~ u r Ives

IRISH SONGS

I
Words and music of 5 0 Irish songs

Here is a unique collection of 50 of the

best and most singable songs of Ireland.
They are of Burl Ives's own selection and
I
with each he hds included notes of speci'll
I

interest regarding its origin and status. The

I collection is edited with new piano accom-
paniments by Michael Bowles.
In the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nine-
teenth centuries balldds, amusing or roman-
tic, political or historic tales, were generally
written to order by one of the publishers of
broadsides. They were ttien sold around the
country by wandering singers. Other songs
of a more spontaneous n'lture were created
locally and dealt with subjects of every kind
The songs that today ,ire part of the tradi-
tional music of Ire!and are from these two
sources, and the songs in this book are a
wholly representative cross section of that
traditional Irish music.
The successes of Burl Ives in his own
country-in concert halls, films, on the stage,
and through radio, television, and records-
are well known. NO^ so well known was his
spectacular tour of Ireland and the British
Isles in 1951. On this tour Burl Ives scored
a tremendous popular triumph, not only for
the American songs, but for bringing to life
again long-forgotten British and Irish mel-
odies. In Ireland, Ives says, he found not
only his spiritual home but a wealth of song
material which he has since incorporated
into his unlimited repertoire.
One of the permanent results, inspired
and shaped by his Irish experience, is this
excellent drfinitive Burl lves book of Irish
song.

DUEI.L, S1,OAN and PEARCI

New York

BURL IVES

Irish Songs

 S3NOS HSIUI
S3NOS VBS
an!pa&s~adZDD!LOJSZH u1 8uos u v 3 z ~ a u l ~
Z O O 8 3 N O S SBAZ 7 x 0 8 3 H J .
 BURL I V E S

Irish Songs
I Edited with new piano accompaniments by MICHAEL BOWLES
I

DUELL, SLOAN AND PEARCE

New York

All rights reserved. No part of this book in excess of five hundred words may
be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library of Congress Catalog Card No.: M57-1000

First edition

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

 A Personal Note
by Burl Ives

Song and poetry are in the Irish heart and on the Irish tongue, and there is a
body of music in both Gaelic and English that can only be a delight to the musician
or singer.
My maternal grandmother was an O'Flynn before marriage and my paternal grand-
mother was a White and both of them had that happy feeling for phrase that is so beau-
tifully Irish. I am fortunate both carried with them, and gave to me as a little boy, many
of the beautiful songs which I know now are of Irish derivation. Still. the songs for which
I am known, whether Irish, English, or Welsh in origin, had, by the time they came to
me, become so much a part of the American folk literature that they were to me, as to all
interested in this music, American folk songs. This is understandable when we accept the
fact that any song that is a part of the culture of the people is its own, and this is what
makes a folk song.
Many of the Irish songs I learned in my boyhood were almost unchanged from the
originals, but it was not until I visited Ireland that I felt them as part of the Irish coun-
tryside and Irish life of the past and present. I made my first visit to Ireland in 1952,
my second in 1953. AS happens to me wherever I go, singers professional, but more
particularly nonprofessional, were either brought to me or I took trips to listen to
them. It would be impossible to convey the loveliness of the songs sung to me in
Ireland, or my desperation that the meanings of the Gaelic songs were beyond my
ken. Translated though they were by my guide, Professor De Largy. and others, I
still realized that the door to these songs would never be entirely open to me.
However, beautiful songs, some of which I knew and many that I was hearing
for the first time, had words in the English language. English has long been the speech
of Ireland, and not only have many Gaelic verses been translated or adapted, but
many an old Gaelic melody has had English words written to it. As early as the end
of the eighteenth century festivals were held in Ireland in order to record the tradi-
tional melodies of the fast disappearing Irish harpers. and Edward Bunting, an Eng-
lish musician, transcribed the melodies. Thomas Moore took many of these ~nelodies
and wrote his well-known songs in English to them. Song collections continued to
be made throughout the nineteenth century by scholars such as Dr. George Petrie.
During the period of collecting, which was for scholars and musicians, the people
continued to sing the old Gaelic songs and to create new ones out of their personal
experience and national history in both Gaelic and English. I must express my thanks
to the contemporary professional Irish singers and collectors for the songs they in-
troduced me to, both personally and through their recordings and books. T o those
who sang for me in cottage or public house, my thanks for many hours of delight
and much information.
Some people are driven to talk about themselves, some to recount the story heard
last night, but I am driven to communicate in song. At every concert the American
public loved the songs of Irish origin, both those familiar to them and those that
were new. Decca Records decided to put out a selection of these songs. When I
b e p n to work on the album I discovered there was no book available to the Amer-
ican public containing, in simple modern form with adequate accompaniment, a
great many of the Irish songs that should be better known. Duell, Sloan and Pearce
sugfiested that such a book would be a happy idea and the result is this book of songs.
A book of fifty songs can barely skim the wealth of Irish songs. I t is my hope
that this sampling will lead to a greater awareness of the melody and poetry that
Irish song has to give and that those who like to sing will enjoy the selection. T h e
songs are rather arbitrarily divided into two categories. I n Part I there are songs
~vhosesubject matter covers the personal experiences of men and women, their pleas-
ures and heartbreaks. songs that express their attitudes and emotions. T h e songs of
Part 11 reflect more specifically Ireland's history. T h i s history has been one of tur-
moil for many years, and to know these songs is to reali7e anew the genius of the Irish
mind, [hat it can express troubles and bitterness not only in fine martial strains, but
~ v i t hhumor, in the same fighting breath.
 Acknowledgments

We gratefully acknowledge permission from Ballantine Books to use the song

"Brennan on the Moor" from the Burl Zves Song Book; from Miss Elizabeth Bowen
to use P. J. McCall's songs "Boolavogue," "Kelly, the Boy from Killann," and "Follow
Me Up to Carlow"; from Walton's Piano & Musical Instrument Galleries to use "The
Garden Where the Praties Grow" by Mr. Johnny Patterson and "Are You There,
Mo-ri-ar-i-ty?" by Mr. Louis Tierney; from Leeds Music Corp. to use "Cockles and
Mussels."

vii
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 Contents
A Personal Note, by Burl Ives, v

PART I : Love, Laughter, and Daily Events

T h e Palatine's Daughter, 2 'The Pretty Girl Milking Her Cow, 35
"I Thank You, Ma'am," Says Dan, 5 T h e Low-Back'd Car, 37
In Glendalough Lived a Young Saint, 7 "Are You ?'here, MO-RI-AK-I-TY?",40
Limerick Is Beautiful, l o T h e Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe, 44
Garryowen, 1 2 T h e Garden Where the Praties Grow, 46
Molly Brannigan, 14 T h e Cruiskeen Lawn, 49
T h e Maid of Slievenamon, I 6 I Wish I Had the Shepherd's Pet, 52
T h e Snowy-Breasted Pearl, 18 T h e Lark in the Clear Air, 54
T h e Girls of Coleraine, 20 Boston Burglar, 56
Cockles and Mussels (Molly Malone), 2 2 O n Board the Kungar-oo, 58
I'm a Poor Stranger, 24 T h e Ould Orange Flute, 60
I Know My Love, 26 Has Sorrow T h y Young Days Shaded?, 64
I Know Where I'm Goin', 28 When H e W h o Adores Thee, 66
T h e Women Are Worse T h a n the Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young
Men. 30 Charms, 68
T h e Green Bushes, 33 Let Erin Remember, 70

PART 11: W i t , Courage, and a Fighting Nation

T h e Bard of Armagh, 74 Off to Philadelphia, gg
Follow Me U p to Carlow, 76 Boolavogue, I 02
Mrs. McGrath, 79 Shan Van Voght, 105
Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye, 82 T h e Men of the West, 108
Brennan on the Moor, 85 Kelly, the Boy from Killann, 1 1 1
Kilgary Mountain, 88 T h e Famine Song, 1 14
Van Diemen's Land, go T h e Wearing of the Green, 1 16
T h e Girl I Left Behind Me, 92 A Nation Once Again, I 1 g
T h e Dear Little Shamrock, 94 Step Together, 1 2 2
T h e Bells of Shandon, 97 A Soldier's Song, 124
 PART I

Love, Laughter, and Daily Events

a l p - I alp-aaa !g 1 7 alp - I alp-aaa !u !J, P
UPS J ~ I - @ ~ %dl-aml s?u!l-Q-lBd
a q l l n q am a.roj - aq aas ~ p l n o q so q .ox
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lv alp - I
a l p - a a a !g

alp-I a ~ p - a a a ru ~7 alp - I alp - a a a !u UBS $Ln - U . I O ~ 1

auo $no %1!-09 szm I l a y 01 a p L ~all- ss3 - o ~ I

I !l3 Ri Dee - dle I - dle Ay Ro. She quick-ly asked my name of me Or-

I h e r e my dwelling place mightbe O r would I go with her to see her friends and her re -

I la - tions I said I w a s an hon-est boy and Cur-1-er11ur;ib my sta-tion San

I A
Ti Ri Dee-dle I - dle Li Ri Dee-dle I - dle Ti Ri Dee-dle I - dle Ay Ro.
 A kiss I gave this Fair one for I thought it long to tarry.
San T i R i Deedle Idle
Li Ri Deedle Idle
T i Ri Deedle Idle Ay Ro.
If I go to your relations will your parents let us marry?
San T i R i Deedle Idle
Li Ri Deedle Idle
T i Ri Deedle Idle Ay Ro.
She said, "Now cotne along with me and soon you'll find we'll both agree,
You'll get me from my mother, sure, and freely from my father,
You'll get both stock and land with me and money if you'd rather."
San T i Ri Deedle Idle
Li Ri Deedle Idle
T i Ri Deedle Idle Ay Ro.

And now my story's ended and my pen is out of order,

I took this lovely handsome maid in the presence of her father.
San T i Ri Deedle Idle
Li Ri Deedle Idle
T i Ri Deedle Idle Ay Ro.

