, and the " poor scholars " who usually 
followed in the wake of Owen's perambulations, 
were taught to render the Greek of Homer and 
the usual school range of Latin authors into Irish 
and English. I should observe that Owen the 
Red wrote and spoke the English tongue with 
considerable fluency. Many of his satires, written 
in that language, against the Volunteers of '82, 
are yet preserved in the neighbourhood of 
Churchtown and Charleville, in the County of 

O'Sullivan's productions are satirical, elegiac, 
amatory and political. He is the favourite poet 
of the Munster peasantry, and their appreciation 
of the potato-digging bard does high credit to 
their critical discrimination. His strain was bold, 
vigorous, passionate, and feeling ; his only fault 

Introduction. 25 

being a redundancy of language to which he was 
led by the inclination of the Irish tongue, and his 
own vehemence of temper. He died in 1784. 

The following extract from the life of Owen 
O'Sullivan, as I have given it in the ** Jacobite 
Reliques," will furnish a glimpse of this unfor- 
tunate genius : 

" There are doubtless many of my readers who 
now hear of Owen Roe O'Sullivan for the first time. 
To them, perhaps, it will be necessary to say, that 
Owen Roe was to Ireland what Robert Burns, at a 
somewhat later day, was to Scotland the glory and 
shame of his native land. I know no two cha- 
racters in my range of observation that so closely 
resemble each other as Burns and Owen Roe. The 
same poetical temperament the same desire of 
notoriety the same ardent sighings for woman's 
love the same embracing friendship for the human 
family and the same fatal yearnings after " cheer- 
ful tankards foaming," alike distinguished the 
heaven-taught minstrels. Like Burns, Owen Roe 
first tuned his reed to the charms of nature and 
the joys of woman's love like Burns, the irregu- 
larity of his life obliged the clergymen of his per- 
suasion to denounce him ; and, like him, he lashed 
the priestly order without ruth or remorse like 
Burns, he tried the pathetic, the sublime, the hu- 
morous, and, like him, succeeded in all. Nor does 
the parallel end here ; they were both born in an 
humble cottage ; both toiled through life at the 

26 Introduction. 

spade and plough ; and both fell, in the bloom of 
manhood, in the pride of intellect, the victims of 
uncontrolled passion !" 

William Hefferan, more usually called Uilliam 
Dall, or Blind William, a native of Shronehill, 
in the County Tipperary, was contemporary with 
MacDonnell and Toomey, with whom he often 
tried his poetic powers in the literary battles of 
the bardic sessions. He was born blind, and spent 
the greater part of his life, a poor houseless 
wanderer, subsisting upon the bounty of others. 
His pieces are political, elegiac, and amatory. 
The tenderness of his amatory muse is refined and 
sweet in the highest degree. His allegorical 
poem, Cliona of the Rock, says Mr. Hardiman, 
" would in itself be sufficient to rescue his memory 
from oblivion, and stamp him with the name of 
poet. The machinery of this ode has been a 
favourite form of composition with our later bards. 
They delighted in decorating these visionary 
beings with all charms of celestial beauty, and in 
this respect, our author appears to have been no 
mean proficient. His description is heightened 
with all the glow and warmth of the richest 
oriental colouring, and the sentiments and lan- 
guage are every way worthy of the subject." 

His Caitlin ni UallacJidn and other pieces, in 
this collection, will furnish a fair specimen of his 

Introduction. 27 

Another poet of this century was Donough Roe 
MacNamara, a native of Waterford, who, finding 
that the profits of his hedge school, in which he 
taught Greek and Latin to the peasantry, were 
inadequate to his support, resolved to try his 
fortune as a labourer in Newfoundland. He em- 
barked ; but on the second day of the voyage, the 
vessel in which he sailed was chased back upon 
the Irish coast by a French privateer, and poor 
MacNamara once more took to the teaching trade. 
At the suggestion of a Mr. Power, he afterwards 
wrote a metrical account of his adventure. In 
this poem he sets out with a description of his 
poverty the manner in which the whole parish 
contributed to fit him out the fascination of his 
landlady and her fair daughter, in Waterford 
a storm at sea sea-sickness of the passengers a 
vision in which the queen of the fairies takes him 
to the realm of departed spirits, where he beholds 
the shades of Irish warriors, and hears strange 
political revelations, &c., &c. This mock .^Eneid 
contains passages of extraordinary power, and rare 
flights of humour. MacNamara also produced 
many political and amatory songs. 

The foregoing are the writers from whose works 
I have chosen some of the pieces in this collection. 
Contemporary poets, of whose poems I have not 
availed myself are Eoghan jD'Rahilly, a native of 
Kerry, a man of learning and great natural 
abilities. The peasantry of the bordering Counties 

28 Introduction. 

of Cork, Limerick, and Kerry, yet recite his poems, 
and cherish the memory of his caustic wit and 
exquisite humour. O'Halloran makes honourable 
mention of this poet. Denis and Connor O'Sullivan, 
brothers, authors of many excellent political and 
amatory songs, were also natives of Kerry. In 
the same district, at a somewhat later period, lived 
Fineen O'Scannell, a man of high poetical merit, 
the author of many poems. Edmund Wall was 
also a satirical poet of much celebrity in the 
County of Cork. 

The Reverend William English, a friar of the 
City of Cork, was a poet, highly facetious and 
satirical. Timothy O'Sullivan usually named 
Teige Gaelach, a native of the County Waterf ord, 
was also a poet of great celebrity. His works are 
numerous, consisting of odes, elegies, political 
songs, and pastorals. His elegy on the death of 
Denis MacCarthy, of Ballea, in the County 
Cork, is a beautiful specimen of this species of 
composition. In early life his conduct was very 
irregular, and many of his poems licentious ; but 
in after time he became sincerely penitent, and 
devoted his talents to the composition of sacred 
poems and hymns, many of which have been col- 
lected and published under the title of " Timothy 
O'Sullivan's Pious Miscellany." 

In this passing view of the writers of the last 
century, I have confined myself to those of the 
South of Ireland alone. Even many of these I 

Introduction. 29 

must pass over in silence, and shall close with some 
account of John Collins, whose genius and 
learning eminently qualify him to stand among 
the first of modern writers in Ireland. Collins 
taught school at Skibbereen, in the County Cork, 
where he died, in 1816. His poems are held in 
high estimation ; his best production, or perhaps 
the best in the modern Irish, being his poem on 
" Timoleague Abbey." Collins has given an Irish 
translation of Campbell's " Exile of Erin," which 
admirably proves, if proof were necessary, the 
power of the Irish language. None will pronounce 
this translation in any instance inferior to the 
celebrated original, while, in many passages, the 
Irish version rises far superior in harmony of 
numbers and feeling of expression ! 

In conclusion, I beg leave to say a word or two 
respecting the songs in this collection. I have 
admitted nothing among them calculated, in a 
moral or political point of view, to give offence. 
I have also been careful to avoid that error which 
I already censured in others namely, the fault of 
not suiting the measure of the translation to the 
exact song-tune of the original. The Irish scholar 
will perceive that I have embodied the meaning 
and spirit of each Irish stanza within the compass 
of the same number of lines, each for each ; and 
that I have also preserved, in many of the songs, 
the cassural and demi-cassural rhymes, the use of 
which produces such harmonious effect in Irish 

30 Introduction, 

Terse. I offer these songs to the public as evidence 
of the poetic spirit of our people. To the reader 
who cannot peruse the original, I have to say, that 
the English versions are faithful, and, in most 
instances, perfectly literal transcripts of the Irish; 
and that our hills and valleys, and milking bawns. 
and every cottager's fireside, are vocal with 
hundreds of songs, which want but the aid of a 
poet, himself one of the people, speaking their 
tongue, and familiar with its idioms, to recom- 
mend them to public notice in an English dress. 

It is fit to state that I have copied into this little 
work some of the songs which Mr. Hardiman has 
left untranslated in the "Minstrelsy," and also 
that I have selected from manuscripts some songs 
which I subsequently found had been already 
used by Mr. Hardiman. Some of my versions, 
however, are different from his. 

In consequence of the neglected state of the 
Irish language during the last two centuries, 
considerable irregularity has arisen among writers 
in the use of its orthography. This will be ap- 
parent to anyone who considers what the fate of 
a language must be, which, ceasing to be the 
vehicle of learned instruction, descends to the use 
of men unskilled in the rules of composition, and 
ignorant even of the modes of inflecting nouns, 
or conjugating verbs. The songs in this collec- 
tion, I am proud to say, are as free as possible 
from grammatical error, Mr. Owen Connellan. 

Introduction. 31 

Irish Historiographer to their late Majesties, 
George IV. and William IV., translator of the 
** Annals of the Four Masters," and author of a 
" Grammar of the Irish Language," &c., having 
kindly undertaken to read the Irish throughout, 
and to correct every apparent error of the text. 


Dublin, January, 1847. 

Edward Walsh was interred in the Mathew 
Cemetery, Cork, where a Celtic Cross bears the 
following inscription, in Irish and English : 

t)'feA5 AT) r^ireAb IA &o rij], 

lUTJTJ&rA tn.&.CCCl. 

SAT) mbljA&Aji) ceActtAcAt) 

t)0 C05bA& AT) CttOf l]A5 fO 

2l)Ati leAcc-CuiTTjrje &o le A 
C&ltt&lb' A5Uf le luce 




Died August 6th, 1850, 

Aged 45 Years. 
Erected to his Memory 

By a few Admirers of the Patriot and the Bard. 
God rest his Soul. 

The following more correct rendering of the 
Irish has been furnished to us by a friend : 


Who Died the 6th August, 1850, 

In the 45th year of his age. 

This Memorial Cross was erected in memory of him by his Friends 

and by the People, who esteemed him much. 

May God give eternal rest to his Soul. 


29 Essex Quay, Dublin, 

24th March, 1883. 

From amongst many of Edward Walsh's letters in my posses- 
sion, I send you four which I have selected for insertion in your 
new edition of his " Irish Popular Songs." 

These letters are most characteristic of the meekness of the poor 
fellow in the dark hours of his homeless adversity ; in them are to 
be found traces of the poetic, patriotic, and most, tender domestic 
feeling as well as a spirit of Christian resignation and humility 
under a load of undeserved punishment, 

Poor Walsh ! with great talents and goodness of heart, his life 
experiences in his own dear Isle were anything but pleasurable. 

As you aided him in putting his first edition through the press, I 
don't wonder at your being so anxious to make this edition an 
interesting and successful one. 

With best wishes for the realization of your hopes in connection 
with the re-issue of Walsh's " Irish Popular Songs." 

To Mr. Peter Roe. 


Duke's-row, Summer-hill, 

Dublin, January 2nd, 1844. 

I did not receive your letter till late last night, though left 
here yesterday morning. 

I called at Machen's at 10 to-day. He informed me that the 
printer did not yet give him your second number, and that many 
gentlemen called to enquire for it, and seemed disappointed. I 
called at the residence of a barrister of note in the city after- 


34 Original Letters. 

wards one of those fiery spirits who are carrying out the present 
movement of freedom, and he told me that he likewise called at 
Machen's for the songs. He begged of me to leave him my 
metrical version of the songs to show to his friends. He has ft 
high opinion of my abilities, and says that my aid in giving an 
elegant translation would be powerful in recommending them to 
many English readers. He says it would be a good plan to intro- 
duce your literal version with the Irish that is, to give the prose 
English under the Irish, word for word, without regard to the 
arrangement for the use of them who would study the tongue, 
and they would be many. He says such songs would take well. 
He has given me some business in the way of writing. 

The artist I spoke of informs me that Curry says the last line of 
the Creevin JErin in your song is not belonging to that song at all ; 
and I am clearly of opinion that it does not suit the measure of the 
other lines. Curry remarks that the two first lines are from a long 
song, the others are from a Jacobite song, and the last taken from 
some other song. 

I have to say that it strikes me if the songs were got up in a 
clever way, they would succeed. 

You will scarcely be able to read this, which I write in a con- 
founded hurry. 

Yours faithfully, 


P.S. I have no certain knowledge when I leave town, or whether 
I go at all I'll know in a week. The Creevin Erin is in the 
mouth of all the clever fellows here. 

23 Duke's-row, Summer-hill, 
Dublin, January 5th, 1844. 

I got your letter this morning, and have great pleasure in 
now replying to that favour. 

I called into Machen's at half-past 2 o'clock yesterday, and up 
to that time the printer did not send him your songs. 

I did not go to hear Mr. S 's lecture at the Rotundo. I did 

Original Letters. 35 

not know that you were acquainted with him. I now suppose him 
to be the person of whom we were speaking, and whose brother f 

I was in the hope that the board would allow me back to my 
snug residence at Touriu, but they decided against it yesterday, 

though Sir B. M and the superintendent applied in my behalf. 

I am grieved that my poor wife and infants will be disturbed in their 
calm solitude, and sent up here in winter weather God pardon the 
doers of this injustice. You will say, perhaps that it is the best course 
for my future advancement. It may be so, but I am not well fitted for 
the bustle of a town life, and besides, I dread if my health, which is 
not very robust, should fail I dread the fate of my family ; but I 
must now bear the charge and pray to God to assist me. 

With regard to our projects respecting the songs, I understand 
you to say that you will bear all the expenses of printing, paper, 
&c., and after deducting all costs from the sales, you then at the 
end of six months will equally share the net profits remaining, with 
me. If this should be so, I am content. I'll engage to give you 
spirited translations, talent is my only stock-in-trade, and I'll be 
no miser of it. In all other respects, Mr. Daly, reckon me as one 
who would die rather than lie or deceive. 

I would wish, when you give the metrical version of the songs, 
that you gave the name of the translator. Mr. Lane recommends 
me not to forget this, as it might procure me notice. 

That Mr. Curry sent the artist I was speaking of to me last 
night, to say that he would wish to know me. I am now about to 
go to him to the Academy, and shall enquire at Machen's about the 
songs. It still strikes me the last line of the Creevin has not the 
same measure nor number of feet with the other lines. Try, Mr. 
Daly. I shall with great pleasure try my hand .at your songs, Nos. 
y and 3, if you send up the Irish and your literal version. I wish 
you were here, and then we would pull harmoniously together. I am 
very lonely and sad away from my own beloved wife and children, 
and cannot well settle down to anything till they come ; I have 
written for them. 

Believe me, with all truth, dear Mr. Daly, 

Yours very faithfully, 


36 Original Letters. 

23 Duke's-row, Summer-bill, 
Dublin, Wednesday, January 10th, 1844. 


I Lave thrown out no hint of your dealing unfairly by me, 
but I understood from you both " by word and write," as Burns 
says, that I was to share half the profits. That you meant so if I 
paid half the expenses as they occurred, I do not now doubt, 
because you tell me so, but I did not understand it so before. How- 
ever, I am willing to sing for the thing you mention, that is one- 
third, as I cannot get more unless I contribute to the outlay. 
Are you satisfied, Mr. Daly ? 

I am prepared at all times to try my rhyming powers, though the 
vispoetica will not rush forth at my call at all times ; however, never 
ask me if I am prepared, but always send without ceremony ; send 
the Irish and the literal version. What you translated link in the 
Creevin I could not for some time understand the meaning of. I've 
learned it means a " ringlet of hair ;" you should render it ringlet 
it is highly poetical ; your translation bore me from the meaning. 
I have written to Mrs. Walsh, and mentioned you. When she calls 
(if she travels by that way), provide her some decent safe lodging 
house to sleep in; she is anxious to see "Edward," and I don't 
think she will linger on the road. Your civil and kind invitation 
pleases me, Mr. Daly. 

I was greatly pleased with your intention of giving the interlinear 
version according to my first suggestion. If you gave it without 
regard to the grammatical order of the English, but word for word 
in the Irish, it would be of service to my poetic version, by turning 
the reader from instituting comparisons between your accurate 
version and my looser one. 

I called to-day at Machen's. He tells me the songs are taking 
right cleverly, but he complains of the manner in which the second 
number is got up. It is not fit for a street ballad, in type and 
paper. The letterpress and paper would damn the best work of 
the day. I told him you were taking it out of the printer's hands 
altogether, and he seemed pleased. 'I bought your first number, 
and am greatly pleased with its cleverness, and also at its respect- 
able appearance. 

/ earnestly beg of you, unless you wish to ruin the Irish 

Original Letters. 37 

character of the work, not to print your Irish in either the Roman 
or Italian character. 

The old Irish type is the type of their nationality ; alter that, 
and you destroy it. These are my own suggestions. I have not 
spoken yet to anyone on the subject, but shall, perhaps, with Mr. 
Duffy tomorrow. You will pardon me, and attribute to my present 
situation the manner in which I send your communication. 
I beg to remain yours, 


P.S. I am confident Mr. C. G. Duffy will agree with me in say- 
ing that the Irish should be done in Irish types. 

Eichmond Cottages, Summer-hill, 

Dublin, March 7th, 1844. 

I trust you will pardon me for not replying earlier to your 
letters, when I assure you that I have so lengthened my hours of 
labour, that I scarcely have time to say my prayers, which, as a 
good Catholic, you are aware I am bound to do at least twice a- 
day. I thank you for the newspaper, which I now return. The 
notice was good, and a very keen logical critic to whom I showed 
it, upon reading the song, said it was in every way equal to 
" Craovin Aowen." I beg you will send me all the papers you 
may get containing critical notices of our work, and I shall faith- 
fully return them. I took care on Tuesday or Wednesday last (I 
don't remember which) to write to Mr. Duffy, at Bathmiiies, men- 
tioning the honourable testimony which the songs elicited from 
the provincial Press, and your regret and disappointment the Nation 
the powerful leader of public opinion should not honour you 
with a single remark. I accompanied this with a request that he 
would give us a favourable notice on Saturday's Nation. But Mr. 
Duffy neither gave the requested notice as you must already 
have perceived, nor sent me a private line in answer to my com- 
munication. This neglect on Mr. Duffy's part fills me with sur- 
prise, and I would assuredly have had a personal interview with 
him to ascertain the cause, had I time sufficient to visit him. 
This is an unnatural state of society, where a man having no pre- 

38 Original Letters. 

tension to literary merit, is so chained down to the galley oar of 
exertion for what heaven allots to the wild beast of the hill his 
" daily bread," that he has not only no time to think of God and his 
glorious kingdom come to listen to the communing of heaven's 
angels with his own immortal spirit, but cannot spare an hour 
from his task-time to cross a town or a street upon a common 
errand of business ! But so it is. 