The Palatine's Daughter

T h e boy and girl story in the above song,%has

crystallized an interesting piece of social
history in the public memory of Ireland. In the early eighteenth century a number
of Germans from the Palatinate, waiting in London for ships to take them to America.
lacked means for the crossing and eventually came to seek new homes in Ireland. This
was 1709. In the following years, many more Germans from the Palatinate, the Rhine-
land, Alsace, and other parts of Germany followed. These "Palatines" preserved their
own language and customs until as late as the beginning of this century. These people
gradually ceased to have a separate identity, on account of the circumstances of which
this song is an example.
 "I Thank You, Ma'am:' Says Dan

Allegro moderato D

I "What brought you in - to my house, to

I
my house, to my house? What brought you in - to my house?" said the

n poco r a l l .

I- mis-tress un- to Dan.- "I came here to court your daaq$-ter,~aan;~

thought it no great

I harm,ma'am.""Oh,Dan,me dear,you're wel-come here!' "I thank you, ma'am','says Dan.

"How come you know my daughter, my daughter, my daughter?

How come you know my daughter?" said the mistress unto Dan.

"Coin' to the well for water, ma'am,

T o raise the can I taught her, ma'am."

"Oh, Dan, me dear, you're welcome here."

"I thank you ma'arxi," says Dan.

"1'11 let you take my daughter, my daughter, my daughter,

I'll iet you take my daughter," said the mistress unto Dan.

"And when you take my daughter, Dan,

Of course you'll take me also, Dan.

Oh, Dan, me dear, you're welconle here."

''I thank you ma'am," says Dan.

T h e couple they got married, got married, got married,

T h e couple they got married, hiiss Elizabeth and Dan.

And he's living with her mother,

And her Father and his charmer.

"Oh, Dan, 'tis you're the lucky man."

"I thank you, ma'am," says Dan.

In Glendalough Lived AYoung Saint

I -
fol the do1 lo1 the do1 lay, Right fol the do1 lo1 the do1 l a d - dy.
>

There was a young woman one day

Who was walking alone by the lake, sir,

She looked at Saint Kevin, they say,

But Saint Kevin did no notice take, sir.

When she found looking hard wasn't wise

She looked in a soothering fashion,

But the sweetest of eyes couldn't rise

In Saint Kevin the signs of soft passion.

Chorus.

"You're a great hand at fishing," says Kate,

" 'Tis yourself that knows how, dear, to hook them;

But when you have caught them, agra,

Don't you want a young woman to cook them?"

Said the Saint, "I am serious inclined,

I intend taking orders for life, dear,"

"Only marry," says Kate, "and you'll find

You'll get orders enough from your wife, dear."

Chorus.
 "You shall never be flesh of my flesh,"
Said the Saint, with an anchorite groan, sir.
"I see that myself," answered Kate,
"I can only be bone of your bone, sir.
And even your bones are so scarce,"
Said hiiss Kate at her answers so glib, sir,
"That I think you would not be the worse
Of a little additional rib, sir."
Chorus.

T h e Saint in a rage seized the lass,

He gave her one twirl round his head, sir.
And things came to a terrible pass;
He flung Kate in a watery bed, sir!
Oh, cruel Saint Kevin, for shame!
When a lady her heart came to barter,
You should not have been Knight of the Bath,
But have bowed to the Order of Garter.
Chorus.

In Glendalough Lived a Young Saint

Glendalough-Gleann db Loch-The Glen of the T ~ v oLakes-is in County Wicklow.

There was a Saint Kevin who founded at Glendalough in the sixth century a monastic
and scholastic establishment that was famous throughout Europe for three centuries.
T h e verses by Samuel Lover present a problem that occasionally confronts the Joung
student, but it cannot be firmly asserted that it was solved by Saint Kevin in the lnannel
described here. "Saint Kevin's Bed," a piehistoric ca\e overhanging the upper lake, is
sometimes pointed out to tourists. who may draw their own conclusions.
 Limerick Is Beautiful

I Oh,then,Lim-e - rick is beau - t i - ful as

I flows.'Tis not the r i v - e r nor the fish t h a t preys up - on- my mind Nor

PP poco fen.

I
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with the town of Lim - e - rick have I an - y fault to find.

O h , the girl I love is beautiful and fairer than the dawn.

She lives in Garryowen and she's called the Colleen Bawn.

But pro~idlyas the river flows beside that fair citie.

As proudly and without a word that colleen goes by me.

Oh then, if I was the Emperor of Russia to comnla~lcl,

If I was Julius Caesar or Lord 1,ieutenant of ihe lantl,

I'd give my fleet, my golden store, I'd give u p my armie,

T h e horse, the rifle and he foot and the Royal Artillerie.

I'd give my fleet of sailing ships that range the briny seas,

I'd give the crown from off my head. my people on their knees,

A beggar I would go to bed and proudly rise at dawn

If by my side, all for a bride, I found the Colleen Ban,n."

* Colleen Bawn means literally "the Fair Girl."

 Garryowen

Let- Bac - chus's sons- be

I not- dis - mayed, But- join- with me,- each jov - ial blade; Come,

I drink and sixg, and lend your aid To help- me w i t h the

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In - stead of spa, we'll drink brown a l e , And

 I . pey the reck - k i n g on the nail, No man
7
for debt
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shall

-
I go- to jail From Gar - ry - ow - en to

We'll beat the bailiffs out of fun,

We'll make the mayor and sheriffs run,

We are the boys no man dares dun,

If he regards a whole skin.

Chorus.

Our hearts so stout have got no fame,

For soon 'tis known from whence we came,

Where'er we go they dread the name

Of Garryowen in glory.
Chorus.

Garryowen

T h e tune of Garryowen has become well known in the United States through record-
ings and because it is the official marching tune of the famous New York National
Guard Regiment (165th Infantry), known as "The Fighting Irish." T h e verses are not
used by the New York Regiment. T h e subject matter is of course drinking, gambling,
and high living at the end of the eighteenth century. Garryowen, which in English
means "owns garden," is a suburb of Limerick.
-2aJaq am yjalpue auo8 ~,L~-~oJAJ
a:,u!~'uye8-v us) Ja -Aa 11;uns av) apyv a w 11-e jo qyq .e jou I
~a - a a n o s pyp pup 4eap UI~,RJU I

 1 big a s all of Dublin and fromDuMin to the Div-il's Glin,And if she's took an-0th-er, sure, she

\I I a temlvo I

1 might have left mine back a-gain, In-stead of that,she'sgone and left me here for to die.

hIa'am dear, I remember when the summer time was past and gone

When coming thru the meadow, sure, she swore I was the only one

T h a t ever she could love, but Oh! the false and cruel one

For all that, she has gone and left me here alone for to die.

hla'am dear, I remember when corning home the rain began

I wrapped rny frieze-coat round her and sure, ne'er a waistcoat had I on

hly shirt was rather fine drawn b u t Oh! the false and cruel one

For all that, she's gone and left me here for to die.

T h e left side of my carcass is as weak as water-gruel, ma'am,

There's not a pick upon me bones since hlolly was so cruel, ma'am.

Sure, and if I had a blundergun I'd go and fight a duel, ma'am

I'd rather go and shoot rneself than live here to die.

I'm cool and determinet1 as any salamander, ma'am,

Will ye come to my wake when I go the long meander, ma'am?

And I'll feel as proud as the Famous Alexander, ma'am,

When I hear ye cryin' o'er me, "Awah! Why did ye die?"

 The Maid Of Slievenamon

A Moderato P

I A - lone, all a-lone, by the wave - wash'd strand,All a -

I lone in the crowd- ed hall;- The hall it is gay and the waves they are grand, But my

A poco cresc.

heart is not here at all.- It flies far a-way, by night and by day, To the
(

I times and the joys that are gone, - And I nev-er can for-get the sweet
 fi poco razz-.=, pp ate~npo

I maid - en 1 met In the val - ley near Slieve - na - man.-

I t was not the grace of h c r cluccnly air,

Nor the cheek of the rose's glow,

N o r her soft black eyes. nor hcr Howing hair

N o r was it her lily-white brow.

'Twas the soul of t r i ~ t ha n d of melting r u t h .

And her smile like a sumlner d a ~ v n ,

T h a t stole my heart away, one rnild summer day,

I n the valley near Slievcna~non.

In the festive hall, by the star-watch'd shore,

hly restless spirit cries:

My love, oh, my love, shall I ne'er see you more.

A n d my land? Will it ever uprise?

By night a n d by day, I ever, ever pray,

While lonely my life flows o n ,

T o see o u r flag unrolled a n d my true love enfold

I n the valley near Slievcnamon.

The Maid of Slievenamon

Slievenamon-Sliabh na mBan-is a mountain in the lovely area north of hlitchcls-

t o ~ v n ,County Cork. Charles Kickharn, who wrote these verses, was a well-kno~vnIrish
ilovelist of the last century. 'There are verses in Irish on. roughly speaking, the same
thcine, set to a different tune that iinfortunatcly does not fit the English verses.
I -
see her face a-gain, The seas 1ld brave - And- if 'tis Heav'n's de-cree That-

I mine she may not be, Nay the Son of M a - r y me in mer- cy save .-

0, she is not like the rose

T h a t prourl in beauty glo~vs
And boasts that she's so
Wonderfully fair;
But she's like the violet blue,
Ever modest, ever true,
Froin her leafy bough perfumirlg
T h e still night air.
0, she's gentle, loving, mild,
She's artless as a child,
Her clust'ring tresses softly
Flowing down,
And I'll love her evermore,
Sweet colleen oge, ino sthore,
hly true love. my
Sno~vy- Ureastecl Pearl.

The Snowy-Breasted Pearl

0 Snowy-breasted Pearl-A Phkarla an Bhrollaigh UhAin-is a poetical clichi. often

used in love songs in the Irish language. T h e first set of verses in English was macle by
Dr. George Petrie froin an Irish text supl>lietl hiin by Ilr. Eoghan O'Curry. (130th ~vei-e
notable Irish scholars of about a hulitlretl years ago.)
 The Girls Of Coleraine

A Andantino n

lA - There's a sweet l i t - tle spot in the

I t r a v - e l the coun-try from An-trim to Ker - r y And not find a spot like the

town of Cole-ralne. Sure, the boys and the girls nev- e r seem there to alt - er, It's
Y
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 You may talk about sportin' in the sweet Glenn of Gorkin,

With Minnie or Lizzie or Kathy or Jane,

But more fair and pretty is our only Kitty,

Who trips with her pitcher through the Fair of Coleraine.

Sure, the girls frotn Killarney they fill you with Blarney,

T h e talk of their beauty would drive you insane;

And the girls froin the city, though they drink themselves pretty,

Could never compare with the girls of Coleraine.

Though I'm here in this strange land, my heart is in Ireland,

And in that fair spot it will always remain,

Not in Galway nor Kerry nor the City of Derry,

But where I was born, the wee town of Coleraine.

Oh tny star of the north, shining on yon land's waters,

I wonder if ever I'll see you again,

May good fortune shine down on the sons and daughters

That come from the sweet little town of Coleraine.

The Girls of Coleraine

Although the tune given here is the one most frequently heard, the song can also
be sung to the tune of "Kitty of Coleraine." This song was chosen instead of "Kitty"
because the pleasant verses are a good example of the genuine folk-song style and
"Kitty" can be found in almost every collection of Irish songs. Coleraine is a town
in County Derry, one of the northern counties.
21
 She was a fishmonger, but sure it was no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before.
And they both wheeled their barrow through streets broad and narrow.
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
Chorus.

She died of a fever, and none could relieve her,

And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
But her ghost wheels her barrow through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
Chorus.

Cockles and Mussels ( Molly Malone )

T o the north and to the south of the port of Dublin, there are wide stretches of sand,
covered by shallow water at high water. Many a "dacint poor woman" in other days
earned an honest penny by harvesting cockles and rnussels, which were to be found in
great numbers on these sands, and selling them on the streets of Dublin.
 I'm A Poor Stranger

As- I-went a -

I walk-ing one- morn-ing in spring, T o hear the birds whis-tle, and-

I" night - in - gales sing, I -heard a fair l a - dy a - mak - ing- great

1I
moan, Say - ing, Im,
7
a
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poor- stran-ger and- far from my own?
 And as I drew nigh her I made a low jee,

I asked her for pardon for making so free;

My heart, it relented to hear her moan,

Saying, "I'm a poor stranger and far from my own."

Then gently I asked her if she would be mine,

And help me to tend to my sheep and my kine;

She blush'd as she answer'd in sorrowful tone,

"Be kind to the stranger, so far from her own."

I'll build my love a cottage at the end of this town,

Where lords, dukes and earls shall not pull it down;

If the boys they should ask you why you live alone,

You can tell them you're a stranger, and far from your own.

I'm a Poor Stranger

This fine song was first written down by Dr. P. W. Joyce, a well-known Irish anti-
quarian and prolific writer of the last century. It was published as No. 7 2 of his Ancielit
Irish Music.
 I Know My Love

Allegro moderato a n

I -
I know my love by his way of

I walking, I know my love by his way of taking, I know my love by his suit of

I
best, And a trou-bled mind sure,can know no rest ." And still she cried:'lonny boys are

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 There is a dance house in Mardyke

And there my true love goes every night,

And takes a strange one upon his knee,

And don't you think now that vexes me?

Chorus.

I know my love is an arrant rover,

And he'll go roaming the wide world over;

In foreign parts he may chance to stray,

Where all the girls are so bright and gay.

Chorus.

If my love knew I could wash and wring,

If my love knew I could weave and spin,

I'd make a dress all of the finest kind,

But the want of money leaves me behind.

Chorus.

I Know My Love

T h e Mardyke is a very pleasant district in the city of Cork where the citizens still
go to take the air on fine summer evenings.
 I Know Where I'm Goin9

, , Moderato I
I I know where I'm goin' And I know who's goin' I

I with me. I know who I love But the dear knows who 1'11 mar - ry.

I
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L a.
++-
Last Verse
A . ,P poco a poco rullentando r:

I I have stock-ings of silk and shoes of fine green lea - ther But

A . diminuendo a1 fine n

I- I would leave them all fir my hand-some,win-some John - ny.

I have stockings of silk
And shoes of fine green leather,
Combs to buckle my hair
And a ring for every finger.

Some say he's dark,

But I say he's bonny,

T h e fairest of them all

Is my handsome, winsome Johnny.

Feather beds are soft,

And painted rooms are bonny,

But I would leave them all

For my handsome winsome Johnny.

I know where I'm goin'

And I know who goes with me,

I know who I love

But the dear knows who I'll marry.

 The Women Are Worse Than The Men

n Moderato marcato

Is it true that the wom- en are

I
worse than the men?Rikes fo1,rikes fol, tid- dy fol lay! Is it true that the wom-en are

worse than the men?They were thrown in-to hell and were thrown out a - gain. With me

( rikes fol lay, tid- dy fol lay, Fol the dol, lo1 the dol, lo1 the do1 lay1

 There was a man walking around one day,

Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!

There was a man walking around one day

When he met with the devil upon the highway.

Chorus.

And says he, "My good man, I have come for your wife."
'
Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!
Says he, "My good man, I've come for your wife
For I hear she's the plague and torment of your life."
Chorus.

And says he, "Mr. Devil, O h take her away."

Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!

Says he, "Mr. Devil, Oh take her away

For she is the plague of my life night and day."

Chorus.

Then the devil he hoisted her up on his back,

Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!

Then the devil he hoisted her up on his back

And off to his residence her he did pack.

Chorus.

There were two or three devils all tied up with chains,

Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!
There were two or three devils all tied up with chains
Said they, "Take her away or she'll knock out our brains."
Chorus.

And two other young devils were climbing the wall,

Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!
And two other young devils were climbing the wall,
They said, "Take her away or she'll murder us all."
Chorus.

So the devil he hoisted her up on his back,

Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!

So the devil he hoisted her up on his back

And back to her old fellow her he did pack.

Chorus.
 And says he, "My good man, here's your wife back again,"
Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!
And says he, "My good man, here's your wife back again,
For we couldn't put up with her in hell."
Chorus.

They were seven years going and nine coming back,

Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!
They were seven years going and nine coming back
And she's called for the scrapin's she left in the pot.
Chorus.

So it's true that the women are worse than the men,
Rikes fol, rikes fol, tiddy fol lay!
So it's true that the women are worse than the men
For they went down to hell and were thrown out again.
Chorus.

The Women Are Worse Than the Men

There are versions of this song wherever English is spoken. Since the version usually
sung in this country is already in the Burl Ives Song Book, the one included here is
another, commonly sung in Ireland.
 The Green Bushes

A Andantino iP

I - AS I was a-

I w a l k - ing one morn-ing in May To hear the birds whis - tle and

see lamb-kins play, I es - pied a young dam - sel and sweet - l y sang

I she, Down by the green bush - e s where she chanced to meet me.
 "Oh, why are you loitering here pretty maid?"
"I'm waiting for my true love," softly she said,
"Shall I be your true love and will you agree
T o leave your own true love and f o l l o ~ with
\ ~ me?"

"I'll give you fine beavers and fine silken gowns,

I'll give you fine petticoats flounced to the ground,

I'll give you fine jewels and live but for thee

If you'll leave your own true love and follo~vwith me."

"I want none of your beavers nor fine silken hose,

For I'm not so poor as to marry for clothes,

But if you'll be constant and true unto me

I'll leave my own true love and marry with thee."

"Come let us be going, kind sir, if you please,

Oh let us be going from under these trees,
For yonder is coming my true love I see,
Down by the green bushes where he thinks to meet me."

And when he came there and found she had gone,

He looked very sheepish and cried quite forlorn,

"She's gone with another and forsaken me,

And left the green bushes where she vowed to meet me."

The Green Bushes

This tune is widely known in Ireland and is used for many traditional songs, of which
the best known, possibly, is the one about Brian 0 Linn, for

Brian 0 Linn had no breeches to wear

So he got him a sheepskin to make him a pair,

"With the fleshy side out and the woolly side in

I'll be pleasant and cool," says 13rian 0 Linn.

Brian O Linn had no brogues for his toes.

He hopped in two crab shells to serve him for those.

T h e n he split up two oysters that matched like a twin.

"Sure they'll shine out like buckles." says Brian 0 Linn.

 The Pretty Girl Milking Her Cow

b a i l & Deas Cru'ite na m ~ 6 )

A Con mot0 moderato w

I -
I t be - ing on a fine sum-mer's

morn-ing, As the birds sweet-ly tuned on each bough, I heard a sweet

A sempre p

I maid sing most charm-ing As she sat- there a - milk-ing her cow. Her-

1 voice-was en- chant-ing, mel- od-ious,Nhich left me scarce a-ble to go; But m y
 I heart it is sooth-ed in sol-ace By my CniZ - h ~eao- Crir-te M- mBd.

With courtesy I did salute her:

"Good morrow to you, my sweet maid,

You've me captured a slave for the future."

"Kind sir, do not banter," she said.

"I am not such a precious rare jewel

That I should enamour you so.

I am but a plain country girl!"

Said my Cailin deas crdite n a mbd.

If I had the great wealth of Omar

And all on the African shore,

If I had great Devonshire's treasure

Or, maybe, ten thousand times more,

If I had the lamp of Aladdin

And I had his genie also,

I'd rather live poor on a mountain

With my Cailin deas crziite n u mbd.