I called at Goodwin's, but the proof was not ready. They told 
me that they would forward you one on Saturday, and that I could 
have another at six o'clock on Saturday night, but the severe storm 
of that evening blew the memory of Goodwin and Co. and all his 
proof sheets clean from my cranium, as I passed along in the 
sweeping strife of the elements. 

I never perceived my cleverness at entering fully into the true 
spirit of Irish song till I read D'Alton's translation. I have many 
stanzas of the translated songs, evidently improved upon the old 
bard, and have scarcely ever fell much beneath him in conveying 
the wrongs and feelings of our race. A portion of this is because 
I am intimately acquainted with the manners and feelings of the 
people, and feel, indignantly feel, myself with all a poet's feeling, 
the curse and crime of the tyrant. You were scarcely out of town 
when a friend informed me that you made a very profitable hit by 
the sale of some Irish works; this rejoiced me exceedingly, though 
I would be better pleased to hear it otherwise than at second-hand, 
but I am delighted to hear it at any hand. You will believe this 
when, in addition to my own assertion, I assure you that a certain 
friend of mine who is a deep phrenologist, says, upon an examina- 
tion of my skull, that I have " Benevolence and Attachment " un- 
commonly developed. 

I expected Owen Roe, my favourite poet, before, this. I am im- 
patient to see how his English suit will fit him. Heaven speed 
the literary taylor. 



'114 re^TAT) 41fl 41) 4et>4|l, 
4't 4T1 5e4t4C 1)4 l^e, 

4t) t^ll^S^ |i4i3ce 54T) b|i4ori, 
'S lift n6)rt) 45 4t) C4U Tt)4|i b)o-6 ; 

4 41) CU41C)1)> 4 Tl)-b4tl]t4'D4)b 1)4 

<t>'4 rlon-n^-o suti 641415 rl 

ii) 1)4 n)-b4C4ll n)-b|ie45 


b4r, 4'r 4 
intl, 34C 14 

3U|i c]i4'6 rl le CMC 
u 4'n) I4|i t 

50 b- 





The sun hath gone down in the sky, 

The stars cease their heavenly way, 
The tides of the ocean are dry, 

The swan on the lake hath no sway ; 
The cuckoo but adds to our care, 

"Who sings from his green, leafy throne, 
How the maid of the fine flowing hair 

Left Erin in sadness to moan 1 


Three evils accompany love, 

These evils are Sin, Death and Pain 
And well doth each passing hour prove 

Thou'st woven around me their chain! 
Oh, maiden that woundedst me sore, 

Receive this petition from me, 
And heal my fierce pain, I implore, 

So GOD yield his mercy to thee ! 

42 Irish Popular Songs. 


1 'n4 4t) be'i-ollDD 'r H4 't) IjY 
'S t)4 cejte4b4ji T) 

54C 4lT! 4t)T) 4 Cl)4b ; 
4T) 64U 4^|l 4T) 'C'C^l^, 

'S T>oj5 lion) 5U]t b|ie454 1 t}4't) 
6 njo curn4i"6 56u|i n)4|i TJU5 
'S 50 nj-i:e4tiit Ijort) t)4C b-veici:/t)t) j 


C4T5 Tt)4flb C4T 4t)T) t)4 V)- 


nje rse4C 'r AT) -CC4C itAlb 5|i4'6 5C4l njo 
'S crj|i 4rj C4jlle4c 

* This is said to be the original song composed to that delightful 
tune, " The Twisting of the Rope." Tradition thus speaks of its 
origin. A Counaught harper having once put up at the residence 
of a rich farmer, began to pay such attentions to the young woman 
of the house, as greatly displeased her mother, who instantly con- 
ceived a plan for the summary ejectment of the minstrel. She pro- 
vided some hay, and requested the harper to twist the rope which 

Irish Popular Songs. 43 


Her voice doth the viol surpass, 

Or blackbird's sweet notes on the tree, 
More radiant than dew-sprinkled grass, 

In figure and feature she be : 
Her neck like the swan's on the wave, 

Her eye hath a light like the sun ; 
And oh, that my lost heart I gave, 

Or saw her who left me undone 1 


What mortal conflict drove me here to roam, 
Though many a maid I've left behind at home ; 
Forth from the house where dwelt my heart's dear 

I was turned by the hag at the twisting of the rope ! 

she set about making. As the work progressed and the rope 
lengthened, the harper, of course, retired backward, till he went 
beyond the door of the dwelling, when the crafty matron suddenly 
shut the door in his face, and then threw his harp out of the window. 
The version sung in the south of Ireland has some additional 
stanzas, but I give the song as it is found in Hardiman's 
" Minstrelsy," vol. i., where it is left untranslated. 

44 Irish Popular Songs. 


21)4 bjt>e4rw TUI Ijort), bj-6 l)on) TDO to 4'r 'o'oj'oce ; 
21)4 bjt^tit) -cu Ijon), bj-6 Ijott) or cori)4ifi 4t) 

'DO 54b4T 4T1)4C 
b|lU4C Iod4 L6jT),* 



21)4 b)-6e4t)n -cu Ijortj, b)T3 Ijott) 346 dii-oUc 4t)t) 
c|to]-6e ; 

J S 6 TT)4 lent) T)4C l)0lt) 'Gtl4'6t)0t)4 til tl)4|l 


& edlur 41 |i tt)o 

TT)O 4f4 tt)Ut)4 eiS^t) T>4Tt)l*4 Tt)4|l 4 

te p4)i)e4'6 564! 4t) Ue. 

* l/oc/ia Lein, ioc/t iene, the Lake of Killarney, in Kerrj. 

Irish Popular Songs. 45 


If thou be mine, be mine both day and night, 
If thou be mine, be mine in all men's sight, 
If thou be mine, be mine o'er all beside 
And oh, that thou wert now my wedded bride ! 


In Sligo first I did my love behold, 

In Galway town I spent with her my gold 

But by this hand, if thus they me pursue, 

I'll teach these dames to dance a measure new ! 



At early dawn I once had been 

Where Lene's blue waters flow, 
When summer bid the groves be green, 

The lamp of light to glow 
As on by bower, and town, and tower, 

And wide-spread fields I stray, 
I meet a maid in the greenwood shade, 

At the dawning of the day. 

46 Irish Popular Songs. 


N) Jt4)b nZOCAlTD 1)4 btl05, C07P, t)4 Cl<5C4, 

njo rcott d't) TP6W 

?JOt)t) Oft-64 f)OT 50 

. 30 b4nn ^ 

B)-6 C4l4r) cfiYJ'6'ce -dice 
'S 4j|i '6|inicc b-a -oe 

e4ti d bet)ur 
te i4iner4'6 se^l 4t) Ue ! 





T1 1)0") r)4 
4i|i n^b4l, 4 

Sjt) ^4*0 4 Ti-T>e4T t)4 TOillre 45 
le 4iTje4'6 e4l 4t) Ue ! 


21 bfAC4T> -C14 1)0 4T) CCU4t4 TJU 

2lt) T'cu4i|te T>ob' 4jlle 51)407, 

21' T)-5le4T)'C4 T)Ub4, *T T1)6 4t)T) 
341) TU4)rt)T))Or 'DO td T)4 T5 > O)'DC > 

B6)t)i) C40)T) 41) -c- 
<t)o b 

Irish Popular Songs. 47 


Her feet and beauteous head were bare, 

No mantle fair she wore, 
Bui 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 ! 


Beside me sat that maid divine, 

Where 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 ! 



Oh, have you seen my fair one, 

The brightest maid of beauty's train, 
Who left me thus deploring, 

In deep, dark vales, my love-sick pain- 
That mild-ey'd, sweet-tongu'd maiden, 
Who left a wounded heart to me, 

48 Irish Popular Songs. 

50 bu4i) 16), 

54 O'GJ -AT) CCU4T) UT> b6 4)^ 4,' 


<t)o con) re4t)5 5 r 'co ri)4l4 C4et, 

o -6641)^4-6 
<t)o cjiob AT 31^ n))ne 

)0t)t)4 41) TJO-D4 'T t)4 CltilT) 1)4 


l) U4)|l 



B4 5)le 4 T>]te4C r) 

4)]t f ed*6, 

te 4|i / c|i40C4'6 t)4 

* It is said that Deirdre was confined, from the period of her 
birth, in a fort or tower, by Connor, King of Ulster, because a druid 
had foretold she would cause great calamity in the kingdom. 
When she grew up to womanhood, Naois, with his two brothers, 
bore off the beautiful captive to Scotland, when the king of that 
country, smitten by the fatal charms of the lady, formed a plan to 
destroy her lover. They were thus forced to flee from Scotland, 
and Connor, hearing of their distress, allured them over to Ireland, 
by promises of pardon, where the three brothers were slain by his 
order. For this deed of perfidy, Connor, abandoned by his nobles, 
saw Ulster ravaged from shore to shore, and bathed in the blood of 
its bravest warriors ! See Keating's " Ireland," Haliday's edition, 
page 371. 

Irish Popular Songs. 49 

My blessing I bequeath her, 

Where'er the gentle maiden be ! 

Rare artists have engraven 

Her slender waist, her beauteous brow, 
Her lip with sweetness laden, 

That once I thought would truth avow ; 
Her hand than down far fairer, 

More sleek than silk from India's shore ; 
And oh ! in grief I'm pining, 

To think I've lost her evermore ! 


With love my heart was glowing, 

When first I spied the lovely fair, 
With breast of snowy fairness, 

And white teeth, and golden hair 
She shone more bright than Deirdre, 

The curse of Meathean chiefs of pride, 
Or mild-ey'd beauteous Blanit, 

By whom a thousand heroes died ! 

+ Blanit was daughter of the king of the Isle of Man. When 
the Red Branch Knights plundered that island, this lady, who, it 
is said, surpassed in beauty all the women of her time, was ad- 
judged to Curaigh MacDaire. Cuchullin claimed her as his prize, 
but he was overcome by Curaigh in single combat. Sometime after, 
Cuchullin with a large body of men, attacked and slew Curaigh in 
his palace. Blanit then departed with Cuchullin into Ulster. 
Thither did the bard of Curaigh follow her; and one day finding 
Connor, Cuchullin, and Blauit at the promotory of Ceann Beara, he 
instantly clasped her within his arms, as she stood on the edge of a 
steep rock, and flinging himself downward, they were both instantly 
dashed to pieces ! See Keating's " History of Ireland," Haliday's 
edition, page 405 ; and also, " Transactions of the Gaelic Society." 

50 Irish Popular Songs. 

iifl T)4 Tt)-b4t), t)4 ^116)3 Tt)6 

le T^WG T>4 
341) ri)64r, 34 
2lcT> bleATMfuxcT; ir bjtrjt^T) jf 3leo* ; 

, 'r W nj)le4'6 njdjt ! 


14 T)4 lt4b4T 4)|l T;40b 4T) 

'S rt)6 45 re-dUt) i) 

O|lTt) tP^)|l-be4T) tt)40|l'D4 

T)4)]te4C ; 


'S 16 >:4)T)e4'6 4T) Ue be4t> 'n) 4ji4Ot) iot)4ji 


Cfl41)T) CUb41fC4 4 lY)b T)4 CO) lie, 
'S -C)5)OTt) 4J140T) 50 14 ):40), 

Bejt> cedl t)4 i)6un T>4]i 3-cuji cuti) co-oU, 

'S -DY^Ue ir < co|i4'6 4 ^4r 4)]t : 
21 rp6jji-be4T) n)o-64rr)rjl t)4 b)o-6 OJIT; tt)4)ii 

'S 6 cle4CT>4tt)4ti J t) 4]t pp4)r < o^ft ; 

'S 43 )Tt)TJe4C'D U4)T1) ^6)t) T>^73 4)|l Tl)4)'D)t), 

tt)o I4t?) U4)tt) !* 

* The literal meaning of this line is : " you will receive a kiss 
from me from out of the top of my hand." It shows that the custom 

Irish Popular Songs. 51 


Fair flower of maids, resign not 

My faithful heart for senseless boor, 
Who rich in worldly treasure, 

In all my glorious gifts is poor 
I who, in Autumn evening, 

Can bid the Gaelic song resound, 
Or sing the olden glory 

Of Fenian chiefs and kings renown'd ! 


One evening mild, in summer weather, 

My calves in the wild wood tending, 
I saw a maid, in whom together, 

All beauty's charms were blending 
" Permit our flocks to mix," I said, 

" 'Tis what a maiden mild would, 
And when the shades of night are fled, 

We'll lead our calves from the wild wood." 

" There grows a tree in the wild wood's breast, 

We'll stay till morn beneath it, 
Where songs of birds invite to rest, 

And leaves and flowers enwreath it 
Mild, modest maid, 'tis not amiss ; 

'Twas thus we met in childhood ; 
To thee at morn my hand I'll kiss, 

And lead the calves through the wild wood !" 

of kissing hands in salutation has prevailed among the Irish 

52 Irish Popular Songs. 


215 redU-6 t)4 ii-54tt)ii4 T>'t45 nje 'n b4)te, 

'S Ce4T)n 1)1 b?454T> 30 14 T)job, 

4tt) T>]473 T4T) tt)-b4ile, 

4 cojtle, 
Teu|i -DO 'CABAiii'c 30 14 T>ojb, 
'S le < p4?T)e4.-6 J t) Ue 


T)4 co^ltt) 43 ru5fi4'6, 'r ^ r^rtjt 1 ^ 45 
'S 4t) bl4t 43 bwvea-d &$. 

2l]]l -COJl)!) ^4'!) b)Ol4Tl 30 

'S t)4 COJIC034 45 rH^^ le l)-10rt)4'D T5e tU^-O T)4 



t) 3-CO)tl 

41) < 

Ceu-o bo b4intie, C4p4ll 

Coir l40j* t)4 Tt)-b|te4C, njo c|te4c n)6 

* The River Lee, which rises at Gougane Barra, and dividing as 
it approaches Cork, washes that city on its north and south sides, 

Irish Popular Songs. 53 


" With calves I sought the pastures wild ; 

They've stray'd beyond my keeping 
At home my father calls his child, 

And my dear mother 's weeping- 
The forester, if here they stray, 

Perhaps in friendship mild, would 
Permit our stay till the dawn of day, 

When we'll lead our calves from the wild wood." 



The pigeons coo the spring 's approaching now, 
The bloom is bursting on the leafy bough ; 
The cresses green o'er streams are clustering low, 
And honey-hives with sweets abundant flow. 


Rich are the fruits the hazly woods display 
A slender virgin, virtuous, fair, and gay ; 
With steeds and sheep, of kine a many score, 
By trout-stor'd Lee whose banks we'll see no more ! 

and, again uniting, forms that beautiful estuary, the harbour of 
Cork. Spenser speaks of 

" The spreading Lee that, like an island fair, 
Encloseth Cork with its divided flood." 


Irish Popular Songs. 


t)4 I)- 6)1) 43 T>64 1)4-6 

t)4 Uojs 45 567ft)T)e4-6 50 

43 iteub4-6 cotiti4-6 4)ti 4t) b 
4*r Coittt)4C 05 ! 


TTJO c)e 4 










C C41-C6 

4'6 t)4 - 
3-crioc ' 


, cc-c. 

30 -D-- 

4711 bd|t-D 4 lOt)5 34T) b4034l, 
5-CI)OC 'T 4T) )TT)e 3-c6)T) ! 


14, 4 fcdrt TTJO ct6)b, 

T>4 Tt)-bU4ll4-6, Jf T)4 

45 34) 34C 
174 5-cnoc 'r 41) jrtje 3- 


* This song is said to be the first Jacobite effort attempted by 
MacDounell. If this be so, the prince whose exile he deplores is 


11054 6 -DO to 

Irish Popular Songs. 55 


The little birds pour music's sweetest notes, 
The calves for milk distend their bleating throats ; 
Above the weirs the silver salmon leap, 
While Cormac Oge and I all lonely weep ! 


Once I bloom'd a maiden young, 
A widow's woe now moves my tongue ; 
My true love's barque ploughs ocean's spray, 
Over the hills and far away. 


Oh ! had I worlds, I'd yield them now, 
To place me on his tall barque's prow, 
Who was my choice through childhood's day, 
Over the hills and far away ! 


Oh ! may we yet our lov'd one meet, 

With joy-bells' chime and wild drums' beat ; 

While summoning war-trump sounds dismay, 

Over the hills and far away ! 
Oh ! had I worlds, &c. 

James, the son of the deposed monarch, James II., in whose favour 
the Scotch revolted in the year 1715. 

56 Irish Popular Songs. 


Jr 30 b-'Feice4'or4 cojiow 4ijt rsdji TIJO clejb, 
4)o -COS^T) ceo 45Uf bfidt) T>O 540-64)1, 
54C K)3 4-c4 4HT 
d le 

*S6 nio 11054 6 'DO to^r, 7C. 


5ti4-6 n)o cjioj-oere 

S6 nu'o 411 11^41^4 

ort) T)4 ceol t 
5-cnoc 'r 4T) 

6 T50 TJ054T, 7C. 

ctioc 50 l)-4ti^, 
d Homer cleiTie 4H) I4jri), 

'S6 rt)o 11054 6 -D 

)r n)4i'6 4Ti 'oorii^n T)-'C4B4]t < prjr)r) 6, 

CuTt) 4 be)TJ 4)fl bdjl-D 4 lOT)5 54T) b4054l, 

Irish Popular Songs. 57 


Oh ! that my hero had his throne, 
That Erin's cloud of care were flown, 
That proudest prince w^ould own his sway, 

Over the hills and far away ! 
Oh ! had I worlds, &c. 


My bosom's love, that prince afar, 
Our king, our joy, our orient star ; 
More sweet his voice than wild bird's lay, 

Over the hills and far away ! 
Oh ! had I worlds, &c. 

A high, green hill I'll quickly climb, 
And tune my harp to song sublime, 
And chant his praise the live-long day, 
Over the hills and far away ! 


Oh ! had I worlds, I'd yield them now, 
To place me on his tall barque's prow. 
Who was my choice through childhood's day, 
Over the hills and far away ! 