The Pretty Girl Milking Her Cow

This very old and beautiful traditional tune was transcribed by Edward Bun-
ting, and Thomas Moore wrote "The Valley Lay Smiling Before Me" to it. T h e first
English verses to this song were written by the Irish poet, Dr. George Sigerson. There
are many more verses than those given here, but the three selected give the essentials
of the story. It is interesting that in parts of Limerick and Kerry this song is regarded
. as an unlucky song, bringing misfortune on the singer or listener. T h e Gaelic words
mean literally, "the pretty girl milking her cow."
 The Low -Back'd Car

Andantino ,.,
When

I first I saw sweet Peg - gy, %was on a mar - l e t day; - A

I low- back'd car she drove, and sat up - on a truss of hay; But
 A ,, poco r i t e n u t o atern~o A

I flow'r was there, that could corn-pare with the bloom-ing girl I sing! As she

I sat in her low-backld oar, the man a t the turn - pike b a r , Nev- e r

A , poco r i t . atempo

I ask'd for the toll, but just rubb'd his ould pol1,And lookd aft-er the low-back'd car.-

In battle's wild commotion, the proud and mighty Mars,

With hostile scythes demands his tythes of death in war-like cars;

But Peggy, peaceful goddess, has darts in her bright eye

That knock men down in the market town as right and left they fly;

While she sits in her low-back'd car, than battle more dang'rous far,

For the doctor's art cannot cure the heart,

That is hit from the low-back'd car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir; has strings of ducks and geese,

But the scores of hearts she slaughters, by far outnumber these;

While she among her poultry sits, just like a turtle dove

Well worth the cage, I do engage. of the blooming god of Love!

 While she sits in her low-back'd car, the lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken, that Peggy is pickin'

While she sits in her low-back'd car.

I'd rather own that car, sir! with Peggy by my side,

T h a n a coach and four, and gold galore and a lady for my bride;

For the lady would sit forninst me, on a cushion made with taste.

While Peggy would sit beside me with nly arm around her waist:

As we drove in the low-back'd car, to be married by Father hIaher,

Oh, my heart would beat high at her glance and her sigh,

T h o ' it beat in a low-back'd car.

The Low-Back'd Car

T h e verses are by Samuel Lover, who died ill 1868. T h e tune is a variant of "'H'he Jolly
Ploughboy," of English origin.
<uvp n o ~ ddn p a y p m I s g 'JaalJs u!-~a;ri ayom l a a j 3rl - sar- ~m aM -.d '1% 'a aq1 u!oC I

09 J O ' ~1 3 a ~- a p s a y am prm'l3a.1 - rp l u ~ m I - 'aalyl - 1C - ?@!a-uaa~ -y8ya

On, on, I wint widout accidint,

Till the station came in view,

Then meself I saw as a limb of the law,

Dressed out like a big Boy Blue.

As thro' the gate of me future fate

I sthrode on manfully,

All the polis cried when they seen me sthride,

"An' is this MO-KI-AR-I-TY?"

Chorus.

Wid no delay, I drew me pay

And began for to study too,

A polisman I soon became,

Prepared for me job to do.

Thieves, far and near, I filled with fear,

Gaol-birds avoided me;

hlalefactors trembled when they heard,

"Here's MO-RI-AR-I-TY!"

Chorus.
Whin to coort I went, on business bent,

T h e Jedge on his binch looked grim;

But after awhile 1's see him smile,

If I happened to glance at him.

Thin I'd hear him say in a solemn way:

"Now, and who could that man be?"

"kIy Lord," said the clerk, "he's a man of mark,

Name of MO-RI-AR-I-TY."

Chorus.

T h e Latin I knew in a week or two,

And I gave them soon a shock

Whin I hurled a junk av a "quid pro nunc,"

With a "post" and a "propter hoc."

A "habeas corpus" or "aqua fortis,"

Was all the same to me!

Whin I'd take the floor the crier would roar:

"Wisha! Here's MO-RI-AR-I-TY!"

Chorus.

T h e ladies too, I very soon knew,

Wor smitten, wan and all;

For beneath me spell, they quickly fell,

And I held them in me thrall.

Wid me handsome face, wid me charm and grace,

They thought and they dreamt of me;

And whin I'd pass by I could hear them sigh:

"Oh, I love MO-RI-AR-I-TY!"

Chorus.

Whin me work is done and me coorse is run,

And I've walked on me last long beat,

And to Heaven's shore I'll quickly soar,

Saint Peter there to meet,

Sure, I hope he'll say, in a kindly way,

"Is it there, Tim, yerself I see;

Yer reward you've won for yer work well done.

Shtep in! MO-RI-AR-I-TY!"

Chorus.
 This song became generally popular through the singer Gerard Crofts in the intern-
ment camps set up after the 1916 Rebellion. A few of the references that might not be
familiar to us in the States are:
D.M.P.-Dublin Metropolitan Police, superseded after the Treaty of 192 i by the Civic
Guards, Metropolitan Division.
P ~ L I SP,~ L I S M A N local
-a pronunciation, partly derisive, of police, policeman.
BOBBY-The police forces in England and in Ireland were first established by Sir
Robert Peel. Policemen are also known as Peelers.
Kevin Street refers to a Dublin police precinct.
.amow u m o ~ gqaamg ay) 30 prcjy a y ) 30 B u r - q ~ n o o - s aruv:, 61 - a ) q ay m o ~mou I
no6 11aq 03 2ur- 08 W'J p u s 'u.eur 8unoS s qnoq - s 11-e sr&;apws o) 112 noL asnv:, 1

pup sa - s s s ~ p u s spv1 a b 11% awo3

Says he, "My pretty fair maid, will you come along with me,
We'll both go off together and married we ~ v i l be;
l
We'll join our hands in wedlock bands, I'm speaking to you now,
And I'll do my best endeavor for thc hlaid of the Sweet Rro~irnKnowe." "
T h i s fair and fickle young thing, she knew not what to say;

Her eyes did shine like silver bright and lnerrily did play.

Says she, "Young man, your love subdue. for I am not ready now.

And I'll spend another season at the foot of the Sweet Brown Knowe."

Says he, "My pretty fair maid, how can you say so?

Look down on yonder valley where my crops d o gently grow;

Look down on yonder valley where my horses and my plough

Are at their daily labor for the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe."

"If they're at their daily labor, well, I'm thinking it's not for me;

I've heard of your behavior, sir, I have indeed," says she.

"There is an inn where you call ill. I have heard the people say,

Where you rap and you call and you pay for all, and go home at the break of day."

"If I rap and I call and I pay for all, the money is all my own;

And I'll never spend your fortune for I hear you have got none.

You thought you had my poor heart broke in talking with me now,

But I'll leave you where I found you, at the foot of the Sweet Brown K n o w . "

" Knowe is evidently a corruption of the word knoll.

 The Garden Where The Pratie s Grow

Allegro mf 7

-d
Have you

l ev - e r been in love, me boys, Oh! have you felt the pain?- I'd
I met her in the gar - den Where the prat - ies grow.

Chorus

SGwas just the sort of crea-ture,now,That na-ture did in - tend- Towilk throughout the

world,me boys,With-out the are - cian Bend Nor did she wear a chig - non I'd

I
-2
have you all to know And I met her in the gar- den Where the prat -ies grow.
 Says I , "My lovely colleen.
I hope you'll pardon me."
But she wasn't like the city girls
Who'd say, "You're making free."
She answered me right modestly
And curtsied very low,
Saying, "You're welcome in the garden
Where the prat ies grow."
Chorus.

Says I , "hly lovely darling,

I'm tired of single life

And if you've no objections

I will make you my sweet wife."

Says she, "I'll ask my parents
And tornorrow I'll let you know
If you'll meeL me in m he garden
Where the praties grow."
Chorus.

H e r parents they consented

And we're blessed with children three;
Tnro girls just like their mother

And a boy the image of me.

We'll train h e m u p in decency

T h e way they ought to go.

And I'll ne'er forget the garden

Where t ? ~ praties
e grow.
Chorus.

The Garden Where the Praties Grow

Although everyone will know at once that "praties" are potatoes. the word "garden"
in this context may puzzle some. It is customary in farming areas, especially in the Irish-
speaking districts, to designate as "the garden" (Irish "garrdhai") that srliall piece of land
in which are grown vegetables for personal domestic consumption. T h e "Grecian bend"
was a small bustle, fashionable about the turn of the century.
 The Cruiskeen Lawn

,,, Allegro moderato

I hunt - er praise his hounds, And the she; - herd his sweet scent-ed lawn, But

I I, more blest than they, Spend each hap-py night and daywith mycharm-ing lit-tle cruisk-een

-
I
I
I-
L
- I
I - --
r . ,
I . , I.
I A I *
L
.1
L I I ,
1 I
I
I I 1 I 3

I I-

I lawn, lawn, Zawn, Oh, my charm-ing lit - t l e cruisk - een Zawnl-

 Chorus

&uu~ mo I ~ r e e rno hsoo - skeen, SZuufn- teh gyal mo voor-neer~b-?,uw'mo hree mo h o o l - e e n ,

1 - Lit - tle jug, my hearth lave, Bright health to my own dove; Lit -;le jug my own hearth

-
UI(L//'TL O! Graw mu hree mo hooZ - een wawn! -
love, - Oh! Lit - tle jug, my own heart's love ! -

Immortal and divine,

Great Bacchus, god of wine,
Create me by adoption your son;
I n hope that you'll comply,
T h a t my glass shall ne'er r u n dry,
Nor my smiling little cruiskeen lawn, lawn, lawn,
Oh, my charming little cruiskeen lawn!
Chorus.

And when grim Death appears,

I n a few but pleasant years,
T o tell me that my glass has run;
I'll say, "Begone, you knave!
For great Bacchus gave me leave
T o take another cruiskeen lawn, lawn, lawn,
T o take another cruiskeen lawn!"
Chorus.
 The Cruiskeen Lawn
(The Small Full Jar)

T h e jar is, of course, a whisky jar, and the song is well known in both the Irish and the
English versions. It is customary to use the Irish words in the chorus whether the verses .
are in English or not.
T h e pronunciation of the words of the chorus is approximately as follows (sound-
ing the "H" far back, almost as a guttural):

Pronunciation: Translation :

~ r & mo
v hree mo hrooskeen T h e love of my heart is my little jar

Slawnteh gyal mo voorneen Here's a health to my dear

Graw mo hree mo hooleen wawn T h e love of ~ n heart
y is my fair-headed
0, graw mo hree mo hooleen wawn. one
0, the love of my heart is my fair-headed
one.
 s s ~ ooq 8~- 11aX~un2 a a q a -WUI MWB ss1 ooq W.I - ~ln.8'ur!.~ - q n g '0 I
w
B
"1 - ~ - $ J9ul-uoa ba-lvx PUB lad spaq-daqs aql pvq I q s w I 'lad s'p~aq-daqsaql'lad s'p~aq-daqs 1

 I wish I had the yellow cow, the yellow cow, the yellow cow,
I wish I had the yellow cow, and welcome from my darling.
Iss 0 Gwirrim, Gwirrim hoo, etc.