58 Irish Popular Songs. 

21 nj-b4)le 

21 "c4 n)0 5|t4-6 te bl)4t>4)i), 

jr 4jine i ' 

'S 30 b 

2ijfi Ioji5 4 cor 

41|l ^4116^ t)4 S4T7)T)4 
4)0 5e4b41tW 54T) t'CA'D 
4)4 l)-54b4int) 1 4tt) 1)011, 

i) btion-ro -6)on) 341) b 
cort)4)tile tiU3^ 

W) pdr^A-D 4CTJ 11)0 

S) 2thiiii)1i) 1)4 5|iu4)5e b4)i)e. 


213 'ot l o)ce4'D r)4 l) 

Coi)4)JlCe4f Tt)O 

'S 50 Tt)-b4 it)) Ire 50 ^4-04 4 
"N4 n))l 'r t)4 ri 
t)4 T>e45-bUr ro34)l tfoi) Sp4)i)i)e4C. 

21 T>4 C)OC C0]ttl 

B4i), ti))l)r, curt)]t4, 

* This beautiful song is preserved in Hardimau's " Minstrelsy," 
Tol. i., but is left there untranslated. 

+ Literally, the Town of the Island Ballinahinch, in the County 
of Galway, where was founded, in 1356, a monastery of Carmelite 
friars. On a small island in the lake of Ballinahinch are the rums 

Irish Popular Songs. 59 


At the Town of the Isle, my dear 
Abides this long, long year, 

Than the summer sun more brightly shining ; 
Where'er her footsteps go, 
Fair honey-flowers will grow, 

Even though 'twere winter's dark declining ! 
If to my net she sped, 
'Twould ease my heart and head, 

Where cruel love his burning brand impresses ; 
For all that living be, 
I'll choose no mate but thee, 

Beloved of the flaxen tresses ! 


At the bridge of the Avonmore, 

I saw my bosom's store, 
The maiden of the ringlets yellow 

More sweet her kisses be 

Than honey from the tree, 
Or festive Spanish wine, of flavour mellow ! 

Her bosom, globes of white, 

Sweet, fragrant, perfect, bright, 

of a castle erected in the time of Elizabeth. A river runs from the 
lake into Roundstone Bay. 

J The Owenmore, a river of the County Mayo, flowing into 
Blacksod Bay. 

60 Irish Popular Songs. 

4 c4jtt)4t> 
J S 50 i)-50jjte4ijn 41) ciuc 540 -an), 
21 I4fi 4i) 5eiri)]tj-6 411, 
4 n)-b4)le tt)-bjt>e4i)i) n)o 5114-6 


4)4 b-ip454ii)r)-re tt)o 11034 
t)e ti)i)4jb -6641*4. 4 

4 -oeiit t)4 

4)C) dr 4 5- 

50 T>iib4C 4 t)- 

41) nrc IT 


KOS 5621L <t)UBl). 


O'i)-D6 50 Tjjii, 
)ort)4ll r^)^ 4n)Y|5, 50 
4 b'eoUc l)<5tt), 

the white -skinned, black-haired Rose, is one of 
those allegorical, political songs, so common in Ireland. The poet 
sings of his country under the similitude of a distressed maiden, to 
whom he is ardently attached. In the allusions to the Pope and 
clergy, we behold the hopes of obtaining assistance from the Catholic 

Irish Popular Songs. 61 

Like drifted snow the mountain's breast that presses 
The cuckoo's notes resound, 
In winter, where thou 'rt found, 

Beloved of the flaxen tresses ! 


Oh ! if the boon were mine, 

From beauty's ranks divine, 
To choose for aye the fairest maiden, 

'Twere her to whom sweet lays 

Consign the palm of praise, 
For whom a thousand hearts with love are laden. 

Such maid did once inspire 

The Hebrew monarch's lyre ; 
But, oh ! thine eye more dignity expresses 

Relieve my woe, I crave ; 

Oh ! snatch me from the grave, 
Beloved of the flaxen tresses ! 


A long, long way since yesterday 

I wildly sped, 
O'er mountain steep and valley deep, 

With airy tread ; 

powers of Europe. The concluding stanza vividly shews the bloody 
struggle that would take place ere Eose, his beloved Ireland, would 
be yielded to the foe. Hardiman's "Minstrelsy" has a different 
form of this song, but this is the popular version in the south, and 
is said to be as old as the time of Elizabeth. 

62 Irish Popular Songs. 

loo 6jtti)6 30 l6)tt)?Y}i), 

C6 3UJI TT)(5|l ) 41) 

-art) -6j4)-6 ti)4jt 5Jte 

210-5 Tt)0 For 5641 


5O 'D-'C)'!) 40T)4C ft)4 -66)3641) -CU 

21 T>)0l T>0 
^1)4 -66)5641) -CU, T)4 

'S 4T) o')t>ce 
B)0-6 bol'C4)'6 4)ji T> 

4T 4054 'DY^'C 4T) 


K<5)r)t) 1)4 bjo-6 b]tdi) 

t^4 c4r 4i)ojr 

T>O p4|i'DUi) di) Kojri) 

T)4 blt4)'Cll6 -C64C-C -C4tl 1*4) 16, 

jr 4 T>-'c]t)4U TJ4it njrjji, 

1)1 06)1^6411 ^)OH Sp 4)1)640 4)Jl 

For 564l 


3T14-6 43411) 4n) I4|i 

16 bl)454)l) 41)0)T, 


Irish Popular Songs. 63 

Loch Earne's tide, though its wave be wide, 

I'd leap above, 
Were my guiding light that sunburst bright, 

The R6s geal dubh ! 


If to the fair you would repair 

To sell your flocks, 
I pray secure your every door 

With bolts and locks ; 
Nor linger late from the guarded gate, 

When abroad you rove, 
Or the clerk will play through the live-long day, 

With Eds geal dubh ! 


My dearest Rose, why should these woes 

Dishearten thee ? 
The Pope of Rome hath sent thee home 

A pardon free 
A priestly train, o'er the briny main, 

Shall greet my love, 
And wine of Spain to thy health we'll drain, 

My R6s geal dubh ! 


My love sincere is centred here 

This year and more 
Love sadly vexing, love perplexing, 

Love painful, sore, 

64 Irish Popular Songs. 

5114-6 'D'TP^S tt) 

30 bjuvc, bfi4T; 54t) 40 n t^lU 454ft) 
5e4l 'oub ! 

<t)0 fjilbAfUjDIJtl AT) 

Jr ciiiri)4r TJA 5-cnoc, 
nl 30 b-^is^n nui 
Wo p^jfc le cjot) ; 

T)4 TT)-b4l) TTJYill'Ce, 



4T) t^n^lS^ ^^ "crjl-ce T>e4ri34, 

B6J-6 4T) TA0541 T)4 C054 CT140T14C 

4)0 T>rirjn) rj4 5-ctjoc, 


Irish Popular Songs. 65 

Love, whose rigour hath crush'd my vigour, 

Thrice hopeless love, 
While fate doth sever me ever, ever, 

From R6s geal dubh ! 

Within thy heart could I claim a part, 

One secret share 
We'd shape our flight, o'er the wild hills' height, 

Towards Munster fair ; 
Branch of beauty's tree, it seems to me 

I have thy love 
And the mildest flower of hall or bower, 

Is R6s geal dubh ! 


The sea outspread shall be raging red, 

All blood the skies 
And crimson war shall shout afar 

Where the wild hills rise 
Each mountain glen and mossy fen, 

In fear shall move, 
Some future day, ere thou pass away, 

My #os geal dubh ! 

66 Irish Popular Songs. 



)T FWTWS 'r V4ltee<ic 4i) 4)7; -DO belt 4 i)-e)Tt)t)D, 

Ujl64c4i) T5ub O ! 
4 nj-bjT^i)!) < co|i4'6 t)4 rl4")t)7;6 4 nj b4|t|i i) 


U)le4c4ri 'oub O ! 
4t) n))l 4)jt 4t) 5-C|i4i)ii 4f), 4 T)- 


4t1) T)0)f)> 

05 ! 


)t b4C4tl4C, bU4C4C, -DU414C 

U)le4c4i) 'oub O ! 

54C -p4Tt4)Tie 4 5lU4)te4T O CU4T)T;4)b 1)4 l)-6)fie47), 

Ut)e4c4i) 'oub O ! 

4)|l CU4)TVD, 11)4' f bU4T) TI)O 

50 7541411) 41) < CtU4)]tCe4r Tl)4|t 4|l T)U4l T> 

<t)o b'):e4|iti l)on) 'i)4 bu]t i)--DU4l54r 5)'6 njdit le 

b4i)-ci)0)c 6)1164?) 05 ! 

* Ban-chnolc Eirean 6gh, literally the fair Hills of Virgin 
Ireland. This song speaks the ardent love of the Irish exile for 

Irish Popular Songs. 67 


Beautiful and wide are the green fields of Erin, 

Uileacan dubh O 1 
With life-giving grain in the golden corn therein, 

Uileacan dubh O ! 

And honey in the woods of the mist-wreaths deep, 
And in the summer by the paths the bright streams 


At burning noon, rich, sparkling dew the fair flowers 

On the fair hills of Eire Ogh ! 


How clustering his ringlets, how lofty his bearing, 

Uileacan dubh O! 
Each warrior leaving the broad bays of Erin, 

Uileacan dubh O ! 

Would heaven grant the hope in my bosom swelling, 
I'd seek that land of joy in life's gifts excelling, 
Beyond your rich rewards, I'd choose a lowly dwel- 

On the fair hills of Eire Ogh ! 

his native land. It is said to have been written by an Irish student 
in one of the colleges of France. 

68 Irish Popular Songs. 


b O ! 

4t) TJ-)N) 4't -AT) 

b O ! 

4T) tyotUtl 4)|l 4 

bos ro3^ll, 

2l't 1)4. CU4C4 43 Ub41]t'C 4T)T) 6 Id 50 Id, 

'S 41) nntfjlfa U4T41 ir TU'AI")-^^ 1 )^ cedt, 

05 I 

21 'D4l'C4 T>)t 4T) T>4)TT> 16473 Tt)0 

45 4n 645Uir 541) 

4)CTT)e T^O t)J 5l4C4)-D T7)e 4CTJ 4tt) 

l)on) 4Ti) Pl>ttO'cer'C4r)'c 'i)4'rt) Pl)4p4)]te 


'S c6 50 t)- 

* Andrew Magratb, commonly called the Mungaire Sugach, or 
Jolly Merchant, having been expelled from the Roman Catholic 
Church for his licentious life, offered himself as a convert to the 

Irish Popular Songs. 69 


Gainful and large are the corn-stacks of Erin, 

Uileacan dubh O ! 
Yellow cream and butter abound ever therein 

Uileacan dubh O ! 

And sorrel soft and cresses where bright streams stray, 
And speaking cuckoos fill the grove the live-long day, 
And the little thrush so noble of sweetest-sounding 

On the fair hills of Eire ogh ! 


Beloved ! do you pity not my doleful case 
Pursu'd by priest and minister in dire disgrace ; 
The Churchmen brand the vagabond upon my brow, 
O ! they'll take me not as Protestant or Papist now ! 


The parson calls me wanderer and homeless knave 
And though I boast the Saxon creed with aspect 

doctrines of Protestantism ; but the Protestant clergyman having 
also refused to accept him, the unfortunate Mangaire gave vent to 
his feelings in this lament. 

70 Irish Popular Songs. 

<t>eiji 'n U4^ rs^tt) terr s^n 45 sijf JIJOIM 

j^e nje, 


<t)e4itb4r) 341) '664itTT)4'D n-Ac 

4)0 C4|l'C4 t)0]f le l)-4C'C4t)4 

5o t^4C4 lion) curtj 4C4jt4}r)r) 5411 

'S 5 5-C4i / c^e4'o bejt 4Ti) Pl)|iOT;er'C4T)'c TIO 4tt) 


t)4 TI)T)4 CUTT) 

'S t)4C 54b41T> l]0tt) 4H) Pl)|lO'Cer'C4n'C T)4 'tl) Pl)4- 


"N4C 41T;|te4C tt)e 4CT5 ]t4C4)]te 4T;4 54T) 



JO -C43J14 'o 

"Nj TT)e4fD4 'DO TT)0 ri)4tl41*4 4 5-C4l* 41J1 bj 

Be 4C4 rm tt)e Ptioi;er'C4T)c ijd P4p4)|ie ! 

Irish Popular Songs. 71 

He says that claim my Popish face must disallow, 
Although I'm neither Protestant nor Papist now ! 


He swears (and oh ! he'll keep his oath) he's firmly 


To hunt me down by penal Acts of Parliament ; 
Before the law's coercive might to make me bow, 
And choose between the Protestant and Papist 

now I 


The priest me deems a satirist of luckless lay, 
Whose merchant-craft hath often led fair maids 

astray ; 

And worse than hunted fugitive all disavow, 
He'll lake me not a Protestant or Papist now ! 


That further, I'm a foreigner devoid of shame, 
Of hateful, vile, licentious life, and evil name ; 
A ranting, rhyming wanderer, without a cow, 

Who now is deem'd a Protestant a Papist now ! 



Alas ! it was not charity or Christian grace 
That urged to drag my deeds before the Scotic race 
What boots it him to write reproach upon my brow, 
Whether they deem me Protestant or Papist now ? 

72 Irish Popular Songs. 


C4 WQA 'co b) 2t)43T>4lei) ir <t>4)b) 4i) K)3, 




Or ^e4r4C T1)6 4)|l T>e41lTt)4'D 34T) 

6 4)fl TT)e4tl4l54lt 34T) 

cuji le Ij-At^tuc t)4 

l)0tt) 4TT) PI) ^0^6^41)1; T)O'TT) 


)l, C4 11404*0^ CUTt) TP434)t) 4T)0)f, 

O C4 / C4T> Tt)6 4T 

C4)t):e4'0 be)t 411) 04^)1))^ t)0 ? tt) 2l)]t)4T) 0)lc, 

O T54lt4.r be)t 4rrj 

2lf) CC4t)54l. 
4T) T?'4bT"C4t Pe4T>4)Jl T>O pC4C4)'6 ):4 tfl) 4J|t 

4 C4J14)'D 3U]1 514C4-6 4]t)T 50 l)-U 

'S4 4D)4 'D)! 4Ci)Y^n) ce T5^MT ler T>r)5e t)4 
401) Le 

Irish Popular Songs. 73 


Lo ! David, Israel's poet-king and Magdalene, 

And Paul, who of the Christian creed the foe had 

Did Heaven, when sorrow filPd their heart, reject their 

Though they were neither Protestant nor Papist now ? 


O ! since I weep my wretched heart to evil prone, 
A wanderer in the paths of sin, all lost and lone 
At other shrines with other flocks I fain must bow, 
Who'll take me, whether Protestant or Papist now ! 


Beloved ! whither can I flee for peace at last, 

When thus beyond the Church's pale I'm rudely cast? 

The Arian creed or Calvinist I must avow, 

When sever'd from the Protestant and Papist now ! 


See Peter th' Apostle, whose lapses from grace were 


Denying the Saviour, was granted a pardon free 
O God ! though the Mangairt from him thy mild laws 

Receive him, like Peter, to dwell in THY HOUSE at 

last ! 

74 Irish Popular Songs. 


Ce4itb4lt4t) fid c4tj. 

No 4 T)-54]t 5te4T)T)-1l4 


Cup4ti 5641 U) 643114 

54H I4t) le rt)o Beul ! 


C4D 6 b'4jll lion) '5 4 cuji 4 3-c6jl 
J S 4 IMCT; 4)5 Tt)4i'6 J ii 4 


4ic B 

4T 4t) T 

* Cupan id Eaghra, the Cup of O'JFfara. This is one of the 
celebrated Carolau's songs, and was composed by the harper to 
celebrate the hospitality of Kean O'Hara, a gentleman of ancient 
family in the County Sligo. 

Irish Popular Songs. 75 



Were I over in Arran, 

Or wild G-lan-na-Se'ud, 
Where tall barks of swiftness 

Bear claret and mead ; 
'Twere joy to my bosom, 

In gladness to sip 
O'Hara's bright wine-cup, 

Fill'd high to my lip ! 


Why praise what is sought for 

By old man and youth, 
While the doctors and sages 

(By this hand I am sooth) 
Cry, Turlogh, sweet harper, 

Come timely to drain 
That costly, tall wine-cup, 

To the health of brave Kean ! 

76 Irish Popular Songs. 

Jl4}b TJU 43 411 5-C4TIJ1415, 1)6* b-?4C4 TJU ?6tt) TT)O 

No 4 b-V4C4 -cu 3ile, 

"No 4 b-?4C4 T;U 4T) -c-ub4l b4 cub4ji-c4 

No 4 b-^4C4 -cu ttjo b4l4T)T;)iie i}6 4 b-f^ 


43 411 5-C4nM13> 1T "oo con4)]ac nje 


4)o coii4)itc ni6 411 

4)0 C01)4J|1C TT)6 T)0 b4l4T)'C]ll 45UT 1)1*1 T) 


346 |iibe -04 

ejle 4 0^-0640^4 U4i|i jt4}b Id ; 
-Gjioni 'CfiipUjc 4 'crjTijn) 16) rw 30 

'S4 CU4JC)11 T)4 ^IllTjer, 4|l TT)))*^^ *DO fl4)1) < ce T)'dt? 

* This is a song of the South, but there are so many places of the 
name of Carrick, such as Carrick-on-Shannon, Carrick-on-Suir, &c., 
that I cannot fix its precise locality. In this truly Irish song, when 
the pining swain learns that his absent mistress is not love-sick 
like himself, he praises the beauty of her copious hair, tlirows off a 

Irish Popular Songs. 77 



Have you been at Carrick, and saw you my true-love 
there ? 

And saw you her features, all beautiful, bright, and 
fair ? 

Saw you the most fragrant, flowering, sweet apple- 
tree ? 

O I saw you my lovM one, and pines she in grief like 


I have been at Carrick, and saw thy own true-love 
there ; 

And saw, too, her features, all beautiful, bright, and 
fair ; 

And saw the most fragrant, flowering, sweet apple- 

I saw thy lovM one she pines not in grief, like thee ! 

Five guineas would price every tress of her golden 

Then think what a treasure her pillow at night to 

These tresses thick-clustering and curling around 
her brow 

O, Ringlet of Fairness ! I'll drink to thy beauty now ! 

glass to her health, enumerates his sufferings, and swears to forego 
the sex for ever ; but she suddenly bursts upon his view, his resolves 
vanish into thin air, and he greets his glorious maid with such a. 
welcome as an Irish lover alone can give ! 

78 Irish Popular Songs. 


TD cooU b)4D otDAt) 34D bfiJ5 4TD 


\6 4TD (Y)"D 64*0411 CDOC4)b 50 -D-TJISJ-D 4D "OU4C 


50 t)-'oe4|iT)4'6 loc 


r 30 

)T W t^jl P4ciiY53 14 T)d -60 D4 - 

5o b-f4tA 4D 

P4jj; -DA 5|t4'6 50 b|t4i; D1 'CAb 


SIU-D j rlor 4D K1o5-be4D 

21 b^l 4 31^4)5 16) rs^oilue rlof 30 

S ) 4D e4U 1 TD4|i 4D 

rt)o c^oj-oe, 064-0 TD)le 

Irish Popular Songs. 79 


When seeking to slumber, my bosom is rent with 


I toss on my pillow till morning's blest beams arise ; 
No aid, bright Beloved ! can reach me save GOD above, 
For a blood-lake is form'd of the light of my eyes with 

love ! 


Until yellow Autumn shall usher the Paschal day, 
And Patrick's gay festival come in its train alway 
Until through my coffin the blossoming boughs shall 

My love on another I'll never in life bestow ! 


Lo ! yonder the maiden illustrious, queen-like, high, 
With long-flowing tresses adown to her sandal-tie 
Swan, fair as the lily, descended of high degree, 
A myriad of welcomes, dear maid of my heart, to thee ! 


Irish Popular Songs. 

CUJl 0<tt)K2l, 

41) Cf)l Ott)tl4, 

'S6 n)o bjtdi)T4 f)4C b-):6r"O4)n 
14ti) T>O cr|i ):4O) tf o C64i)i)-T4, 
Md 4 n)-b|ioll4C 

4)]t b)6 
'T 5 i)-64ldc4 


b4)tt )f)Ti)r) 
M4 '0641)1*4 l)ott) 
-cu n)o 


21'f 4 Md|t4 4T) CYJt OTT)|14, 

)f 'D64T * po5?4)i)T) 'DO berl ! 


it)o c|to)'6e 

21 Cf I -DJU5 Tl)4|l 4t) 73-011)411 

16 'ji C4)ll 11)6 11)0 51)401-6 
41) ^011)1)416 

Tj 340-6, 

21' r 30 b-fejcj-D n)6 n)o bdUcz; 
213 54b4)l bdjtiie 34)16-4-6 bYj-66. 

Irish Popular Songs. 81 


! amber-hair'd Nora, 

That thy fair head could rest 
On the arm that would shelter 

Or circle thy breast ! 
Thou hast stolen all ray brain, love, 

And then left me lone 
Though I'd cross o'er the main, love, 

To call thee mine own ! 


Why, maid of my bosom, 

Should falsehood be thine ? 
Thou hast promis'd to wed me, 

Though wealt> were not mine ; 
The dew-sprinkled grass, love, 

Scarce feels my light feet, 
And, amber-hair'd Nora, 

My kisses are sweet ! 


My fair one is dwelling 

By Moy's lovely vale 
Her rich locks of amber 

Have left my cheek pale 
May the king of the Sabbath 

Yet grant me to see 
My herds in the green lanes 

Of fair Baile-ath-Buidhe ! 

82 Irish Popular Songs. 

CU4T>4r 4Tt)4C ?4' 

>O bu4)l 

<t)o CU4.U At) t>fivj 

21 li)b i)4 cojlle 

t)o p|te4b TTJO c|io)'De le 5|ie4f) 'D), 

5UJI ^6)5-1)641) ^411) ) ! 


U4)]t 54b4)tt)te 4tt)4C T)4 

U4)Tt) ti)o 

t1)4fl |ldr 4 t)- 

l T)4 T)-f b4ll, 

Jt b]t6454 ) 1)4 Venus 

4 C)c c|i\)fje C4ori)4, 


'DO 3ti4'6r4 cUo)-6)5 Tt)6, 

c 4 Ti)-b)-6e4t) r^ i 

i)f rt)4)l TJOI) ^-54054! 
T>O 5T))-6 41) 

'D411J T>4 



Irish Popular Songs. 83 


One morn when mists did hover 
The green-wood's foliage over, 
'Twas then I did discover 

How painful love may be ; 
A maid, 'mid shades concealing, 
Pour'd forth her voice of feeling, 
And love came o'er me stealing, 

She's a dear maid to me ! 


When through the valleys roaming, 
I see my bright love coming, 
Like garden-rose all blooming, 

Or flower of the apple-tree ; 
Bright Venus she's excelling 
Fresh from her ocean -dwelling, 
Her soft, round bosom swelling, 

Her foot-falls light and free. 


" Thy love hath left me dying ; 
The heart where love is lying 
Will find what torment trying 

Round ruin'd hopes may twine ; 
And long I've borne the token, 
But now it must be spoken, 
How thou my heart hast broken, 

Who never canst be mine !" 

84 Irish Popular Songs. 


21 <5J5-TW ^13, VA 

5o n)' twiwe -DO 

4)o lejsjrrw ?6w o'r) b-p&w -cu 
4)4 n)-b6j-D)|i Ijoni 4 

T^4 Tt)0 CAtl^-D 4}Jl 54C 
l'r COjlU54t> 

C4 'o- / G6j5Jtt)re cun) 


djb, 4 


-cu -cv; 


]b t)4 cojlle 

30 'ceirtjm ni4 t)64ti4i|i bji.645 

21' t 'C40]t Ojl-C Tt)0 CYJT 



<Do -CU5 -GU ]tMH) 6'r> b 

4 ^r ; 

50 'D-'C|ie4b):4C C40J|ie Tt)40l4, 

cfl 4 5-cinii, t)4 rt^l^e, 
ri-'D64r)^4'6 n)' 4^1^54-6 c6jle, 

Irish Popular Songs. 85 


" ! thou of misery telling, 
If truth thy tongue 's impelling, 
I'd ease the pain that's quelling 

Thy life, were mine the cure. 
But watchful friends surround me, 
With promise strict they've bound me, 
And if they wandering found me, 

What ills might I endure I" 


" Tell them, O, light-limb'd maiden, 
Thy bloom with grief is fading 
Where groves are foliage-laden, 

Thou'lt stray all lonelily : 
I'll for thy coming pine, love, 
Where the dark wood's boughs entwine, love, 
And O ! what guilt is thine, love, 
If false thou be to me !" 


" Alas ! how oft thou'st riven 
The vow thy lips had given, 
While shone the light of heaven, 

Or verdure deck'd the plain, 
Till sheep, each silly rover. 
Would plough the mountains over, 
Thou wouldst be my true lover 

But lo ! the hope is vain !" 

86 Irish Popular Songs. 


51^4^541-6 tt)6 101)5 redh^J-oe, 
2l'f ]14C)"4)-6 lt)6 50 / pl4T)'O]tVJ]*, 
21 11)641*5 1)4 'O- < C)0]t'C4 54U-D4, 
r) 114)564-0 

B'io-6 -DO 11054 i:e4|i poroa 454-0, 


b4]tC b'4T)4Tt) tf 4 t)-4T)4C41]t 

C41T5 cob4]fC4c 51-6 bn-6 b4tib4jv64 niton) e 4r) 14, 
T">ti4T; Ur4)-6 4t) t4)it5e d boi)t) 50 b4]i, 

I4l) COJtlt) -6) t)) 54b4T) O r'CIYjf 1 5 Cfl4t)T) ! 

4 t4r), 4 b4ji 4 I4n, 
21 5fi4-6 rj4 lift), 4 CY^-O 'o 
21 14 1) 'rl 41) b4-o b|te4-6 

* Duan an Bhad6ra, the Boatman's Song. I have copied this 
spirited sea-song from the second volume of Mr. Hardiman's 
"Minstrelsy," where it is left untranslated. Mr. Hardiman says 

Irish Popular Songs. 87 


"And now, with white sails flowing, 
To Flanders I'll be going ; 
I'll seek the vineyards growing 

In distant Gaul and Spain 
Proud maid, no more I'll woo thee, 
No more with love pursue thee ; 
Another mate may sue thee, 

And plough for thee the plain !" 



Bark, scorning every peril of the angry spray, 

Safe shelter mid the terrors of the storm com- 

pass'd way ; 

When yawning billows redly roll from ocean's cave, 
From stern unto quivering mast she ships no wave ! 


A flowing tide, a flowing tide, 
My secret love, my worldly store, 
Flowing my brave sailing boat ! 

that this marine ode is " well known along many parts of the Irish 
coast, but particularly the west." A translation of this and other 
Irish songs, by Mr. (now Sir) Samuel Ferguson, will be found in 
the Dublin University Magazine for November, 1834. 


Irish Popular Songs. 


<I)e't) 3-c4el 




3411 C4ti), 


41)4541-6 4t) 
4 t4n, 7C. 


C|i0)t)-C4nn4)5 3^ltb 341) 
o inim-r^ b|te4tr)^5 -DO 
il 5-cu4T)-ro, 50 b-ip4C4 -cf b4 < o 



2lr crjrt)it) lion), 4 T>ub4i|vc 4)4O]te4T) 5U|i 
tt)6 -DO 5ti4TJ, 

J S 5Ufl 4b' 4)Tl 4t) 5-CU4T) TO JT bf4t) T>4TT) 45 4TT)4|IC 

54C 14, 

2lc rll^'CSOS ^11 / C4b4fl?41T) 4)tl 4 b-f4C4T T>e b4)'D 

Se4c 4t) r)U4t)-b4|tc 4'r^ conjpUc-c 45 KAPHAWS 'r 

21 b4ft 4 I4i), 70. 


* Daollean, a rock off Blacksod Bay. 

Irish Popular Songs. 89 


When draperied in her glorious trim of stainless dye, 
The snow-white sails of canvas bleach'd 'neath India's 


Saw you her arrowy figure cleave the ocean vast, 
GOD'S favourite mounting on the wave before the 
blast ! 

A flowing tide, &c. 


O, Dielion, tempest-beaten rock, all rough and dark, 
Look forth, and see beneath me now this bounding 


And say, if e'er thou boat beheld within this bay, 
Wave-mounted, cleaving, confident, like mine to- 
day ! 

A flowing tide, &c. 


Then answer'd ancient Dielion thus " long ages o'e^ 
I've look'd abroad upon the bay that girds the 

But look'd in vain for boat or bark so swift and 


As thine and all its gallant crew, to stem the wave ! " 
A flowing tide, &c. 

90 Irish Popular Songs. 


21 4TI4JJ1 1)4 

T>O con)4ijice frr* ) 4 i)-)or 41) 


21 b4ft 4 Un, 70. 



114 3-C40JI, T)4 5-C|14Ob, T)4 5-C|lU4C, 
, T)4 T^UTD fl4 T40JI, 1)4 TIU4J, 

T>|te4C'G, 114 T5-'Ctl6411 5411 5|IU4JHJ ! 

Oc oc or) ! it brieoj-ce nure, 

54T) c^-o, 3411 com, 3^n cdip, 341) cir^e, 

54i) rut-c, 34]) red-o, 341) rpoiji-c, 5411 TP?OT)ii4'6 

O re6l4t> 11)6 CUTl) U4)5T))t v 


30 )-e45 ^0 

( t)4 -04)111 T>4 Cl6)Tl, T>4 

* There is a want of strict connection between this stanza and 
the preceding one. The intervening passages necessary to the 
sense seem to have been lost. 

Irish Popular Songs. 91 

FATHER OF NATURE ! how that boat comes dashing 


Impetuous where the foamy surges darkly frown 
O ! may THY mercy yield us now the sheltering 


Or yonder terror-stricken bark shall whelm us o'er ! 
A flowing tide, &c. 


A long farewell I send to thee, 
Fair Maig of corn and fruit and tree, 
Of state and gift, and gathering grand, 
Of song, romance, and chieftain bland. 

Uch, och 6n ! dark fortune's rigour 
Wealth, title, tribe of glorious figure, 
Feast, gift all gone, and gone my vigour, 
Since thus I wander lonely ! 


Farewell for aye to the hearts I prize, 
The poets, priests, and sages wise, 

t The River Maig, in the County Limerick. 

92 Irish Popular Songs. 

toon) c4irvoe cleib, 541) cUon, 340 cUuii), 

541) C41TT), 541) C401), 341) C|l40r 3^^ 

Oc oc or), 7C. 


Sl4n -04 Sir 
4>4 Ttii)4ib 50 

<t)4 5-C4)l, TD4 3-c6ll, ^4 3-C40n 

4)4 b-pri4r3j "04. b-plei-o, -04 n)6ir), "O4, 
Oc oc drj, 70. 


TJ4TI 401) T501) Tl6 T)4]l 

4t; cutt) rl&lb 4 3c6it) 4rrj 
SI 31t4-6 rt)0 cl6]b b) r)6)|iir) 

Oc oc drj, 70. 


^411)145, -cri^it, 'r If 

TT)-b4ri|l 4t1 -Ctt^jb 341) 4O1), T1)01)U4TV ! 
4'r 340TJ 4 

Oc oc or), /c. 



led rt)6, 4'r i)1 ^151-0 Ie4it) clu4jr), 
le c6jle 43 pl6i-o T>4 

C4 1)-4)'C ? C4 b'^ ? ^ 'C40b 4TI 

Oc oc or), 70. 

Irish Popular Songs. 93 

And bosom friends, whose boards display 
Fair temperance blent with plenty gay ! 
Uch, och on, &c. 


Farewell to the maids my memories bless, 
To all the fair, to their comeliness, 
Their sense, their fame, their mildness rare, 
Their groups, their wit, their virtue fair ! 
Uch, och 6n, &c. 


Farewell to her to whom 'tis due, 
The Fair-skin, gentle, mild-lipp'd, true, 
For whom exil'd o'er the hills I go, 
My heart's dear love, whate'er my woe ! 
Uch, och on, &c. 


Cold, homeless, worn, forsaken, lone, 
Sick, languid, faint, all comfort flown, 
On the wild hill's height I'm hopeless cast, 
To wail to the heath and the northern blast ! 
Uch, och on, &c. 


If through the crowded town I press, 
Their mirth disturbs my loneliness ; 
And female groups will whisper see ! 
Whence comes yon stranger ? who is he ? 
Uch, och on, &c. 

94 Irish Popular Songs. 


<t>onj c4)jvoe 4Ttl 5401^341) 

2i'r n)6 4ti) era* 43 AT) 

le it4)e 4 b-p6jrj 4 3c6jn 4)jt 
541) 41)46^ 54n rsl^jp, 

Oc oc on, 7C. 


O T>4il 41) cl6)Tt -64T1) cjle t)U4-6, 
Cojr ^)4)3e 30 l)-eti5 i)) l)-6 n)o 
5o bri4T; le4Tt) ]t4e >( c4)n) y.&vt Ie4n) cu4c, 
le Ti)i)4)b 4t) i>r4054)l CY^JI 
Oc oc dn ! it)o b|idt), n)o ri 

<5jt, A'T P034 bttrjr)r)e4ll, 
etjb 541) fd-D, 541) 

341) )On)4-D f U4T>4J|1 ! 

PLUK iNl^l 2t)-B2lN 4)O^N 05. 


21 plUfl 1)4 Tl)-b41) 'DOt))) 03, 
^ll ^ e4( ^ 4 5 U T H)64T> Tl)4Tt 

21 plf |i 1)4 it)-b4i) 'ooi)!) 03, 

* Pliina m-ban donn 6y, Flower of brown -haired Maidens. This 
beautiful song, which breathes the very soul of love and sorrow, 
seems to have been written at a period when famine afflicted the 
land. The poet's mistress declines, through dread of hunger, to 

Irish Popular Songs. 95 


Thus riven, alas ! from bosoms dear, 
Amid dark danger, grief, and fear, 
Three painful months unblest I rove, 
Afar from friendship's voice and love ! 
Uch, och on, &c. 


Forc'd by the priest, my love to flee, 

Fair Maig through life I ne'er shall see ; 

And must my beauteous bird forego, 

And all the sex that wrought me woe ! 
Uch och on ! my grief, my ruin ! 
'Twas drinking deep and beauty wooing 
That caus'd, through life, my whole undoing, 
And left me wandering lonely ! 


Oh ! if thou come to Leitrim, sure nought can us 

A phlur na m-ban donn 6g ! 
Wild honey and the mead-cup shall feast us for ever, 

A phlur na m-ban donn 6g ! 

visit with him the County of Leitrim, maugre all his glorious 
painting ; and he concludes his song with a burst of fierce love, 
chastened down by grief and Christian resignation. 

96 Irish Popular Songs. 

T)4 U)l)3 11 

b4Ttri4t>4)b 1)4 T>-t;on) 4'r riW ^3 ?)Ue4-6 d'n 

-DO'-D t>4jl, 

pltt|l 1)4 TI)-b4T) T>0r)t) 65 ! 


164*3, 4 1 

d bed 

Tt)-b4t) -D0t)ti 05 ; 

064-0 ^eAtin lion) be)* coi-oce 341) t 

n)-b4n 'oonn 

COT)4)tlC Tl)6 45 Ce4dC CU34TTJ ) -C|t6 14|1 4T) 

4i) 5-ced-D, 

B) tt)6 43 C4)T)-c 4'r 45 cori)ji4t> le) 

50 T)--De4C4TT)4tl 30 p4)|tC 1)4 TT)-bd. 

S^-64n)4)]ii)e riot A lV)b 4i) t4)l, 

5o T)-'CU5 ti)6 T3) I'Cjtlob^ ^4O) n)o 14) ri), 

1^4C b-^Vjl COJJl -D4 T)--D641)4-6 t) ^)AC l)-)OClp4Jl)T) 4 

4)o tplf ri t)4 it)-b4r) -001)1) 05. 