I wish I had a herd of kine, a herd of kine, a herd of kine,

I wish I had a herd of kine, and Katey from her father.
Iss 0 Gwirrim, Gwirrim hoo, etc.

I Wish I Had the Shepherd's Pet

T h e English verses are more or less a literal translation of the original Irish and the
"pet" is, of course, a pet lamb, T h e sentiment presents an excellent example of a light,
tentative, but accurate approach to a difficult matter.

T h e pronunciation of the words of the And the translation is:

chorus is:
Iss 0 gwirrim gwirrim hoo And 0 I beseech and beseech you
Iss graw mo hree gun kyellig hoo Who are the love of my heart,
Iss 0 gwirrim gwirrim hoo And 0 I beseech and beseech you,
Sthoo patha gyal tho waw-herr. T h e shining pet of your mother.
I[V-pw 'am asay nw -ays y u q I p q ' u o q - s-aops ?lnos Lur l1e 'an01 Lur
a114 -ul q
~ u r sy ~ laams - a y ~ asay I sv Lpa-lusya-ua s.rcos -1nos i~urp u ~p u y ~ -I
 The Lark in the Clear Air

This tune is one of the best of all the Irish traditional tunes and the general quality of
the song has occasioned its inclusion in art-song recitals as frequently as in folk-song
get-togethers. T h e verses were written by Sir Samuel Ferguson.
 -.aa.qq - A $ - uam) JO a% ayl )v ' a p q q au!-)~ods v aurw - aq I

-
1 1 , ~nolC o) y1n.q ay& s p a - avd )sa-uoq Aq dn )y2no~a-'11am mouy 11v noS a q d I
 My character it was taken,

And I was sent to jail,

My parents thought to bail me out,

But they found it all in vain;

T h e jury found me guilty,

And the clerk he wrote it down,

T h e judge he passed my sentence,

And I was sent to Charlestown.

I see my aged Father,

And he standing by the Bar,

Likewise my aged Mother,

And she tearing of her hair,

T h e tearing of her old grey locks,

And the tears came mingled down,

Saying, "John my son, what have you done,

T h a t you're bound for Charlestown?"

There's a girl in Boston City, boys,

A place you all know well,

And if e'er I get my liberty,

It's with her I will dwell,

If e'er I get my liberty,

Bad company I will shun,

T h e robbing of the Munster Bank,

And the drinking of rum.

You lads that are at liberty

Should keep it while you can,

Don't roam the street by night or day,

Or break the laws of man.

For if you do you're sure to rue,

And become a lad like me,

A-serving u p your twenty-one years

In the Royal Artillery.

Boston Burglar
This song, which is sung to many different tunes, is the story of an Irish-American
and probably originated in the United States.
There are many examples of such songs, which present the details of murders,
hangings, bank robberies, and so on, and they were often cast in the form of a
"confession" by the delinquent. "The Boston Burglar" is one of these. Charlestown
Prison was built in 1804 and closed in 1878.
 UV;~
-.oat - ~ 2 - ayq pmoq uo 'sLoq'p~e-map puz yooo ss p,ddlys p w -'nap I
1%auroq p p a ~ gp us uwm-~a1-w s sw I aouo -lo I

 My love she was no foolish girl, her age it was two score,

hly love was not a spinster, she'd been married twice before;

And they could not say it was her wealth that stole my heart away,

For she was a laundry starcher at three-and-six a day.

"Oh think of me! Oh think of me!" she mournfully did say,

"When you are in a foreign land, three thousand miles away;

And take this lucky farthing, 'twill make you bear in mind

T h e loving, faithful, trusting heart you leave in tears behind."

"Cheer up! Cheer up! my own true love, don't weep so bitterly,"

But she sobbed and sighed and choked and cried and couldn't say goodbye.

"I won't be gone so very long, maybe a month or two,

And when I do come back again, of course I'll marry you."

Our vessel it was homeward bound from many a foreign shore,

And many a foreign present unto my love I bore;

There were tortoises from Teneriffe and toys from Timbuctoo,

A Chinese rat and a Bengal cat and a Bombay cockatoo.

Paid off, I sought her dwelling in the suburbs of the town,

An ancient dame upon a line was hanging out a gown.

"Where is my love?" "She's married, sir, about six months ago,

T o a man who drives a hardware van for Johnny Fox and Co."

Farewell to Dixon's soap suds from the famous brand called "Crown,"

T o "Reckitt's Blue," well known to you, and Crean's "Scouring Brown";

I'll seek some far and distant clime, I can no longer stay,

For my heart is now so shattered I must live on China tay.

'1 On Board the Kangaroo

Although we do not ordinarily think of the Irish as a seafaring nation, they are not
only noteworthy fishermen and sailors on their own beautiful and rugged coasts, but
many an Irishman sailed as a mariner on board the ships of the mid-1800's. This is
a humorous tale about an around-the-world voyage. Many of our best known sea chanties
carried that turn of phrase which seems so distinctly Irish in origin, especially those
chanties that originated in the Grand Banks fisheries during the eighteenth century.
eqq u! 'auo - J& It -uno3 a q l UI I
l a - no or lute, But - noth-ing could sound like the ould Or- ange flute.

I Too - r a - lah, Too- ra - lay, And it's

I
six miles from Ban - g o r to Don - a - gha - dee.

But this treacherous scoundrel he took us all in,

For he married a Papish called Bridget McGinn;

Turned Papish himself and forsook the old cause

That gave us our freedom, religion, and laws.

Now the boys in the townland made some noise upon it,

And Bob had to fly to the province of Connacht,

He flew with his wife and his fixings to boot,

And along with the others the ould Orange flute,

Chorus.

At chapel on Sundays to atone for his past deeds,

He'd say Pater and Aves and counted his brown beads,

Till, after some time, at the priest's own desire,

He went with that ould flute to play in the choir.

He went with that ould flute to play in the loft,

But the instrument shivered and sighed and then coughed

When he blew it and fingered it and made a strange noise,

For the flute would play only "The Protestant Boys."

Chorus.

Bob jumped u p and started and got in a flutter,

And he put the ould flute in the bless'd holy water;

He thought that it might now make some other sound,

When he blew it again it played "Croppies Lie Down!"

And all he did whistle, and finger, and blow,

T o play Papish music he found it "no go."

"Kick the Pope," "The Boyne Water" and such like 'twould sound,

But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.

Chorus.

At a council of priests that was held the next day,

They decided to banish that ould flute away;

As they couldn't knock heresy out of its head,

They bought Bob another to play in its stead.

So the ould flute was doomed and its fate was pathetic,

It was fastened and burned at the stake as heretic,

While the flames roared around it they heard a strange noise,

'Twas the ould flute still whistlin' "The Protestant Boys."

Chorus.
 The Ould Orange Flute

Here is a witty and humorous representation of "theological disputations." This

song is now a bond of union instead of a bone of contention and is even more pop-
ular in the Republic of Ireland than in Northern Ireland.
"'The Twelfth of July" is the date of the annual commemoration of the battle of the
River Boyne, when William of Orange defeated James 11, the last of the Stuart Kings
of England. T h e unknown author set his words to an English melody, the well-known
"Villikens and his Dinah," better known in the United States today as the tune of
"Sweet Betsy from Pike."
 A , Poco adagio e dolce D

Has sor-row thy young days shad - ed, As

I
clouds o'er the moru - ing fleet? Too fast hiwe those young days fad - ed That

)I -x crescendo n -

I e-ven in sor-row were sweet?Does time withhis cold wing with-er Eachfeel-ing that once was
 Has hope, like the bird in the story,

T h a t flitted from tree to tree

With the talisman's glittering glory-

Has hope been that bird to thee?

O n branch after branch alighting,

T h e gem did she still display,

And, when nearest and most inviting,

T h e n waft the fair gem away?

If thus the young hours have fleeted,

When sorrow itself looked bright;

If thus the fair hope has cheated,

T h a t led thee along so light;

If thus the cold world now wither

Each feeling that once was dear-

Come, child of misfortune, come hither,

I'll weep with thee tear for tear.

Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded?

One of the most beautiful Thomas Moore songs, written to the old air, "Sly Patrick."
It is supposed to refer to Sarah Curran, who was engaged to be married to Robert
Emmett at the time of his execution. Her father defended him at his trial for trea-
son. Robert E m n ~ e twas
~ a fellow student of Thomas Moore's at Trinity College,
Dublin, and was executed for leading the unsuccessful rebellion of 1803.
 When He Who Adores Thee
A Lente espressivo n.

I" When he who a - d z e s thee h a s

I -
left but the name Of his fauit and his sor - raws be - hind,- Oh!

I Say>wiltthou weep when they dark-en the fame Of a life that for thee was re -
 tears shall ef - face their de - Cree;- For Heav- en can wit-ness, though

1
guilt - ,y to them, I have been- but too faith-ful to thee!,

-u-

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love,

Every thought of my reason was thine;

In my last humblest prayer to the Spirit above

Thy name shall be mingled with mine.