Irish Popular Songs. 97 

I'll show tbee ships and sails, through the vistas 

As we seek our green retreat by the broad lake's 

And grief would never reach us within that happy 


A phlur na m-ban donn 6g 1 


To Leitrim, to Leitrim, in vain thou would'st lead me, 
Duirt phlur na m-ban donn 6g. 

When pale hunger comes, can thy melodies feed me ? 
Duirt phlur na m-ban donn 6g. 

Sooner would I live, and sooner die a maid, 

Than wander with thee through the dewy forest 
glade ; 

That thou art my beloved, this bosom never said, 
Duirt phlur na m-ban donn 6g. 


Over the mountain I once met the maiden, 

As a star through the mist might glow ; 
We reach'd, while I told her my tale sorrow-laden, 

The field of the kine below ; 
And there, in the hollow by the hedge-row tree, 
I plighted her a promise, till life should flee, 
To bear all the blame of her true love for me, 
Mo phlur na m-ban donn 6g. 


98 Irish Popular Songs. 


4'r tt)o cti4t> 3411 n)6 

21)0 plU|l 1)4 tt)-b41) T>01)1) 03, 
C40l 4tlT>, T10 -41]! 64)111 75^6, 




4t) cr njui)4 )?454)'D n) njo 
i n^ n)-b4i) T;ot)i) 03. 


4)' ^45 T5U Itl'lfj-C)!) bU4]t'C4, 

2l'r A'T* '6)4)'6^ i)) B 
-'C15)'6 -cii 

2l'f 6lllo34-6 l)OH) ):4 51641)1)^4^ CU4J1), 

curt)4)-6 4'r 'crjfire 4'-o -6)4)- 
2l'r b6)t> ti)6 co it) T>ub le 3114 1. 

le n))i)-ci)C)r 4i) bjtolUjc b 

Irish Popular Songs. 99 


Alas ! my sad heart, that I kiss not thy blushes, 

A phlur na m-ban donn 6g, 
On a rich, lofty couch, or a heap of green rushes, 

Mo phlur na m-ban donn 6g. 
Alone, all alone, through the beautiful night, 
Laughing in the fulness of our hearts' delight ; 
Alas ! if thou be not mine, how woful is my plight, 

A phlur na m-ban donn 6g ! 


! pearl- deck'd, beauteous Celia, 

My first love of mildness rare ! 
My life full fast is fading, 

My soul is weary, vexed with care ; 
Come, snowy-bosom'd maiden, 

And rove with me the valleys deep, 
Or darkest gloom shall seize me, 

Till in the pitying grave I sleep ! 


Come, place the cups before us, 

Let choicest wines their brims o'erflow- 
We '11 drown, in draughts oblivious, 

The memory of her breast of snow ; 


Irish Popular Songs. 

21 piu 


r ir 

clurt) t)4 t)-64t), 

4)4 Ttj- 


jt) 4'r n)in crie4r, 

O tYj-cjTi) ol-oce 30 ii-^jjied^t) 14, 

30 n)-bj4-6 

341) c4Tt) 



B)t>jn) 541) c6)U 541) 41-cne, 

'S6 4n -c-e4C|t4ni) T30 b'^e4tiit lion) ; 
B)'De4i)t) tt)o 60^4 t ^1^404) '6'ce, 

215UT C4)l)n) 104^5 TTJO C4|t4b4'C, 

2lr b)o-6 4 i)-'De4|ii)4i 
2lc-c / ce4i)ti4)'6 l)on) 4 

Irish Popular Songs. 10 L 

Her neck, that's softer, fairer 

Than silk or plumes of snowy white ; 

For memory wild pursues her 

When sever'd from my longing sight ! 


Were thou and I, dear Smooth-neck ! 

Of mild cheek and bosom white, 
In a summer vale of sweetness 

Reposing through the beauteous night ; 
No living thing around us 

But heath-cocks wild till break of dawn, 
And the sunlight of my bosom 

Were little Celia Connellan ! 



Whiskey ! soul of revelry, 

Low in the mud you seat me 
Possess'd with all your devilry, 

I challenge foes to beat me 
Behold my coat to shreds is done, 

My neckcloth down the wind has run- 
But I'll forgive the deeds you've done, 

If you to-morrow meet me ! 

102 Irish Popular Songs. 





?l'r COC 4 T>-'C<5j!) 4T) 
21* I" b)0t> 1)4 l)-40)|t 4 t)-4]Ce 


J Tt)0 ^Ojl 45HT "10 C4|t4 TJU, 


C|tU4C, 45Uf Tt)O 
ie4b4'D C^Ud-D, Tt)0 C4p4)U TJU, 

b4 'r nio C40)|te 3C4U til, 

<Do c 


'S4 ii)^ 

jt ^41^116411)40 "CO p05 IjOll), 
"N4 T))ill'CY;5 fOl* TJO'tll C411'C4r}tl4C'C, 

21* f S^T 1 "oe't) c]Tie4^ coiji ni6, 
Ie4ri4ti-ri5e lioni 5in 4'r nuni, 

540^1 T)4rii bjt40t) "oe'ri TJ-rulT 
llOTt! T>4ril bowl o' punch, 

.Irish Popular Songs. 103 



When after hearing Sunday mass, 

And your good psalm reciting, 
Meet me at the wonted place, 

'Mid tavern joys delighting, 
Where polish' d quarts are shining o'er 

The well-cock'd barrels on the floor, 
And bring sweet rhymes, a goodly store, 

To grace my smiles inviting ! 



My store, my wealth, my cousin bland, 

My sister and my brother, 
My court, my house, my farm of land, 

My stacks I crave none other, 
My labour, horses, and my plough, 

My white-fleec'd sheep, my cattle thou, 
And far beyond all these I vow 

To love you as a mother ! 


Mild, beautiful, beloved one! 

Priz'd o'er all maids and misses ! 
O ! quit me not, or I'm undone, 

My fathers lov'd your kisses 
My haunting sprite is rum, I trow ; 

My blood relations, draughts that glow ; 
My gossip is the punch-bowl O ! 

I'll haste to share their blisses ! 

104 Irish Popular Song*, 


Bj e4'oji4}fj 16 ti4)te 
i)1 t4t)4i) bjtdt) 4ti) 

'Ntl41|l 1)0^13411 CU54TT) 4J|l Cl4|l 

e4rjb -cii, 

tt)O 4"C4)]t 'CU, 

7t)o 00^4-11)011 'f n)0 ]t4pp4]t T;U, 

' 50 


Txij-o ti4 3401^4 

<t)4 b-):u)l 4 



ted b|i40t) T>O bl4ire4'6 'be, 

5|t4-6 le n)-4i)4ti) rt)o 

21 ctioi-6e 'r ^ l)-4i5ne 45 54i|t)-6 tjort), 

21 C]OC4 564l4 H14JI bl4 T)4 tl-i 
TT)4|t 64l4 14 

* Paistin Fionn, the Fair Young Child. 

Irish Popular Songs. 105 

What quarrels dire we both have had 

This year of sorrow sable! 
But Ol my bounding heart is glad 

To see you crown the table 
Dear fondling of the nuptial nest, 

My father kind, my mother blest, 
My upper coat, my inner vest, 

I'll hold you while I'm able ! 


The friends, the very best I saw, 

While through the land a rover, 
Were brandy, ale, and usquebaugh 

Of claret I'm no lover ; 
That liquor may the clergy bless 

Though great I deem their holiness, 
They like the claret ne'ertheless, 

When Mass and psalm are over ! 


My Paistiu Fionn is my soul's delight 
Her heart laughs out in her blue eyes bright ; 
The bloom of the apple her bosom white, 

Her neck like the March swan's in whiteness ! 


Irish Popular Songs. 


Tl)0 flUt), TT)0 JtUrj, 11)0 |IUT), 

11)0 jiui) 4*r n)0 5tUt> 5e4l, 

tt)0 JtUl), 4't ")0 C0n)4t) 50 

541) nn 43411) O'TJ 



Jr 'CUT4 Tt)0 

H)0 Itt), Tt)0 |IU1), /C 




I4r) re le4t)T) ; 
n)o Urt) 




'S i)4C 

11)0 11U11, 7C. 

*rt) 1^-66 50 boc-c, 
41) T>)l)i)n )-o)ii -64 to|i, 
cfioj-oe, 4'r n)e 45 r")U4ii)e 
le -pe4-D 'i)4 le 5140-6 til ! 

'CUT4 Tt)o 

, ti)0 



Irish Popular Songs. 107 


O ! you are my dear, my dear, my dear, 
O ! you are my dear, and my fair love ; 

You are my own dear, and my fondest hope here ; 
And O ! that my cottage you'd share, love ! 


Love of my bosom, my fair Paistin, 
Whose cheek is red like the rose's sheen ; 
My thoughts of the maiden are pure, I ween, 
Save toasting her health in my lightness 1 
O ! you are my dear, my dear, &c. 


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 ! 
O ! you are my dear, my dear, &c. 


In fever for nine long nights I've lain 
From lying in the hedge-row beneath the rain, 
While, gift of my bosom ! I hop'd in vain 
Some whistle or call might awake ye ! 
! you are my dear, my dear, &c. 

108 Irish Popular Songs. 


n)0 C41t4)T> 'r Tt)0 c4)flT>e 540jt, 

Tt)6 4 tt)4)Jte411 Tie ri)T)4)b 4 ^4054)1, 

ri)o citoj-6e, 

njo |iut), n)o |iit), rrjo 

njo |iuii, 4'r THO 3114-6 3e4l, 

TtJO tlUI), 4'T ttJO COtT)4T) 50 bU4t), 

njo cfie4c 3411 "cu 43411) O'TD 

60541) Ku4'6 

Seotrf *o)l ! r)4 30)! 50 
4>o 3e4b4)|i 54T) 
<t)o b) 45 4T5 tlfire^lt 11105-64 

2i?i 6)it)j)t) i4t-5i4)r cvjnt) 4'r 6054)1) ! 
Seotd -co)l, t)4 50)1 30 ^ 
Seotd le)i)B, 4 cun)4)i)i) ' 

11)0 CU)5 C64T) CUrf)4-6 50 

T3u 45 rH^r 't)4 rwl 4'r 'oo con) 5411 Ion ! 

* The Seotho, or Lullaby, was the extempore effusion of Owen 
Roe O'Sullivan, to soothe the infantile sorrows of an illegitimate 
child, which one of the victims of his illicit amours had left him. 
Oweu's patience and promises, it is said, were nearly exhausted. 

Irish Popular Songs. 109 

From kinsfolk and friends, my fair, I'd flee, 
And all the beautiful maids that be, 
But never I'll leave sweet gradh mo chroidherf 
Till death in your service o'ertake me ! 


O ! you are my dear, my dear, my dear, 
O ! you are my dear, and my fair love ; 

You are my own dear, and my fondest hope here ; 
And O ! that my cottage you'd share, love ! 


Hush, baby mine, and weep no more, 
Each gem thy regal fathers wore, 
When Erin, Emerald Isle, was free, 
Thy poet sire bequeaths to thee ! 

Hush, baby dear, and weep no more ; 

Hush, baby mine, my treasur'd store ; 

My heart-wrung sigh, my grief, my groan, 

Thy tearful eye, thy hunger's moan ! 

when the unfortunate mother, urged by maternal feelings, again 
returned to claim the child. 

+ Gradh mo Chroidhe, Love of my Heart. The Irish is to le 
pronounced as if written Gra ma cree. 

1 10 Irish Popular Songs. 


4)O 5e4b4)|t 4)fl 'D-'Cf 1* 41) 

4)0 bj 43 4i) o-'Cjiirp, 4 

'S 4i) -c-Tl^r; T>O b) 45 2l)40JT snlot) T>)on 'DO *T 


Seotd coil, 70. 

64-o-ctiort) 05, 

4)0 5e4b41|l 4n Till AT) 'T 41) 'D]4ll41'C OJJl, 

Bj 45 lP4ilbe Tiont) b4 -6641) 4i|t tditt, 
215 1111454*6 4)4f)4i]t d Cl)4)Te4l 30 Bdjf)i). 
Seotd toil, 70. 


4)0 5e4b4i|t cloi-6e4Ti) Tol^i 

4)0 b) 45 B|t)4t) 43 11)4]! 1)4 

2lt) bo54 b) 45 ^Duiic4'6 4t) 
215 C4t CluAW-T^itib 43 T;|ie4r34ii t)4 T)- 
Seotd cojl, /c. 


t)4 ti- 


JoUii ftft^?, C4ol CJIOIT; ceojl, 

'S T4b4C t)A Tdl3 o S3e)l5 t)4 

Seotd toil, 70 



Irish Popular Songs. Ill 


I'll give the fruit the Phrygian boy 
Bestow'd on Venus, queen of joy 
The staff of Pan, the shepherd's God, 
And Moses' wonder-working rod. 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


The steed of golden housings rare, 
Bestrode by glorious Falvey Fair, 
The chief who at the Boyne did shroud, 
In bloody wave, the sea-kings proud ! 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


Brian's golden-hilted sword of light, 
That flash'd despair on foeman's flight ; 
And Murcha's fierce, far-shooting bow, 
That at Clontarf laid heroes low ! 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


The courier hound that tidings bore 
From Cashel to Bunratty's shore ; 
An eagle fierce, a bird of song, 
And Skellig's hawk, the fierce and strong. 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


I'll give, besides, the golden fleece 
That Jason bore to glorious Greece ; 

112 Irish Popular Songs. 


Bj 43 CuculUm ce4i)t)-itjiji4t> t)4 
Seo6d 'cojt, 70. 


<t)o 5e4b4j|t rlc434 Sljcjll b4 C4lri)4 

'S C|l40)re4C FjTJt) 54t) TT)0)U 

Bj^e Cot)r)4)l T>O b-ii|i)*4'6 le 
'S T314T; 3641 N40jr d c]t40ib 

Seo'co "cojl, 70. 



'S 41) 54-C b) 45 4))4Tltt)U1'D 'CtlM'C T)4 160541), 

r)4 v1^T)e -CJ140C 

Seocd -co) I, 70. 


<t)o 3e4b4)|i 4 le)t)b n)4]t trjlle led 
oj^e -o'^jr 54C c6jn) -oo't) 

ri)4|lb f e4]fDj4t>4 b4 T5)4T) 4 

'S CoijUoc U4f4l, H4)b|ie4c 05 ! 
Seotd Tiojl, /c. 


4)o se4b4)]t 341) rije4|tb4ll 4 )F4|i|t4i'6 340 
T)iibji4'6 <t>ubUji)5 OJ3, 
4 3t)YJf 4 5cdft)5]a4 

'S 6 45 rioft-cufi Uoc 30 1:401) T>4 
Seotd -cojl, 70. 

Irish Popular Songs. 1 1 3 

The harp- sung steed that history boasts, 
Cuchullin's mighty chief of hosts ! 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


His spear who wrought great Hector's fall, 
The mighty javelin of Fingal ; 
The coat of mail that Connal wore, 
The shield that Naois in battle bore. 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


Fingal's swift sword of death and fear, 
And Diarmid's host-compelling spear ; 
The helm that guarded Oscar's head, 
When tierce Mac Treon beneath him bled. 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


Son of old chiefs ! to thee is due 
The gift Aoife gave her champion true, 
That seal'd for aye Ferdia's doom, 
And gave young Conlaoch to the tomb. 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


Nor shall it be ungiven, unsung, 
The mantle dark of Dulaing young, 
That viewless left the chief who laid 
Whole hosts beneath his batttle blade ! 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 

114 Irish Popular Songs. 


4)o 5e4b4)Tt ]t)O5 

JT 4)lr)e 3n40), *r IT C40jTje 

N4 ' 

5o b4i) t)4 'CM ) 34t) T;)TT) 5411 

Seotd tojl, 70. 



c T)ebe, 411 Ti6ilc)oi) 05, 
Cljun) JuprceTi t4oc ti4 T)--o6)'ce 4)fi bd|vo. 
Seotd coil, /c. 


r) 54T; 

4)o tij4C C4lrrj4 
^411 b4 rt)irnc 4T) Tbl^rin 50 

Seotd toH, 7C 


4)o 5e4b4iT 

2l'T ^4T)4C T)4 

2lc d c)tt) T>O 

T1) 56411^4-0 U4)?T) 'Drj'C T>U4JT 

Seo-cd -cojl, t)4 30)1 50 
Seotd le)T)b, 4 cun)4)nn J 

^t)0 CU)5 CC4-D CUTT)4-6 50 

TJII 45 Tile 'n-A T^l -A'T ^0 c^") 5^T) Ion ! 

* Beoir was a delicious liquor, anciently made from mountain 
beatb. Tradition asserts tbat the Danes alone possessed tbe secret 

Irish Popular Song ft. 115 


And eke a maid of modest mien, 
Of charms beyond the Spartan queen, 
Whose awful, soul-subduing charms 
Mov'd Priam to dare a world in arms ! 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


For thee shall sparkle, in my lays, 
Rich nectar from young Hebe's vase, 
Who fill'd the cup in heaven's abodes, 
For Jove, amid the feast of Gods. 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


Another boon shall grace thy hand, 
Mac Duivne's life-protecting brand, 
Great Aongus' gift, when Fenian foe 
Pursu'd his path with shaft and bow ! 
Hush, baby dear, &c. 


And dainty rich, and beoir I'll bring, 
And raiment meet for chief and king ; 
But gift and song shall yield to joy 
Thy mother comes to greet her boy ! 

Hush, baby dear, and weep no more ; 

Hush, baby mine, my treasur'd store ; 

My heart-wrung sigh, my grief, my groan, 

Thy tearful eye, thy hunger's moan ! 

of preparing it, and also that for this purpose they divided the heathy 
tracts among them, in preference to the arable land. 


Irish Popular Songs. 

Ne)U)t>e Bl)4i) r^^ I4)ri) lion) A C4J14-6 seal njo 
4jjt T>O bp.434)T> i)<5 i)j ri)4)ti?e n)6 
-cSjoii^f) 564! 4T) 
d TtT4 


lOC4 K14C.* 




t Cl)4r;,t 
4 le4T? 45Ut 4 







cojfje UT) bj 


b) I4i) 50 


* Baile-loch-readhach, the town of Loughrea, on the lake of 
the same name, in the County Galway. 

t Built -ath-diath, the Irish name for the city of Dublin. Our 


Irish Popular Songs. 117 



0, sit beside me, Nelly Ban, bright favourite of my 

Unless I touch thy snowy neck my life will soon 

I'd swim for thee the River Suir and Shannon's 

widespread sea : 
Thou dost excel the beauteous maids of the town on 

blue Loch Rea ! 

Were mine the town on blue Loch Rea, Portumna's 

pleasant streets, 
The city of the Battle-ford, and Limerick of the 

Unto thy tribe these precious gifts I gladly would 

Could gifts like these incline them, love, to make thee 

ever mine ! 

My blessing take to Connaught back, the land of 

friendship free, 

And to my own beloved who is so far from me ; 
On Thomond's dusky mountain, our meeting-place 

we chose 
Swoln Shannon's waves detain'd me in savage wrath 

they rose ! 

historians say that Baih-ath-diath literally means the Town of the 
ford of hurdles ; but as cliath might mean either a hurdle or a battle, 
I have chosen the latter version as hetter suited to my verse. 

118 Irish Popular Songs. 


<t)ob te4m Ijonj t)4 tt)o 

le45'G4Jl t)4 

d Bl)4)le 46 C l)4t; 50 
CUT4 4 5[i4'6 5)1 4.)|i rM)T) B4)le Ioc4 



4)ob t e ^TT^ liottj 50 tt)be)'6)r) tt)4|ib 

I4nj '6e4t 4ri4i]i'De T54 P10C4 45 4T) b^) 
suji tvji; tt)6 4 i)i4'6 le4T? 4 



'B6 ^-ejK)WM J* 

, |i<5 c4r). 

546 Uoj ; 

'Be T)-6jnnn) 1 ! 

n-Eirinn i, literally means Whoever she be in Ireland. 

Irish Popular Songs. 119 


I would sooner than my gallant steed I pass his 

Or heirdom of the wide domain where stately deer 

are slain ; 
Than all that reach'd to Limerick of laden fleets this 

That in the town on blue Loch Rea I could behold 

my dear ! 


! that 1 were laid in death far on a hill away, 

My right hand high extended to feed the bird of 


Since, Nelly Ban, the theme of bards, I fell in love 
with thee, 

And thy mother says she'll have me not, her son-in- 
law to be ! 


In Druid vale alone I lay, 
Oppress'd with care, to weep the day 
My death I ow'd one sylph-like she, 
Of witchery rare, 'be n-Eirinn i! 

'JBe n-Eirinn i! 

120 Irish Popular Songs. 


Nj < c]t4c'D4 nje 4)]t cejle 
T"/ljU5 4ji t)4 i)-340)-6e4l 4jfi 
N4 4t) b4b <5'i) n-o|t) 
Le 3ti4t> njo cl6)b, 'b6 ti- 

'Be u-einiDn 1 ! 


30 b4|l]l 4T) y6)]l T)4 

6)5 -oo T>e4ljt4-6 4T) 
TTJO cl6)b, 'b 


1)4ft, < C40'D4C T)eU]14C b 

), 3411 cejll, 
le 3J14-6 -oo'n b6jt, 'be ii- 

'Be u-emwn 1 

4 p.n 4 5ce)t) 4r 341) 

C)4 reol^-D 401) t)l)4C <t)6 4tT) 

)o clejb, 'b6 

Irish Popular Songs. 121 


The spouse of Naisi, Erin's woe 
The dame that laid proud Ilium low, 
Their charms would fade, their fame would flee, 
Match'd with my fair, 'be n-Eirinn if 
J Be n-Eirinn i! 


Behold her tresses, unconfin'd, 
In wanton ringlets woo the wind, 
Or sweep the sparkling dew-drops free, 
My heart's dear maid, 'be n-Eirinn i! 

'Be n-Eirinn il 


Fierce passion's slave, from hope exil'd, 
Weak, wounded, weary, woful, wild 
Some magic spell she wove for me, 
That peerless maid, 'be n-Eirinn i! 

'Be n-Eirinn il 


But O ! one noon I clomb a hill, 

To sigh alone to weep my fill, 

And there Heaven's mercy brought to me 

My treasure rare, 'be n-Eirinn il 

'Be n-Eirinn it 


Irish Popular Songs. 

lVce T>4 CC4tl'C4'6 ^jof * 



311 ft C4jle cjijot) t)4 3U4i|te4c4t), 


4J11T b4 b4T)4l'C|l4 % ' 

4)4 TT)be]'6e4'6 4C-C 4T) K)5 43 

Tt)0]t 4 l)- 


B4 T5C4r 4 3T140J T>4 tt)4Jfl}tt)Jr ler ]tU434'6 T)4ri)4'O, 

BJ14TJ4 r)OT>4 45 r;4Ti|iYjr)5 540^6 'r biuro curt) b4b ; 
PUi-o 50 Sjidi-De d b4t4f cif) 4t)U4r 30 

215 T1J4C 4t) Kl5 4) 

* In this political poem, composed by blind William Heffernan, 
commonly called Uilliam Dall, Ireland is personified under the 

Irish Popular Songs. 123 


How sad our fate, driven desolate o'er moor and 

And lord and chief, in gloom and grief, from home 

Of songs divine, and feasts and wine, and science 

We pine unseen for Caitilin ni Uallachdn. 


Suppose not now that wrinkled brow, or unkempt 

Or long years' rigour did e'er disfigure the queenly 

Her numerous Race would find their place on Erin's 

If the prince had been with his Caitilin ni Uallachdn. 


Fair were her cheek could we live to wreak the foe- 
man's rout, 

And flags would gleam to the breeze's stream o'er 
victory's shout ; 

And richest plaid on the happy maid may trail the 

If the prince had been with his Caitilin ni Uallachdn f 

name of Caitilin ni Uallachdn^ or Catharine 6 Houlihan. 

124 Irish Popular Songs. 


le l)--atcY)fjj-6e cun) 11411 T) 

C64P T)4 T3)0|l'C4, TMUlrij ^jtJTI), 'f CflU4C4)b 

2*5 cujt tt)4t4jji'G qt)ce 4] 


<t)0 Be4'C4J'6 T4Ojt)e T>4'C4'D 

b-^n^ri ; 
4)0 T)e4|i'C4]'6 2t)4ojr 4 TTje4r3 


) U4lt4c4jT) ! 



21 St)job4fl 4 Krjflj 1T TJU T>O b4jrj 'ojort) TTJO cj4ll, 

21 svj]ob4n 4 KYjn> ir cu cu4t)4]r 

4|t14rij ! 

* I found these fugitive lines untranslated in Hardiman'9 
" Minstrelsy," and have taken the liberty of transferring them 
hither, and giving them an English dress, which they very richly 

Irish Popular Song*. 


We raise our eye with suppliant cry to the Lamb of 

Who form'd the tide did the lands divide gave hills 

their place 
Who spread around the seas profound, and bay, and 

To change the scene for Caitilin ni UallacMn! 


Who Israel led where the Red Sea sped its waves of 

His table spread with Heaven's blest bread for forty 

In favouring hour gave Moses power and freedom's 

Shall come to screen his Caitilin ni Uallaclidnl 


O, Judith, my dear, 'tis thou that hast left me for 

dead ; 
O, Judith, my dear, thou'st stolen all the brain in my 

head ; 
0, Judith, my dear, thou'st cross'd between Heaven 

and me, 
And 'twere better be blind than ever thy beauty to see I 

deserve. Siobhan is Anglicised Judith by the Scotch, and Johaimt 
by the Irish. 


Irish Popular Sojigs. 



2lf bjte45 & T>O toot), IT 

30 64117; ; 
Jf T;U 'i) C4)l)t) 05 T)4c fi4)b 

4)0 5JIU4-6 Tl)4|l 411 |ldr 4*t 'DO 


'DO cedl 

cun)4 < 6 

Ie4ti) ; 

Tt)4|l f ]Ue4'6 1)4 

4Tt) Y^3e 4Tt) 

'S ti)6 41ft bii4i|ie4'6 

B4 C4ot 4 con), 4 ctutob-yolc 

215 ce4C'D 50 bofj 16) t)4 
B4 T)^be 4 5|tU4i5 'n4 4n 

'S b4 5)le 4 5JIU4-D 't)4 T)4 Ji- 


4)0 COn4|lC ), 3H40J 34T1 5|tU4)ni, 

tt))0t) C)OC, 



* This allegorical poem, in which the genius of Ireland, imper- 
sonated by a queen of Faery, leads the charmed mortal through the 

Irish Popular Songs. 127 


Thy person is peerless a jewel full fashion'd with 

Thou art the mild maiden so modest at market and 

With cheek like the rose, and kiss like the store o' 

the bee, 
And musical tones that call'd me from death unto 

thee ! 


One night, my eyes, in seal'd repose, 

Beheld wild war's terrific vision 
When lo ! beside my couch arose 

The Banshee bright, of form Elysian ! 
Her dark hair's flow stream'd loose below 

Her waist to kiss her foot of lightness ; 
The snows that deck the cygnet's neck, 

Would fail to peer her bosom's whiteness ! 


I saw her mild her angel mien ; 

Her azure eye was soul-subduing ; 
Her white round breast and lip were seen 

The eye of wonder ever wooing 

principal haunts of the fairy host, is valuable, if it were only for its 
delineation of the mythological topography of the country. 

128 Irish Popular Songs. 

21 l)4ol-cofvp re4H3, 4 

21 C4ol -Gjtojs te4f), 4-D6J-D ' 
)r tfon 5n b4oibjii ijn A 

Bjoc 5Ufi 6jiu45 rt)6 45 


U4]|l T5e4|lC4r 1 T! 

C4 5 |i 

'S bjof 5 "Du^fic "O^IT )0 
50 Ion) ti4 T>6j5 le r 
40tiT;4 lion] 'r tt)^ 4 

50 rl* 1)4 l)5jtU434C C6 5UJI 

4t))0r 4J11T 'DO JU1413, 

30 ri^ CjtuacnA, 'r 50 n* 

3o rl 

30 I)40lbjt05 Bojii 

215 -p64C4jr) jte<5it}4ttj, J 



3 T1* ^11C Im ri4 CC|IU4C, 
30 C|l40jb KU4-6, 5 T ^15)11) 50 

30 r')6 cnoc T)nm -Aojbjn, t^ 


Irish Popular Songs. 129 

Her sylph-like waist her forehead chaste 

Her ivory teeth and taper finger 
'Twas heaven, 'tis true, these charms to view 
'Twas pain within their sphere to linger ! 


" Fair shape of light ! thy lowly slave 

Entreats thy race thy travels' story." 
Her white arm gave one beck'ning wave 

She vanish'd like a beam of glory ! 
My questioning call unheeded all, 

My cries above the breezes swelling, 
As, fill'd with woe, I northward go, 

To Grugach's distant, fairy dwelling ! 


Through fair Senai through Crochan's hall 

I wildly chase the flying maiden ; 
By fairy fort by waterfall, 

Where weird ones wept, with sorrow laden ! 
My footsteps roam great Aongus' dome, 

Above the Boyne, a structure airy 
In hall and moat these wild words float, 

" She onwards treads the haunt of Faery !" 


Mac Lir, I sought thy proud abode 

Through Creeveroe my question sounded 

Through Temor's halls of state I strode, 

And reach'd Cnoc-Fhirinn spell-surrounded, 


130 Irish Popular Songs. 

05, b4 r^l'be cld-6, 
ceojl 'r 45 

5TU434C 516 te 


<t)o bj 4 


50 TT)4010e4C, Tt)) 
'S 4 T>t4OJ-CU4C4 16 J 50 1)41^4156 

4 t)4ll 3O ft]40jl-64, TT)4ll, 
B4 I6j]l -D) 4)|l b4ll 5UJ1 

rl J r ^^4 



C|ie4C 4 CC]l)OC4t> C40)lf)'C)CC, 

4)0 l)or)lt4T:> Iu4] T)4 7^1164 

ceo 4n ti'1 ^c Id 

jon)4' tt)4C 

*S 4 CtlJOfC T)4C -CIIU45 Tt)6 T)4 



215 Djb)|i'C fH'c PY)C d 

Irish Popular Songs. 131 

By Aoivil-roe, 'mid wine-cups' flow, 

A thousand maids' clear tones were blending ; 

And chiefs of the Gael, in armed mail, 
At tilt and tourney were contending ! 


The Smooth-skin fair, whose witching eye 

Had lur'd me from my pillow dreamy, 
'Mid shadowy hosts was seated high, 

Her coal-black tresses wild and streamy 
She said, while shone her proud glance on 

The form she knew that long pursued her, 
" We much deplore thy wanderings sore, 

Now list our wrongs from the fierce intruder." 


" I weep, I weep, my woe-struck bands, 

My country, hosts, and chiefs of bravery 
The cold, rude Alien spoil'd their lands, 

And ground their strength in bitter slavery ; 
Crush'd, weak, obscure, they now endure 

Dark sorrow's yoke beneath the stranger ; 
And the True and High in exile sigh 

Heaven, how I need each brave avenger !" 


" Say, O say, thou being bright ! 

When shall the land from slavery waken ? 
When shall our hero claim his right, 
And tyrants' halls be terror shaken ?" 

132 Irish Popular Songs. 

<fco -6ilr) ri A bedl \y\ t>ub4itvc \y\Q\ nid 

Seo 'fi rnib4l " ceo i rjd rt)4ji f 156-54.0 jt, 
'S till CUTJT^T pdf le -cAb^ifc 4 ccojjt 

C4 t)4TT) T>0 FOJTl):)-6e4tl 4JTI 4 

5641 < Cr4rT)|t4J'6, C0)f 4b4t) 4T) 

B4 bjfje 4 
B4 3)le 4 

C40l C4)lCC 4 'CjlO^lt) C40t 

te pot) ?40j t4r473)b le ^4n 
30 "l^n-ce, 4 sjle d't) 
U le4Tt) 


j U4jji ^54-6 4t) c^ltjorl i;4ir)jc be4c bjf), 
Le ciot rt)e4l4 njjrje 4i]t 4 C4e|i beol ; 

4t) c^lt)il ciin)ri4, 
B4 te)-6e4Tl4C -C4|i Inj 4C-C 

541) b]t)5 5)t> b|idr)4C le ^TO, 
M4C jon54r}t;4c bed rrje le ce4ls T;ri6 m' c|io)-ce, 
-DO cUo)'6e4'6 |tdii)4tt)r4 ^4 5]t4'6 ! 

* Abhan-an Rlghe^ a river of the County Kilkenny. It is called 
Avonreej or the King's River, from the death of the monarch, Niall, 
who, about the middle of the ninth century, was drowned in ita 

Irish Popular Songs. 133 

She gives no sign the form divine 

Pass'd like the winds by fairies woken 

The future holds, in Time's dark folds, 
The despot's chain of bondage broken ! 


One clear summer morning, near blue Avonree, 

A stately brown maiden flash'd full on my way ; 
More white was her brow than the foam of the sea ; 

More holy her voice than the fairy choir's lay ! 
Her slight waist was chalk-white, her foot light and 

Glanc'd air-lifted over the wild, grassy slope 
" Fair light of the valley," I said to her sooth, 

" My heart's health is gone if you yield me no 
hope !" 

At the birth of the maiden, a humming bee flew, 

With a rich honey-shower, to her berry-red lip 
I snatch'd, from the fair one, the sweet, fragrant dew ; 

'Twas rapture entrancing but what did I sip ? 
A sting from her red lip sped, swift as a dart, 

Its way to my bosom how woful to say ; 
'Tis strange that I live with the barb in my heart, 

While thousands have died of her love since that 
day ! 

waters during a flood, while he was endeavouring to preserve the 
life of a soldier of his train who had been swept into the current 
of the river. 

134 Irish Popular Songs. 

UU)4Tt) 4)411, |id c4t). 

bjuuic t)4 Cojlte 
1P4 cjiU4'6-b]i4'G4)'o bfidjn, 



N4 cedi 

2Tr 114 5ld|i i)4 Ion 
4)o b6 cedl b4 b)T)ne 4)|i cu4i|i'D Ijort), 


cedl -DO C 
Tt)d|i ti)Yi|t d't) Kdjrrj, 

4T) rpoin' ^o ^ini'o 5^4541-6 

T14 TlU45 


50 1)114*6 C0)f CO)Ue 4 Tt)-b|lU4C cr)0)C 
't 54C btlOT) 5U|l CY^tl Tt)0 CU4)lt-D 'D)01t) 



21 1) f 05Tt)4tl T50 be4"6 50 bU4'D4|l'04 

S Sedr) 

The poet, seeing a swarm of bees confused and wild at the loss 

Irish Popular Songs. 135 


By Kilmore's woody highland, 

Wandering dark and drear, 
A voice of joy came o'er me, 

More holy to mine ear 
Than wild harp's breathing dreamy, 

Or blackbird's warbling streamy ; 
No seraph choir could frame me 

Such soft music dear ! 


More sweet than anthems holy 

Brought seaward from Rome, 
Than spells by wizards spoken 

O'er stolen maiden's doom, 
Or cuckoo's song inspiring 

Where woods green hills environ 
Save love for one fair siren, 

It banish'd my gloom. 


The golden bees were ranging 

The air for a chief 
'Twas freedom's trumpet woken, 

And dark tyrants' grief; 

of the queeu bee, accepts the omen as a prognostic of the destruc- 
tion of the English power in Ireland. 

136 Irish Popular Songs. 

Ie4]t ^ 

'T At) COJP T>0 b)OC 50 bl!4C4C 

t)4 b4)Vce 41 jt bti4t) 
t]0tt) 4 n)- 


1P40J c|tu4'6-le4C 4 3- 

o clor tt)4|i du 

le );d|ir4 4'r 


TJ4tl Tt)'4)T 50 


6) H6 

fl4OJ|l *T ")^ T;64|lt)4Tt) 4|l t)601t), 

e)le t>ot) -ced^ *T)4 tt)b)Tt) 

4t) TTP^^-^^At) 4Tt) COJJl, 

-c4ott)T)4c, bjieoiTJ-ce, 145, nil : 
4)o 36)ll)or T)4 tt)6jt) '|* T)4 eld's, 

4)4 beul ^4t)4)-6, bed-Ti))t)y, b)t) ; 
'S 3U|i I6)it) n)6 ):4 'Dejsjt) -out t)4 cdj|t, 

'S 4i 

* The author of this beautiful love song is unknown ; but it 
would seem that he was a native of the County Kerry, as this is 

Irish Popular Songs. 137 

And George, a homeless ranger 

His tribe, the faithless stranger, 
Far banish'd and their danger, 

My glad heart's relief! 