Oh! Blest are the lovers and friends who shall live

T h e days of thy glory to see,

But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give

Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

When He Who Adores Thee

Thomas Moore was sympathetic to Irish political aspirations and was freely accepted
in the patriotic circles of his day. He was not a violent revolutionary, but he was impor-
tant in Irish affairs because by his songs and the connections they brought him in Eng-
land, he was able to do much to gain sympathy for the aspirations of his people. W. B.
Yeats and James Stephens and others were similarly useful during the period from
1900 to 1921. In this song, "he" means Lord Edward Fitzgerald and "thee" means Ire-
land. Lord Edward Fitzgerald, of the Leinster Fitzgeralds, was mortally wounded while
being arrested for his activities in 1798 as a "United Irishman." He died in prison a
iCyl $a? '$.IT? n o q l luau-our syq] SR s
pa.Iop - 2 a q l l ~ $$splnomnoq& -' ST?'%
n
-
w -

08 a.Iafi Avp - ~
o ) A1 - puoj o s uo azvB I q 3 1 k sur~eq:, BunoS Buy -.reap
 poco r a l l .

I love - li -ness fade a s it will And a - round t h e dear r u - in each

ton V a te?nwo

r r ----
I"
I

wish of my heart Would en - twine it. - self ver - dant -1y still. -

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,

And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,

T h a t the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,

T o which time will but make thee more dear;

No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,

But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sunflower turns on the Sun when he sets

T h e same look which she turned when he rose.

4 - 1)
r, I
" A
1I II 1
I I II
I II I I I 7 I I , ,
1 I , I
I I I I
I L I
.n
I 1I I

- . I - d 1 - I I
, I I 4)

-u! pno~dJay uro.~juofi ay y a l w p108 jo JEI-IO~ -ayl aJofi r-yav-18~~

u a m !Jay paLm1

-aq uos ssa~-yl!vjJay a.13' p ~ ojo sLvp ayl ~aq-uraur-a.~u! - .13 jay I

 O n Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays,

When the clear cold eve's declining,

He sees the round towers of other days

In the wave beneath him shining;

Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,

Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;

Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time

For the long-faded glories they cover.

Let Erin Remember

There are still many who think this song should have been chosen as the National
Anthem when the new Irish government was established after the Anglo-Irish Treaty
of 1921. T h e final song in this collection chose itself because it corresponded more
closely with the fighting spirit of those years.
T h e "faithless sons" is a reference to the time when Dermot McMurrough Kavanagh,
King of Leinster, invited Henry I1 of England to make an armed intervention in an
Irish domestic quarrel. T h e intervention was to last for eight hundred years. "Malachi"
was the King Malachi who captured the city of Dublin from the Norsemen in the year
980. Dublin was originally a Norwegian settlement. Lough Neagh is the largest lake in
Ireland and the subject of legends similar to those about Atlantis, the lost continent.
 Thomas Moore and Edward Bunting

These two men were the most prominent during the revival of interest in the
musical tradition of Ireland that took place at the turn of the eighteenth century.
Certain public-spirited citizens had become alarmed at the decay of interest in
playing 011 the harp and in the harpers who, in the absence of published material to
any effective extent, were the sole repository of the Irish musical tradition. T w o fes-
tivals were organized at which prizes were offered to competitors; one was at Gran-
ard in 1789, and the other in Belfast in 1792.
Edward Bunting, an English musician, was employed to transcribe the melodies
played by the competitors in Belfast, competitors that apparently left a pathetic inl-
pression because of the age and poverty of the very small number that were able to
appear.
Bunting did not understand Irish and therefore confined his attention to the
melodies only. His publications, in 1796, 1803, and 1840, attracted much attention
to a beauty of melody previously unknown in circles outside the socially submerged
Irish-speaking population. Subsequent scholarship has revealed some defects in Bun-
ting's work; but, generally, his publications present a valuable source of information
for the student of Irish folk music.
Thomas Moore, then a young man, was among those who were attracted to the
melodies and they inspired him to write the many charming songs that have since
become famous wherever English is spoken. He had entree to influential houses in
Dublin and in London, and his reputation and acceptance as a singer and writer did
much to spread a knowledge of the quality of Irish melody.
Buntiny was somewhat irritated at hloore's success, because he had hoped to
derive much profit and reputation by exploiting the newly found melodic treasure.
Although he was the transcriber and first publisher, it was Moore who, with his
verses, received the greater part of the public acclaim. W e may agree that Bunting
had some justification for his irritation because, as we see, everyone knows about
"Moore's Melodies" but few have heard of Bunting.
Nevertheless, we can now ignore their difficulties and recognize that, as a re-
sult of the work of both men, we are in possession of beautiful melodies that might
have been lost without tracc.
 PART I1

Wit, Courage, and a Fighting Nation

 ~ r a q - u a u - aJ -In* ' s p u ~ q-paJa - qqmplo

a,iou plnoa aauo Laq~u a q S~ J ~ ~ I - UaqJ 1
 How I love to muse on the days of my boyhood

Though four score and three years have fled by since then;

It brings sweet reflection when I mind every young joy

For gay-hearted boys make the best of old men.

At fair or at wake I could twist my shillelagh

And trip through the dance with my brogues bound with straw,

Where all the pretty maidens around me would gather

And praise Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

In troth, I have wandered this whole wide world over,

Rut Ireland's my home and the dwelling for me;

And, oh, let the turf that my old bones will cover

Be cut from the land that is trod by the free.

And when sergeant death in his arms doth embrace me

And lull me to sleep with old Erin go Bragh,

And beside my dear Kathleen, my own true love, place me;

Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

The Bard of Arrnagh

This song, sometimes called "Erin Go Bragh," or "The Exile of Erin," is an Irish
song written by Thomas Campbell in 1801 to a traditional and even then old Irish
melody. It is taken by some to represent the end of the long succession of the Irish
harper-composers. Some identify "Phelim Brady" with a Bishop Patrick Donnelly,
who, disguised as a harper, traveled the fairs and markets of Armagh, Louth, Tyrone,
and Down, in the administration of his diocese. T h e disguise was necessary owing to
the penal restrictions on those of his calling in eighteenth-century Ireland.
 Follow Me Up T o Carlow

, ,, Allegro marziale

I Lift, Mac Ca - h i r age, your face,

I
Brood-ing o'er the old dis- grace, That old Fitz - will - iam stormed your place, And

drove you t o the fern, O! Grey said vic - to - r y was sure- Soon the fire-brand

1
I he'd se- cure, Un - ti1 he met a t Glen- ma - lure, Feagh Mae Hugh 0' By m e , 01
See the swords of Glen Imaal,
Flashing o'er the English Pale!
See all the children of the Gael
Beneath 0 Byrne's banners!
Rooster of a fighting stock,
Would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock?
Fly up and teach him manners!
Chorus.
 From Tassagart to Clonmore
Flows a stream of Saxon gore!
0,great is Rory 0 g e 0 More
At sending loons to Hades!
White is sick and Lane is fled!
Now for Fitzwilliam's head-
We'll send it over dripping red
T o 'Liza and her ladies!
Chorus.

Follow Me Up to Carlow

This is one of the many fine songs written to an old Irish tune by the late P. J. McCall.
It tells of the Wicklow chieftains who attacked "The Pale" during the reign of Queen
Elizabeth. "The Pale" referred to is that part of Ireland which by the eighteenth cen-
tury was firmly under English rule. T h e area within "The Pale" in those times con-
formed, more or less, to the province of Leinster.
Lord Fitzwilliam and Lord Kildare are, of course, the English commanders. Feagh
Mac Hugh 0 Byrne and Rory Oge 0 More are leaders of the Insurrection. 'Liza, in the
last verse, is Queen Elizabeth.
 Mrs. Mc Grath
,,, Allegro

I "Oh Mis - sis Mc Grathl" the ser-geant said,"Would you

I Wid yer too - ri - aa, fol de did - dle - s a Too - ri - oo - ri - oo- ri - aa

Oh Mrs. McGrath lived on the sea-shore
For the space of seven long years or more
Till she saw a big ship sailing into the bay.
"Here's my son Ted, wisha, clear the way."
Chorus.

"Oh, Captain dear, where have you been

Have you been sailing on the Mediterreen
Or have ye any tidings of my son T e d
Is the poor boy living or is he dead?"
Chorus.

T h e n up comes T e d without any legs

And in their place he has two wooden pegs
She kissed him a dozen times or two
Saying, "Holy Moses, 'tisn't you."
Chorus.

"Oh, then were ye drunk or were ye blind

That ye left yer two fine legs behind
Or was-it walking upon the sea
Wore yer two fine legs from the knees away?"
Chorus.

"Oh, I wasn't drunk and I wasn't blind

But I left my two fine legs behind
For a cannon ball on the fifth of May
Took my two fine legs from the knees away."
Chorus.

"Oh, then, Teddy me boy," the widow cried,

"Yer two fine legs were yer mammy's pride
Then1 stumps of a tree wouldn't do at all
Why didn't ye run from the big cannon ball?"
Chorus.

"A11 foreign wars I do proclaim

Between Don John and the King of Spain
And by herrins I'll make them rue the time
That they swept the legs fro111 a child of mine."
Chorus.
 Mrs. McGrath

Ireland has always been "difficult" about the English Occupatio~i,but, on the otllel.
hand, England has always been able to find a large number of Irishrnen to fight for her
in her many foreign wars. T h e subject of this song appears to have fought in the Pen- .
insular War against Napoleon, under the Duke of Wellingto~l,~ v h oTvas himself Irish-
born. T h e thought underlying this song, as the one that follo~vs,is an expression of
courage, the use of wit to paint a tragedy and tnake the telling bearable.
T h e name "McGrath" is pronouilced as "h1cCrah"-the "I" being silent.
I
I
I , ,I I
I
I I 1 1 I I I
I I
I
I

I r
-
- - - I 1 - I - 1 1 .- I -. - , - 2
I
I I r I
I

I
- -
I

1 dole - ful dam - s e l I heard cry: "John-ny, I h a r d - ly knew ye!"

1 With their drums and guns and guns and drums The en- e-my n e w - l y slew ye. 0.

I John-ny, me dear, you look so queer, ~ d h n - n y ,I hard - ly knew ye!

Where are your eyes that looked so mild? Hurroo! Hurroo!