If o'er me lay at Shronehill 

The hard flag of doom, 
And came that sound of sweetness 

To cheer the cold gloom 
Death's darksome bondage broken, 

My deaf, dull ear had woken, 
And, at the spell-word spoken, 

I'd burst from the tomb ! 


One eve, as I happen'd to stray 

By the lands that are bordering on mine, 
A maiden came full on my way, 

Who left me in anguish to pine 
The slave of the charms, and the mien, 

And the silver-ton'd voice of the dame, 
To meet her I sped o'er the green ; 

Yet for Ireland I'd tell not her name ! 

the most popular song in that part of Munster. Tradition attri- 
butes it to a young man who fell violently in love with the affianced 
bride of his own brother. 


Irish Popular Songs. 

4)4 i)56)l):)oc 41) TP^W-tifrAi) -D4T1)' 5ldft, 
n)o beo)l T>O bejt 


4)0 I6)ii c\7|i 4 cc<5)|i ' 
<t)o 16J5FJTJ 30 I6iit T'c-diri 
'S b4 n)6]f) Ijott) 4 pdsA'D dit)' 



41) -cdoB ejle 'co't) r;ed|i4 '174 rt)b)it) ; 

4 r 
43 -c^TJ/rrj 50 




'S nie 4)|i1on) T4 n)V*6|-Diii tjort) 
eit)/!) 5ft4'6TT)4ti le b4n-cnir ^)^ cqi4ob 
4)4 b):454)f) 4)]t)5te d 4O)fje c/4 l)j ? 
4jtrce 'r t)l c4r ojinj 6, 
te T54r)4CTJ -DO -66/5 JTT) 
30 bp)t c4)M) 4jfi 4 
3o by:^l t)4)jie ojtc 4 16)564-6 'DYJ^ CJ4 1)1 ! 

Irish Popular Songs. 139 


Would she list to my love-laden voice, 

How sooth were my vows to the fair ; 
Would she make me for ever her choice, 

Her wealth would increase by my care 
I'd read her our poets' sweet lays, 

Press close to my wild heart the dame, 
Devote to her beauty the bays ; 

Yet for Ireland I'd tell not her name ! 


A maiden young, tender, refin'd, 

On the lands that are bordering on mine, 
Hath virtues and graces of mind, 

And features surpassingly fine ; 
Blent amber and yellow compose 

The ringleted hair of the dame, 
Her cheek hath the bloom of the rose ; 

Yet for Ireland I'd tell not her name ! 


Sweet poet ! incline to my prayer 

For O ! could my melodies flow, 
I'd sing of your ringleted fair, 

If haply her name I could know. 
You are censur'd, permit me to say, 

Nor grieve I you suffer the blame 
Some blot doth her beauty display, 

When for Ireland you'd tell not her name ! 

140 Irish Popular Songs. 


cluri)4il 5411 
b-)oti5r)4 lion) rcri4ile T>4t) 'ci 
o ti)t)4ib, 

Se4c 115-0411 'DO rjub4l4t> 4 Ui), 

O'T) Sl^jt 50 -CTJ)' 41) r^ll^ C01t t40J, 

c cii54rt)-r4 45 ^454)1 cutj'c^lT 4it) b4b, 
} S 41 

Tot), " Pon-c 3dfi<oou." 

Oc ! / C4b4i]t T>O I4rii 50 

'5 3U]t T)U4l 'D4T7) btU'D 1)4 CY)36 T)' ^454)1, 

5o bti4T; 1)4 T>64t) n)e T>iul'C4'6 

21 CYJl D4 1)'Dtl4l 4T^ TT)0 CUti)4'D 50 bll4T), 

M4C biprjlin) le4T; fU4i'6'ce 4 ccle4tiit)4 
B6it>e4'o 50 ^51141110 ^4 f loji 5jiii4jni, 

2D4 bj-Dlll 4 bp4T> U41ll)re 4 4f)f4C'C ! 

* JBaile-ath-Shamhnais. Sallyhannis, a market town in the 
barony of Costello, County Mayo. It liad a monastery for friars of 
the order of St. Augustine, endowed by the family of Nangle, who. 
in after time, took the name of Costello. It subsisted till the reign 
of James I., and at the insurrection of 1641 was restored by some 
friars of the same order. Lewis's Topographical Dictionary. 

Mr. Hardiman, who leaves this song untranslated in the first 
\olume of the " Minstrelsy," says that it was composed by a friar 

Irish Popular Songs. 141 

O, Browne, of the pure spotless fame ! 

I never would marvel to see 
A clown thus consigning to blame 

Those charms that so beautiful be 
But you that have roam'd by the Lee, 

And the scenes of the Suir did proclaim, 
Why ask you my secret from me, 

When for Ireland I'd tell not her name ? 


My Mary dear ! for thee I die, 

O ! place thy hand in mine love 
My fathers here were chieftains high, 

Then to my plaints incline, love. 
O, Plaited-hair ! that now we were 

In wedlock's band united, 
For, maiden mine, in grief I'll pine, 

Until our vows are plighted ! 

of the monastery of Ballybaunis, who fell in love with a beautiful 
girl of that place. With every respect for the superior informa- 
tion of Mr. Hardimau, I beg to say that this lyric, so creditable to 
the poetic genius of Connaught, and which stands forth among the 
happiest efforts of the pastoral muse of Ireland, was, in all likeli- 
hood, written by a youthful student of the monastery, as the secoud 
stanza bears clear proof that the lover is one not arrived at ma- 
hood, and who is subject to his father's control. 

142 Irish Popular Songs. 


cc40]t o 4|il4 n)e, 

j|i6jt, le 3jie4i)n 'ovj'c ; 
Tj4)Jl fAO) tt)' -66)3 |t) 4 iai)r) Tljo cl)b 

'S -C4b4Jfl 5|t4"6 54t) CUOI), 34H C4f1J 'D4ri). 

36411 ! )t nje 4i) ce4rji) 340 cejtl 

Beul 4t I 


ciil 41) 5 

cub4]i 1)4 

4)0-0 beul )f bji)i)e 'i)4i) CU4C 4)|i b)le, 
'S i)4 ce)le4b4|i C40)i) i)4 i)euT)t4jt;, 

leui) 'i* 11)0^)1164-6 ! 341) n)6 'r -cu 4 
215 ^4ld54'6 le i)4 c6jle. 



50 tiiri i) 

1)4 "c^fire C|to)-6e, 

'S TJU 41) tieul-c edh)f -C4it rijn4)b i)4 
co)i)i))t> 454-0 ?6)i) d'l) H)b4r 
54i) 5fi4r4 ^^ 1)1 ti)4)|t) ; 1' D ") 
41) / crMl' D TO Bl)eul 4 

Irish Popular Songs. 143 


Thou, Rowan-bloom, since thus I rove, 

All worn and faint to greet thee, 
Come to these arms, ray constant love, 

With love as true to meet me ! 
Alas ! my head its wits are fled, 

I've fail'd in filial duty 
My sire did say, " Shun, shun, for aye 

That Ballyhaunis beauty !" 


But thy Cuilin Inn* I mark'd one day, 

Where the blooms of the bean-field cluster, 
Thy bosom white like ocean's spray, 

Thy cheek like rowan-fruit's lustre, 
Thy tones that shame the wild bird's fame 

Which sing in the summer weather- 
And ! I sigh that thou, love, and I 

Steal not from this world together ! 


If with thy lover thou depart 

To the Land of Ships, my fair love, 
No weary pain of head or heart 

Shall haunt our slumbers there, love 
O ! haste away, ere cold death's prey, 

My soul from thee withdrawn is ; 
And my hope's reward, the churchyard sward, 

In the town of Ballyhaunis ! 

* C&ilin l&n, fair flowing hair. 

144 Irish Popular Songs. 


U54cb, no* c4i). 


5116 T>O ri)e46 Tso Ion), 


40t, 4T1) TS^IIfC, 4tT) COTtl. 

er )r r e ^r njo 

4 T)e4|tit4)-o Ijonj ; 


cUorj T>O T541P ti)o 


te I)6)3)oi) 3C41) T>ot) ri)OTb4ii)r;l, 


<t)0 11)64-04)3 
4)40|l 411) 4)Ce 

21 r& b^Jt 1 r^^rs njo 

J/ C4 4 ctuxob^olT; -C4ir 50 borji), 
5o IIM^^C, C|i4t4C, cjton) : 

jr A n1r)-nor5 ti)e4ji 

le 54eT;)b 4 f U-D 

"N4 C64T)'C4 -pe4|t 50 

Brogha, Bruff, a town in the County of Limerick. 

Irish Popular Songs. 145 



Long, long I'm worn and weak, 
And pale my wasted cheek ; 

And groans have rent 

Where shafts were sent 
My inmost soul to seek 
My sense of joy is dead, 
The Church's wrath I dread ; 

I'm wild, unwise, 

My vigour dies, 
My wits are scattered, fled ! 


The love I do avow 

The beauteous Star of Brogha, 

Hath heap'd dark blame 

Upon my name, 
And withering left me now 
Her hair, in wreathed flow, 
Falls shining, quivering, low ; 

Her rich, ripe eye 

Bids thousands die 
Beneath its arrowy glow ! 

146 Irish Popular Songs. 


^4 4 beul bjtjn bUf04, bu4-64C, 
J S 4 T>6/T> ir)loi) C4jlce cui 

4ti 4U-6 
21 cc6jrj 4 veacv 30 r^S^Cj 
'S t)4 T6ue 4 

21 j) b6jt le rt)' 4ir> 

<t)0 Cl40t), T50 t5<lp Tt}0 tut. 



le t)-/3)ot) 


04111^0-0 f6jo n)o clii 

fl6)C 54T) (141-6, TT)4|l t 

le b]t645 ir be4tiTJ 
4)o leuj) -DO f U-o 



cu)sie 2DO CHO)4)e. 


4 i)4e |io)ii) sfie'jTj 50 njoc, 

Irish Popular Songs. 147 


Lips, precious, musical, 

Teeth, chalk-white, close-set, small ; 

Hand, smooth, and fair ; 

Form, statelier 

Than wave-pois'd swan withal 
Once favouring heaven did will 
That, downward o'er the hill, 

Beside me came 

The light-limb'd dame 
Faint tremblings through me thrill ! 


Low kneeling to the fay, 
I vainly made essay 

To melt her heart 
With shriek and start, 
She wildly turn'd away : 
" Begone !" the virgin said, 
" Seducer, thou'st betrayed, 
" With deed of guile, 
" And tale and wile, 
" Full many a Munster maid !" 


Before the sun rose at yester-dawn, 
I met a fair maid adown the lawn : 

148 Irish Popular Songs. 

) 45 


'S 4 CY}tle TT)0 CflOJ-De I C]t64'D 1 't) 5flU4jn) 


But) bjTjtie sue C4orf) 4 b6il le tutr; 
N4 OjipeuTT 'DO 16)5 5 T 40t ) ^^ cojfic ; 

Bl)1 4 |t4li)4|l-tlOr5 ^-6 tl)41l 0^10^41 T)4 tt)bfl4Ot) 

Uir t^m no)) sn^n 30 

4 crjfle njo 

/ 6U4TT)b4, 

-co 5e4tM)ri 4iit) 'DO f Ion 

O T>4 Urt) 

T)4 C|t)4T) Ojltl), 



cl<5 4)|i tt)o 

Cdii) c]4|i T>ub le l)- 

Irish Popular Songs. 149 

The berry and snow 

To her cheek gave its glow, 
And her bosom was fair as the sailing swan 
Then, pulse of my heart ! what gloom is thine ? 

Her beautiful voice more hearts hath won 
Than Orpheus' lyre of old had done ; 

Her ripe eyes of blue 

Were crystals of dew, 
On the grass of the lawn before the sun 
And, pulse of my heart ! what gloom is thine ? 


From the cold sod that's o'er you 

I never shall sever 
Were my hands twin'd in your's, love, 

I'd hold them for ever 
My fondest, my fairest, 

We may now sleep together, 
I've the cold earth's damp odour, 

And I'm worn from the weather ! 


This heart, fill'd with fondness, 

Is wounded and weary ; 
A dark gulf beneath it 

Yawns jet-black and dreary 

150 Irish Popular Songs. 


J S 50 ccUoi'6fe-A < 6 41) b4r ti)e, 
B6jt>e4T>r4 ri)' riot 


le tt)o 

O oj-oce 50 

215 CUJI T)OT 

'5 43 cjuu'D-sol 50 T>4in5ioi), 
njo c4ilir) 


4i) oj-oce, 

<t>o bjor4 ' 
1P4 bun 41) cti4)i)i) 
'S 4i) o)-6ce 45 cufi 
le l)-Jor4, 

41) Tt))lle4'6, 

'S 50 b^Y^l T>O coiioji) n)4)3-oe4i)i^r 
M4 C|i4i)i) rojUr^ 4T 'oo co)i)i)e ! 


546 14 Ijonj 4 b]pe4Ti3 5 

Irish Popular Songs. 151 

When death comes, a victor, 

In mercy to greet me, 
On the wings of the whirlwind, 

In the wild wastes you'll meet me ! 


When the folk of my household 

Suppose I am sleeping, 
On your cold grave, till morning, 

The lone watch I'm keeping ; 
My grief to the night wind, 

For the mild maid to render, 
Who was my betrothed 

Since infancy tender ! 


Remember the lone night 

I last spent with you, love, 
Beneath the dark sloe-tree, 

When the icy wind blew, love- 
High praise to the Saviour 

No sin-stain had found you, 
That your virginal glory 

Shines brightly around you ! 


The priests and the friars 

Are ceaselessly chiding, 
That I love a young maiden, 

In life not abiding 

152 Irish Popular Songs 

)|i 41) 

'S T>) 

cfri)4'6 564]! 




50 l6j|te4C t)4 
l5 T54TT) t; 

'S -cu bed '34Ttj 4*0 be4'C4, 

Be 't 



C6 )54'04 Tt)6 le l)-4e|l 4t) 

JT 3Wti Io)t;e4r bej-c 4*r c64T) rt)4'r Tl ^ 
'DO I6)]t 5071) ri 

S) 4t) crj 

16 546^ ri))ll tt)o 

341) pU)TT)p, 

734011), 541) 'Ce)tt))0ll, 

B6 'i) 6)]t?i)i) 1, ti)o 

Irish Popular Songs. 153 

O ! I'd shelter and shield you, 

If wild storms were swelling, 
And O ! my wreck'd hope, 

That the cold earth's your dwelling ! 


Alas, for your father, 

And also your mother, 
And all your relations, 

Your sister and brother, 
Who gave you to sorrow, 

And the grave 'neath the willow, 
While I crav'd, as your portion, 

But to share your chaste pillow ! 



Through pleasure's bowers I wildly flew, 
Deceiving maids, if tales be true, 
Till love's lorn anguish made me rue 
That one young Fair-neck saw me, 
Whose modest mien did awe me, 
Who left my life to hover 

O'er death's dark shade 
The stainless maid, 
Whoe'er she be, I love her ! 

154 Irish Popular Songs. 


Jt cjt<vc4c, cji4ob4c, iie)-6 

"N)l ce-al *i)4 T56lri)> ill 'I cUor) *i)4 cjio)-6e ; 

541) 540^ le 1*^5^411) J i)4 c^ 
J S) 41) b^t -DO cUo)-6/5 i)4 
le b-J31ot) 3|i)i)r 

2t)4|l 401) 

21 ij-e45 
B6 *t) 6)]i)i)t) ), ti)o 5|i4-6 ) ! 


4 -D^I-D, 4 beul, *r4 
C4ol, J r^ cUon-|ior 

)01)4 le4C4)l) feiC 41) C40|l ' 

56) f 4)|t I) un, 4 b4i) 

B6 *i) 6m)i)i) ), ri)o 5114-6 ) ! 


O 34^41*4 1^1 ")4]t cejle ?) 

) 50 T>-'cej3e4'D 'DO 'i) c)U, 
beul-'C4)r, beut4c, b)i)n, 
<t)o 5eujv50)i) tint) le 5114-6 -6) 
541) Ti)0)U d j r 4)11 

Irish Popular Songs. 155 


Her hair like quivering foliage flows, 
Her heart no thought of evil knows, 
Her face with purest virtue glows, 
Her fame all hate defying 
While for her crowds are dying, 
And round death's threshold hover, 
Where I, for one, 
Am nearly gone- 
Whoe'er she be, I love her ! 


What beauteous teeth, and lip, and neck, 
And eye and brow the maiden deck ; 
What red and white her cheek bespeck ! 
Like wave-pois'd swan she's fairest, 
In virtue high she's rarest ; 
In her may none discover 
One deed to blame 
Mild, modest dame, 
Whoe'er she be, I love her ! 


But since soft ties are round us wove, 
Which nought but death can e'er remove, 
That balsam-bearing Lip of love 

That spell-bound left me dying 

Now far together flying 

156 Irish Popular Songs. 

Le c6jle 1143411), 4 3it4-6 5)1, 

2lt) T40541 

5o l)-e45 - 
B6 't) 6)it)i)i) ), nj 


50 b-ejju) 

C 5e4l 40J14C 


te b-40i'C4 340-6)1 4'r 

B6 'rj emiT)t) i, 11)0 5|t4t> 1 ! 


21' T 'oo'tj -G-T40341 c6 ]io lil 
JT 1 3^n b|iU5, CY7|i T4054'D 

Do I6)|t)5 ^jnti dun) b4jr 



541) pvjnrp 
54i) -C40H), 54t) 
B6 't) e^)r)t) ), tt)o 

Irish Popular Songs. 157 

The ocean-billows over, 

Who can divide 

From me ray bride ? 
Whoe'er she be, I love her ! 


But first to Eirne's lovely lake, 
Where maids are gay, our course we'll take, 
Where generous chiefs bright banquets make, 
And purple wine is flowing ; 
Then from our dear friends going, 
We'll sail the ocean over, 
I and my dame 
Of stainless fame 
Whoe'er she be, I love her ! 