Where are your eyes that looked so mild? Hurroo! Hurroo!
Where are your eyes that looked so mild,
When my poor heart you first beguiled?
Arrah! Why did you run from me and the child?
"0,Johnny, I hardly knew ye!"
Chorus.

Where are the legs with which you run? Hurroo! Hurroo!
Where are the legs with which you run? Hurroo! Hurroo!
Where are the legs with which you run
When first you want to carry a gun?
Indeed your dancing days are done!
"0,Johnny, I hardly knew ye!"
Chorus.
 It grieved my heart to see you sail, Hurroo! Hurroo!

It grieved my heart to see you sail, Hurroo! Hurroo!

It grieved my heart to see you sail,

Though from my heart you took leg-bail;

Like a cod you're doubled u p head and tail,

"0,Johnny, I hardly knew ye!"

Chorus.

I'm happy for to see you home, Hurroo! Hurroo!

I'm happy for to see you home, Hurroo! Hurroo!

I'm happy for to see you home,

All from the Island of Sulloon;

So l o ~ vin flesh, so high in bone,

"0,Johnny, I hardly knew ye!"

Chorus.

Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye

'This bitter street ballad first appeared at the time of the Napoleonic Wars. Better
knoum than "hlrs. hIcGrath," it makes the same commentary about the effect of war
on an i~ldi~~idilal's
life.
 Brennan On The Moor
,, Allegro assai m f

It's a - bout a fierce high -way - man my

I reer, And man-y a rich gen-tle-man be - fore him shook with fear. O! It's
 Bren-nan on the moor.

I
I Bolqwand un - daunt - ed stood young Bren-nan on the
-
moor.-

I t was upon the King's Highway

T h a t Brennan he sat down.

H e met the Mayor of Moorland

Five miles outside of town.

Now the Mayor he knew Brennan,

"And I think," says he,

"Your name is Willy Brennan,

You must come along with me."

Chorus.

Now Brennan's wife was a-going downtown

Some previsions for to buy.
When she saw her Willy taken,
She began to weep and cry. Iri
Says he, "Hand me that ten penny," Er
And as soon as Willy spoke, re1
She handed him a blunderbuss co1
From underneath her cloak. Br
Chorus. of
 Now Brennan got his blunderbuss,

My story I'll unfold,

He caused the Mayor to tremble

And to deliver u p his gold.

Five thousand pounds were offered

For his apprehension there,

But Brennan and the pedlar

T o the mountain did repair.

Chorus.

Now Brennan is an outlaw

All (on some mountain high.
With infantry and cavalry
T o take him they did try,
But he laughed at them and he scored at them
Until it was said
By a false-hearted woman
He was cruelly betrayed.
Chorus.

They hung Brennan at the crossroads,

In chains he swung and dried,

But still they say that in the night

Some do see him ride.

They see him with his blunderbuss

In the midnight chill,

Along, along the King's Highway

Rides Willy Brennan still.

Chorus.

Brennan on the Moor

T h e disastrous wars of the seventeenth century brought about the downfall of the
Irish nobility. They were dispossessed of their estates, which were given to settlers from
England and Scotland. Not all of the deprived "went to Connaught" or emigrated or
remained to serve. Some became outlaws, "tories" or "rapparees," and, as in many a
country's tradition, there were those who robbed the rich to pay the poor. T h e outlaw
Brennan, like the hero of the following song, "Kilgary Mountain," may have been one
of these.
T h e American colonists knew the song of Brennan, and the melody became the basis
for many a patriotic ballad during the American Revolutionary War.
 Kilgary Mountain
A Allegretto MoJerato

I As I w a s go - in' o - v e r the

famed K i l - g a r - y Mount-ain I met w i t h Colo - nel Pep - per and his

I mon - ey he w a s count - in', I r a t - tled both my pis - tols and I

drew forth my sa-ber Say-inlustand and de-liv - e r for I am a bold de-ceiv-er, 01"
 Allegretto

( %haek!Fol de daddy ol~,lfrr.ha rig-gum duram dah,W'hack!Folde daddy oh,There's whs key in the jar!

T h e shinin' golden coins did look so bright and jolly

I took 'em with me home and I gave 'em to my Molly;

She promised and she vowed that she never would deceive me,

But the divil's in the women and they never can be easy, O !

Chorus.

When I awakened between six and seven,

T h e soldiers were around me in numbers odd and even;

I flew to my pistols but alas, I was mistaken,

For Molly's drawn my charges and a prisoner I was taken, 0.

Chorus.

They put me into jail without a judge or writin'

For robbing Colonel Pepper out on Kilgary Mountain,

But they didn't take my pistols so I knocked the sentry down

And I bid a fond farewell to the jail in Slaigo Town, 0.

Chorus.

There's some that take enjoyment in fishin' and in bowlin',

And others take delight in the carriages a-rollin',

But I take delight in the juice of the barley

And courtin' pretty girls in the mornin' so early.

Chorus.

Kilgary Mountain

Kilgary Mountain is not, so far as we know, the name of an actual place. It is prob-
ably a corruption from the original Irish referent to "Kerry hlountain."
 Van Diemen's Land

A Moderato con moto rnl~

I ram -ble free from

-
care,- That walk a - round of a moon- light night with

I dog and gun and snare, I'll- have you quit night walk - ing or yoGll rue it out- of
I

I hand ~;d- rue it when your last ca - reer is on Van Diem-ens Land.
 There was Thomas Brown from Charlestown, Jack Murphy, and poor Joe,

We were three daring poachers as the country well does know.

At night we were trepanned, my boys, by keepers hid in sand

@
hat
And for fourteen years we were transported to Van Diemen's Land.

T h e first day we were landed here upon the fatal shore,

T h e planters came around us, maybe twenty score or more,
And they ranked us up like horses and they sold us out of hand
And they yoked us to the ploughing frames to plough Van Diemen's Land.

Our houses that we do live in are only mud and clay.

There's rotten straw for bedding and to us they give no pay.

We fence ourselves with raging fires and slumber when we can

T o keep away the wolves and dogs upon Van Diemen's Land.

'Tis often when I slumber that I have a pleasant dream.

I'm sitting with my own sweetheart all by a crystal stream.

Through Ireland I go roaming with my own at my command

Then I waken broken-hearted out upon Van Diemen's Land.

Van Diemen's Land

With many, poaching became a necessity to keep family or self nli~re.Those who were
caught were often sent in chains to Australia (Van Diernen's Lantl).
'aur pulq - a q qjal I 1.19 aql o ~' a, l s ~s , u y - 3 oq ymq s a d q.reaq rCur p w 'am pulq
p q a a ~ puz
j a m a o u o a jo saurep a q ~ I
 She says, "My own dear love, come home,

My friends are rich and many,

O r else abroad with you I'll roam,

A soldier stout as any.

If you'll not come nor let me go,

I'll think you have resigned me."

My heart near broke when I answered, "No,"

T o the girl I left behind me.

For never shall my true love brave

A life of war and toiling,

And never, as a skulking slave,

I'll tread my native soil on;

But were it free, or to be freed,

T h e battle's close would find me

T o Ireland bound, nor message need

From the girl I left behind me.

The Girl I Left Behind Me

Available evidence points to the conclusion that the tune of this song was widely known
before the end of the eighteenth century. There are many sets of verses, and this set
expresses the difficulty of many who emigrated in "The Bad Times." However success-
ful in a foreign country, and however agreeable their circumstances, they could never
quite relinquish the hope of "going home" one day.
T h e reference to France and Flanders is an echo of the Treaty of Limerick, 1691,
after which Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan, and the Irishmen who fought under him
went into exile and into the service of Louis XIV of France. These exiles were afterwards
called "The Wild Geese," and there was a legend that when one of them died, his soul
came back to Ireland before taking its final departure from the world.
syq uo uns aqq puv - qas i-eql lams 'j~as-myqqa!bq-ed quy-e~s w t 1 a ~ s y I
 poco rall.

I dear lit - tle sham-rock of I r e - land, The dear lit - tle sham rock, the

A .. poco allargurrdo A

I sweet lit - tle sham-rock, The dear l i t - tle, sweet lit - tle, sham-rock of Ire-land.

F'
iis

T h a t dear little plant still grotvs in our land,

Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin,

Whose smiles can bewitch and whose eyes can command

In each climate they ever appear in.

For they shine through the bog, through the brake and the mireland,

Just like their own dear little shamrock of Ireland,

T h e dear little shamrock, the sweet little shamrock,

T h e dear little, sweet little, shamrock of Ireland.

T h a t dear little plant that springs from our soil,

When its three little leaves are extended,

Denotes from one stem tve together should toil,

And ourselves by ourselves be befriended.

And still through the bog, through the brake and the mireland,

From one root should branch like the shamrock of Ireland,

T h e dear little shamrock, the sweet little shamrock,

'The dear little, sweet little, shamrock of Ireland.

 The Dear Little Shamrock

Dear is the nlemory of Ireland to those ~ v h ohave had to leave her. Songs have
been one of the Ineans by which lhis feeling has been expressed. T h i s song, mention-
ing one of the many legends surrounding the life of Saint Patrick, is attributed to
Andrew Cherry, an actor and dramatist who ~ v a sborn in Limerick in 1762 and who
died in i H i e . T h e word dpar is now thc popular usase, but the original title was "The
G r ~ m1,it~leShamrock."
 The Bells Of Shandon

I -
w i t h deep af - fec - tion and re - cbl -

I lec - tion I of - ten think of the Shandon Bells Whose sounds so wild would, in days of

cbJ&hood,Flmgroundmy cra - dle their mag-ic spells On this I pon - der, wher-e'er I

wan - der, And thus grow fon - der, sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of
 -

I Shan-don,That sound so grand on The plea-sant wa-ters of the Riv- er Lee.--

I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in,

Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine;

While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,

But all their music spoke not to thine;

For mem'ry dwelling on each proud swelling

Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,

hlade the Bells of Shandon

Sound far more grand on

T h e pleasant waters of the River Lee.