Her secret name I'll not impart, 
Although she pierc'd my wandering heart, 
With such a death-dispensing dart 
As love-sick left me lying, 
In fiery torment dying, 
Till pity mild did move her 
But wine of Spain 
To her we'll drain, 
Whoe'er she be, I love her 

158 Irish Popular Songs. 

Coijn)4ji4, CCT;. 


d'tt) cjioj-6e 30 
cnviC 40)b|i) 
Gun) 4 n)4iTiioo T>O rJolMc )n 4'r 6jb)Tt* 

C40JT) 45 

S6 n)o c4r 4 beiTi tijjle njile 4 506; o 


Bjot) b4|ttu bos rtl") 4iti 

'Sir T^T 1 ! 1 1ot)4't) -cjn t^o 'DJ* 540 yl^jbe 4t)ti, 

B4 binrje t)4 Tti64ti4ib 4ift < ce4'D4ib cedil, 
45iir 56111) jie4C 4 Uos 'r 4 tij-bd, 


t)oi)it)4|i 4 

* Eibher or Eivir, the son of Ir, who, with his brothers, the sous 

Irish Popular Songs. 159 



Take a blessing from the heart of a lonely griever, 

To fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland, 
To the glorious seed of Ir and Eivir, 

In fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland, 
Where the voice of birds fills the wooded vale, 
Like the mourning harp o'er the fallen Gael 
And oh ! that I pine, many long days' sail, 

From fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland ! 


On the gentle heights are soft sweet fountains, 
In fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland ; 

I would choose o'er this land the bleakest mountains 
In fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland 

More sweet than fingers o'er strings of song, 

The lowing of cattle the vales among, 

And the sun smiling down upon old and young, 
In fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland ! 


There are numerous hosts at the trumpet's warning, 
In fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland ; 

of Milesius, shared Ireland between them. Ir and his son Eivir 
had Ulster for their share. 

160 Irish Popular Songs. 


b4i)-ci)Y}c 40)b)i) 
c]to')-6e 4'r 
45 54ll4-prjc rior T4 Sfiejrt), ttjo lent) ! 
4 ri)-b4H^e T>4 jiojtw ^4 cjor 50 
21 tt) 


S6 41) < )P)4'64)ce r"o Be4]t4 t 4i) TPe4]t pjdl b) 45 

21 1* i))'ji b')4"6T;4 6 ^4 *i) / ce4Cfo le lYj-oe 



Cftt) 5lese4l n)4|i f 1)640-54 t) C^i-cji)!) i)) Stjeojn ! 

4 1)4 ceuT3-c4 -c'4 n)4C4)-6e T>ul 41) 

ctii4)i) H)e4tl4, beul 


* This song is the production of a Connaught bard. It seems 
to be an extempore effusion in praise of the daughter of a western 
chief, at whose residence the person whom the minstrel styles the 
Hunter of Sera, had arrived. This spirited outburst of song was 
certainly a characteristic mode of introducing the " Hunter 

unter of 

Irish Popular Songs. 161 

And warriors bold, all danger scorning, 
In fair-hill'd pleasant Ireland 

Oh, memory sad ! oh, tale of grief! 

They are crush'd by the stranger past all relief ; 

Nor tower nor town hath its native chief, 
In fair-hill'd, pleasant Ireland ! 


Sing the Hunter of Bera, who from Ballagh came 


Our gates open'd wide to his coming at noon, 
And the virgin whose coldness did suitors' hopes 

The snow-waisted Caitrin, the daughter of John ! 


There are tall sons of bravery that .pine in her 

slavery ; 
Her eye all beguiling small lips like the rose ; 

Bera " to the " Bright Swan of Lough Glynn." 

t Bera. Bearhaven, a territory in the south-west of the County 
Cork, the patrimony of the O'Sullivan Bear. Ballayh, or Balla, a 
village in the Barony of Claremorris, County Mayo. It has aii 
ancient round tower. 


162 Irish Popular Songs. 

C4tibft)C4)l 4 tij-bj'o bjie4t 4t)t), bj-6 )oljt4t> 540 

T)4TJ4 4T)T), 

54C c6jb bYj-oe 16) 45 C4T4-6 50 4Vc4)b 'i)4 


C4 4fi b')or)3i)4T> T>o'r) jt^SI^ 1 ) ^5 34l|ie4'6 ):4 Venus, 
-DO b) Cor)cub4|i r^ 4)lj6j|VD|te 'oul 4 

edtv)r r)4 tj- 6)517 4 1Ti cditu^-o 114 

*S) Tt)0 11034 -C4|l t1)T)4jb 6)]te411T) ) 4 Tt)6)t) 4' 

5-c4)l ! 


t)e4t>-cur) |t4-6 41|I ii)r)4ib 4 

4t) OJD1C 1, 

54C r^d-o A 6e4f ^' 
luc-c ceo^l ; 

'Si Tt)Y)|lt))l) cl41W 5t)Y)]te4'6 1, 'tl n 3Mt> T)4 

b-^le 1, 
64U 5lese4l Ioc4 5tline 1, 'ri C4jT;]t)T) 


o c4t). 

)6 4 5-curi)4)-6 541) 'c^r'c le 

5O T>Ub-CtlO)'6e4C 1 GJl6)'C-l45 'Cl4)'C 541) 

21' nj b4TC4T> 45 bfji J r 4'n) b|tU54-6 45 b40'cUjc, 
21 lV)b to ft) rt6)be "F40J bjt4c4'6 4i) b|td)r) ; 

Irish Popular Songs. 163 

She's a jewel all splendid, of brightest hues blended, 
Each gold- wreathed ringlet to her white ankle 


Now why should we wonder if thousands surrender, 
Like Connor to Deirdre, their hearts to her chain ; 

Guiding light of the poet, of sun-glancing splendour, 
The fairest in Erin of beauty's bright train ! 


O'er her kindred and nation she holds highest station, 
Dispensing rich guerdons to minstrels of song ; 

Clan-Murray's fair darling my harp's inspiration, 
Bright swan of Lough Glynn, beauteous daughter 
of John ! 



All woeful, long I wept despairing, 

Dark-bosom'd, fainting, wearied, weak, 

The foeman's withering bondage wearing, 
Remote in the gorge of the mountain bleak ; 

164 Irish Popular Songs. 

4'TT) C4b4Jjl 4CT5 <t)0t)t)* -Y<t 5401-G4, 

5< t)o b 

n-Aj'ctiJTe'A'o 'OYJij 546 IVYJT) buT> I6iji '60, 
Le T>Y)t 5jteit)t) TS^Jpe 4'r s^woear cedjl. 

* 4T) 5leo)t> ; 
't cjiu C4O1T) 6ib]]t -C4]t 5411 

'S t)i Ti)4it;i5i'6 r^ boni) 'DO cl4T)T} 


le rorjr) 45 
21' r 'CliG 1 ! ^l 1 ) 1 ) Sl^WT^'A 45 T>4iri) 4r) ced)l ; 

4 T)- / Ce4Ti)41|l, ^4 t4TT)41T), 45 

'T ^054 r^lse 45 ct^iji le ?4"54il d'rt) leos4T). 
64iu 45ur YW-Q 54D c^nre -^5 P^pir^r, 

B61-6 64^4111^ T)14-'DOn)T141C 4 T3- < Ce4Tt)'pOjU 

'S4t rw^c ri^e4c 5^01-61 1 50 

* JDonn Firineach, or Donn the Truthteller,lo whom is attributed, 
in Irish mythology, the government of the fairies of Munster. 
His residence is said to be on Cnock-firinn, a romantic hill in the 
County Limerick. The Mangaire Sugach, the author of this bold 
appeal in favour of the exiled house of Stuart, describes Donn as 
bidding him proclaim to the Brave that the hour had arrived for 
the last glorious effort on behalf of Charles. 

Bonn is an historical personage, and is eaid to have been one of 

Irish Popular Songs. 165 

No friend to cheer noy visions dreary, 

Save generous Donn, the king of Faery, 
Who mid the festal banquet airy, 

These strains prophetic thus did speak : 

" Behold how chieftains glorious, regal, 

Are bondage-bound, dishonour'd, low ; 
These churls from Phelim's heirdom legal, 

And Eiver's lands, are doomed to go ; 
For fleets, and Charles brave to lead 'em, 

Will reach our shore with promis'd freedom ; 
And vengeance doubly dark shall speed 'em, 

Till bursts their might upon the foe. 

" And bards shall pour their tuneful treasure, 

And minstrels strike their voiceful string, 
And Tara wake to music's measure, 

And priests be cherish'd by their king ; 
And sacred rites and mass-bells sounding 

All Erin's holy domes be found in, 
And scattering fear the foe astounding, 

While all the Gael exulting sing. 

the sons of Milesius, the celebrated king of Spain. When these 
princes invaded Ireland, more than a thousand years before the 
Christian Era, Donn, with all his ship's company, was cast away 
on the west coast of Munater. It is a curious fact that the name 
of this prince, after the lapse of forgotten ages, is as familiar as a 
household word among the peasantry of the south ! 

t Feidhlim, son of Tuathal Teachtmar, and father of Conn of the 
Hundred Battles, was monarch of Ireland at the commencement 
of the second century of the Christian Era. It was in the person 
of his father, Tuathal Teachtmar, or the Acceptable, that the 
Milesian dynasty was restored after the Attacotic rebellion. 

16f5 Irish Popular Songs. 


434-0 d -our 34C jtuT) b4 ri 
' t TTje4ri)jiY;5 ^6jr) njo f cedl T>O c4c ; 
546 C|ioB4]|te 4 5-cob4jfi le 

Sin 4347!) 4t) T;4ti, 4'r 3^415 le c 
Pjte4b4i3 le -porji) 4'r 

le4r)4J5 4T) ):054 41|l -6110^5 4T) 




le b-jti-cji) 45 dl, 

<l)0 t|l4l5):]OC T)4 

54 n 

1) buc 

4)o c|iufii'ce4r A 
<t)4 b4iliU54-6 30 y]0]t boc-o, 
eile t>4 dl 

Irish Popular Songs. 167 


" You've heard the secrets I've unfolden ; 

To memories true their truths bestow ; 
And speak, 'twill all the brave embolden, 

The treaty broken by the foe : 
But now's the hour your powers uniting, 

Arise to crush these he-goats blighting ; 
And while the race of treachery smiting, 

Let none his vengeance wild forego !" 


This cup's flowing measure 

I toast to that treasure, 

The brave man whose pleasure 

Is quaffing rich wine, 
Who deep flagons draining, 
From quarrels abstaining, 
The morn finds remaining 
All joyous divine 
It ne'er shall be mine 
To gather vile coin, 
To clowns at life's waning, 
For aye to resign ! 

168 Irish Popular Songs. 


Bjoi) b4otUoc, le 
215 ?454jl c4tt)4)T 
21 'D-'CJS 41) / c4b4)^i)e T>O 
le IHTJ'GJI) 45 dl ; 
2lr 'cUt b6i-6 41) b^t 


50 cnnnti -64 

NIUJJI ri1fe4 

'S 341) -CY^TJT; 4)]t 4 tojT), 


le Uoj-cjb 541) cd)|i 


"N4 731146^ 4)TV t)4 

Bhi 4 

'C40)'D e)t 4T) 
14001141-6 T)4 Ctl40)be, 

't) -ce rw 'DO cUo)-6 

21 ij-'D)re4c 50 ledji, 
o ! 'DO tioririnnri ATJ 

546 cj^oc e^le ^e'r) 
'2lt 34C 4C|t4 bj-6 4)5e, 

6 t4b47tvc ciin)i-4 bed ! " 


ir ^u 41 

50 tifU'c be4"D 4*0 C40jt)e, 

Irish Popular Songs. 169 


Some churls will come slinking, 
To practise cheap drinking, 
Where the generous are linking 

New joys to the old 
Vile starveling ! what matter 
If curses should shatter 
Your land-marks, and scatter 

To strangers your gold ! 

When laid in the mould, 

All naked and cold, 
Your dames thus may patter 

Your death-song, behold : 


" Let heroes strike under ; 
At Paris why wonder, 
Or Jason, who plunder 

From dragons did rive ? 
The red-branched hero 
May sink down to zero ; 
And Ca3sar and Nero 

In vain with him strive. 

Let the rich herds arrive 

That in Munster survive, 
And I'll yield them, my dear, oh ! 

To clasp thee alive ! 


" My soul ! how grief's arrow 
Hath fix'd in my marrow ! 
O'er that cold coffin narrow 

170 Irish Popular Songs. 

?n ttio 

S Bej6 t4i6jte4c le 

<Do b-^e4tifi l)ort) 4|tir 

ftd tt))l'ce -oe'ti 

'S i)i 

t^S^lt) TT)e 41) Cl 

O rt)o B^-6i)e4c 50 -oeds ! " 



Tl)e TJ^tlTJ 4J|l 

'Dion) 541) 


'S 30 bft4" belt T>4 C40ji)e 

^DO C401H ye4|l -D4II t)d" - 

B4 jioiriie Ie4-c 546 T>eofi 
Bl)6} < 6e4c 4i)U4r le 1)4 
50 l)-ire4lt 
IJI 013 ! 

Irish Popular Songs. 171 

I'll weep evermore 
By the hand of my father ! 
This moment I'd rather 
From the grave thee to gather, 

Than gold's yellow store ! 

All feasts I'll give o'er ; 

I'm stricken and frore 
Oh, grave at Kilmather, 

Be my roof- tree and floor I 

" My bosom friends inner, 
Gather round your poor sinner ; 
My kerchief and pinner 

To pieces shall go. 
In the Lee wildly springing, 
I'll end this beginning, 
His death-song still singing 

Who valued me so " 
While round tears thus flow, 
And wailing and woe, 
To a youth near her clinging ; 
She beckons alow ! 

172 Irish Popular Songs. 


b4 541) 

21 crj-o T><5't) 'c-r-Aoj^l le -cojl T>O rij^ujr) -04 n)'4jll 

116473 rt)6 ; 
S6 rt)o 54Uji -DU4C 54^ n)6 'sur TJU, 4 t))or) 3|t4-6 

r 541) "DO le4b4)-6 ^r;ii 4C 
cl4ji bos -0641 ! 


Sjub4}l 4 C054JI '4t ^4^11 4 CO-6U 


4TT)4T) ; 

t)4 rnot4 4 54b4)4l t^ifj, ^40) 5eu54]b 

41) lot) T>ub T)'4tt b-^OC41|l, ? T<1^ C)4]tT4C 4t)t)- 


SC4|IC Tl)0 Ct6jb T>0 TJU3 tt)6 ^6)T) 'DYJ'C, 4't 

50 r 
4'r -cu, 

* Caisiol Mumhan, Cashel of Munster, is the most popular of 
all the Irish melodies. This will perhaps account for the reason 
that there is no Irish song of which there are so many corrupt ver- 
sions as this. I cannot undertake to say that the present is the 

Irish Popular Songs. 173 


I would wed you, dear, without gold or gear, or 

counted kine ; 
My wealth you'll be, would your friends agree, and 

you be mine 
My grief, my gloom ! that you do not come, my 

heart's dear hoard ! 
To Cashel fair, though our couch were there but a 

soft deal board ! 


Oh, come, my bride, o'er the wild hills' side, to the 

valley low, 
A downy bed, for my love I'll spread, where waters 

flow ; 
And we shall stray, where streamlets play, the groves 

Where echo tells, to the listening dells, the blackbird's 

song ! 


Love, tender, true I gave to you, and secret sighs, 
In hope to see, upon you and me, one hour arise, 

genuine one, but in its simple pathos it bears strong evidence of 
authenticity. It was given me by a lady of the County Clare, 
whose mother, she informed me, was accustomed to sing it, at the 
advanced age of eighty years. 

174 Irish Popular Songs. 

't "04 b?eic?jfi r6)t) njo te^jtc 45 
b4f le ciiri)4j'o ! 


4 cj-6ji)ii 45 4 
4'r njbin lugtne rj^ijie 4T)ui) rt)4|t 


Oc ! t^ tijo bu4j]te4'6 nj4]t 'DO Ui4'6e4'6 tjort) r)4 

t^4 ii|i piob 43 tt)o Tt)Y)]ii))ii, J r <v bfi434jT> n)4|i 4ot, 

21 C^lltl C4f04 bU4C4t4C 45 V&C 5 T^Ufl J 

S6 nio cuti)4 T)irt)e t)4c t^i) t)|i riot ^ ^434*6 n)e 
6 4 5-cd)3)b 4'r njo 5114-6 


Irish Popular Songs. 175 

When the priest's blest voice would confirm my 

choice, and the ring's strict tie : 
If wife you be, love, to one but me, love, in grief 

I'll die ! 


In church at pray'r first I saw the fair in glorious 

In mantle flowing, with jewels glowing, and frontlet 

And robe of whiteness, whose fold of lightness might 

sweep the lea ; 
Oh, my heart is broken since tongues have spoken 

that maid for me ! 

A neck of white has my heart's delight, and breast 

like snow, 
And flowing hair, whose ringlets fair to the green 

grass flow 

Alas ! that I did not early die, before the day 
That saw me here, from my bosom's dear, far, far 

away ! 



Press Notices of the First Edition 1847. 

From the " Dublin Warder." 

" This little volume is dedicated to the people of Ireland, by one 
who has given a great portion of his time and attention to the 

examination and illustration of their metrical literature 

Mr. Walsh has done a service to our national language by his 
?netrical translations, in which we feel quite confident the spirit of 
the original is preserved as the measure is, so as to emit the ' song- 
tune ' of the Irish ballad. The little volume is brought out in an 
attractive dress, at a low price, and must prove an accession to our 
national literary collection." 

From the " Dublin Weekly Register." 

" The translator of these songs has brought to his task a 
thoroughly competent knowledge and appreciation of the Irish 
language, considerable practice and aptitude for translation, and 
poetic feeling. Mr. Walsh has done in this instance, what should 
be done in all cases where the pieces are numerous enough to fill a 
separate publication, given the translation on the one page, the 
original on the opposite. The style of the rendering is free, 
smooth, and pleasing, and not uufrequently at once vigorous and 

c % 

dbfoart alsl/