The Bells of Shandon

This song refers to the peal of bells in St. Anne's Church, north of the river Lee as it
flows through Cork City. T h e church was built in the early part of the eighteenth
century, and the bells, cast in Gloucester in England, have a beautiful quality. T h e
verses were written by the famous Reverend Sylvester Mahony ("Father Prout") when
he was away from home as a student in the Irish College in Rome.
 Off To Philadelphia

I w - I I r

My- name is Pad - dy Lear - y, From a place called Tip -pe -

h

A . poco accel.

off to Phil - a - delph - i a in the morn in'.

 Allegro vivo

I: W i t h my bun-dle
n
on my shoul-der, Sure, there's no man could be bold - er, I'm

lexv-in' dear old Ire-land with out \xrarn - in'; For I late-ly took the no-tion for t o

I cross the bri- ny o - cean, And I start for Phil-a - delph-is in the morn - in'.

There's a girl called Kate hialone,

Whom I'd hoped to call my own,

And to see my little cabin floor adornin';

But my heart is sad and weary,

How can she be Mrs. Leary

If I start for Philadelphia in the mornin'?

Chorus.
 When they told me I must leave the place,

I tried to keep a cheerful face,

For to show my heart's deep sorrow was I scornin';

But the tears will surely blind me

For the friends I leave behind me

When I start for Philadelphia in the mornin'.

Last Chorus:
Tho' my bundle's on my shoulder,
And there's no man could be bolder,
T h o ' I'm leaving now the spot tvhere I was born in,
Some day I'll take a notion
T o come back across the ocean,
T o my home in dear old Ireland in the mornin'.

Off to Philadelphia

Emigration was a solution for those who could get away, but it represented a final
parting from family and friends. This song, of music-hall origin, has been popular for
many years and helped cheer the last hours of many a prospective traveler.
 Boolavogue
, Moderato D

I At Boo1 - a - vogue, a s the sun was

I set - ting O'er the bright hlay mead-ows of

-
She1 - ma1 - ier,- A
-
reb - e l
I n , em- A

hand set the heath-er blaz-ing And brought the neighbors from far and near. Then Fa-ther

I Murph - y, from old Kil - cor-mack,Spurredup the rocks with awarn-ing cr~'hrmlArml"he
I cried,"For I've come t o lead you. For Ire- land's free-dom we fight or die:'

H e led us on 'gainst the coming soldiers,

T h e cowardly yeomen we put to flight;

'Twas at the Harrow the boys of Wexford

Showed Bookey's Regiment how men could fight.

Look out for the hirelings, King George of England!

Search every kingdom that breathes a slave,

For Father Murphy of the County Wexford

Sweeps o'er the land like a mighty wave.

We took Camolirl and Enniscorthy,

Wexford storining drove out our foes;

'Twas at Slieve Kiltha our pikes were reeking

With the crimson stream of the beaten yeos.

At Tubberneering and Ballyellis

Full marly a Hessian lay in his gore.

Ah, Father Murphy, had aid come over

T h e green flag floated from shore to shore!

At Vinegar Hill, o'er the pleasant Slaney,

Our heroes vainly stood back to back,

And the yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy

And burned his body upon the rack.

God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy

And open heaven to all your men;

T h e cause that called you may call tomorrow

I n another fight for the Green again.

 Boolavogue

Another song by P. J. McCall that refers to one of the consequences of the French
Revolution. A Presbyterian group in Belfast, with leanings toward the new repub-
licanism, founded a society known as "The United Irishmen." With their sympathy
toward the legitimate aspirations of their Catholic fellow Irishmen, it looked at
one time as though a united movement toward political independence was in the mak-
ing. In order to forestall a planned and widespread rebellion, the Government of the
day pursued a deliberate policy of provocation in certain areas, of which Wexford was
the principal. As during the American War of Independence, Hessian mercenaries
were used. Their continued brutality proved too much for Father Murphy, who led
his persecuted people into insurrection. Actually, the insurrection described in this
song was over by June, 1798. During this period there was continued possibility of
military aid from France. T h e French Expedition arrived in County Mayo, in the
West of Ireland, in August, 1798, after the rebellion was completely subdued.
 Shan Van Voght

:nc h A , Allegro moderato

~ub-
lthy
1 at Oh! the
nak-
the
was
:ries
led
this
I of
the
And where will they have their camp?
Says the Sharl I'an Voght.
And where will they have their camp?
Says the Sharz I'an Voght.
O n the Curragh of Kildare
And the boys will all be there
With their pikes in good repair
Says the Shun Van Ifoght. tic
With their pikes in good repair la1
Says the Shun I'an I'oght. sit
br
And what will the yeomen do?
Says the Sha?? F'nn I'oght.
And ~ v h a will
t the yeomen do?
Says the Shun Van Tfogllt.
What will the yeomen do
But throw off the red and blue
And sxirear they will be true
T o the Shan Van Ifoght.
And swear they will be true
'To the Shan Van Ifoght.
 Then what color will be seen?
Says the Shan V a n Voght.
the Then what color will be seen?
Says the Shan V a n Voght.
What color should be seen
Where our fathers' homes have been
But our own immortal green?
Says the Shan V a n Voght.
But our own immortal green?
Says the Shan V a n Voght.

Will old Ireland then be free?

Says the Shan V a n Voght.

Will old Ireland then be free?

Says the Shan V a n Voght.

Old Ireland will be free

From the centre to the sea

Then, hurrah for liberty!

Says the Shan V a n Voght.

Then, hurrah for liberty!

Says the Shan V a n Voght.

Shan Van Voght

T h e subject matter of this song is the hoped-for French intervention in Irish na-
tional troubles from 1789 to 1798. T h e Shan Van Voght (the poor old woman) is Ire-
land. T h e "Curragh of Kildare" is a plateau about thirty miles from Dublin, the
site of the principal military establishment in Ireland. Most of the important horse-
breeding and training establishments of Ireland are in this area.
 The Men Of The West

. Allegro moderato rn f

I While y e hon-or in song and in

I sto - r y The names of the pa - t r i - ot men, - Whose va-lor h a s cov-ered with

I
get not the boys of the heath-er who gath-ered theirbrav-est and best, - Jl'hen
 Chorus
r marziale

I I give you the gal-lant old West boys,Where ral-lied the brav-est and best When

d with

F
I" Ire-land lay brok-en and bleed-ing, EIur-rah for the hien of the West.-

For -

3
T h e hill-tops with glory were glowing,
'Twas the eve of a bright harvest day,
El When the ships we'd been wearily waiting
Sailed into Killala's broad bay;
en
And over the hills went the slogan

T o waken in every breast

The fire that never was quenched, boys,

Among the true hearts of the West.

Chorus.

 Killala was ours before midnight,

And high over Ballina town

Our banners in triumph were waving

Before the next sun had gone down;

We gathered to speed the good work, boys,

T h e true men from near and from far;

And hist'ry can tell how we routed

T h e Redcoats thro' Old Castlebar.

Chorus.

Though all the bright dream that we cherished

Went down in disaster and woe,
T h e spirit of old is still with us
That never would bend to the foe;
And Connaught is ready whenever
T h e loud-rolling "tuck" of the drum
Rings out to awaken the echoes
And tell us the morning has come.

Chorus: So here's to the gallant old West, boys,

Where rallied the bravest and best,
When Ireland lay broken and bleeding-
Hurrah, boys! Hurrah for the West!

The Men of the West

As we have seen, the French Expedition arrived in the West of Ireland too late to be
effective in the insurrection of 1798. T h e "Men of the West" joined the French, how-
ever, and there was a second short-lived uprising. It is noteworthy that our Civil War
song, "Sherman's March to the Sea," has the same tune, as have the more popular Amer-
ican songs, "Old Rosin the Beau" and "An Acre of Clams."
 Kelly, The Boy From Killann

A . Allegro marziale

I What's the news? What's the news? Oh! my

_
I bold Shol-mill-ior, U'ithyour long-bar-rolled gun of the sea Say what

I wind from the sun blows your mes-sen-ger here With a hymn of the dilwn for the

.o be
how-
War
mer-

I free? - Good-ly news! Good- ly news do I bring, youth of Forth; Good - ly

I news shall you hear, Bar- gy man! - For the boys m a r c h at noon from the

e -
I" south to t h e n o r t h , Led by Kel - ly, the Boy- from Ki1 - 1ann.-

Tell me! W h o is that giant with the gold curling hair,

Riding out at the head of your band?

Seven feet is his height with some inches to spare,

And he looks like a king in command.

0, my lads, that's the pride of the bold Shelmaliers,

'Mong our greatest of heroes, a man!

Fling your beavers aloft and give three ringing cheers

For John Kelly, the Boy from Killann.

Enniscorthy's in flames and old Wexford is won,

And the Barrow tomorrow we'll cross!

O n a hill o'er the town we have planted a gun

T h a t will batter the gateways of Koss!

All the Forth men and Bargy men march o'er the heath,

With brave Harvey to lead on the van;

But the foremost of all in the grim gap of death

Will be Kelly, the Boy from Killann.

 But the gold sun of freedom grew darkened at Ross,

And it set by the Slaney's red waves;

And poor Wexford stripped naked, hung high on a cross,

And her heart pierced by traitors and slaves.

Glory O! Glory O! T o her brave sons who died

For the cause of long down-trodden man;

Glory O! T o Mount Leinster's own darling and pride-

Dauntless Kelly, the Boy from Killann!

Kelly, the Boy from Killann

This song by P. J. hlcCall is on the same subject as "Boolavogue"-the Insurrection

of 1 7 ~ Killann,
~8 Shelmalier, Bargy, and so on, are districts in the County Wexford.
 The Famine Song

A ., Moderato molto

I- Oh, the prat-ies they are small, 0 - v e r

I" A .I
here, o - ver here, Oh, the prat - ies they are small, o - ver

{I simile
 Oh, I wish that we were geese,
Night and morn, night and morn,
Oh, I wish that we were geese,

33 For they fly and take their ease,

We could eat away in peace,
- ver
Eatin' corn, eatin' corn.

Oh, in God we hutnbly trust

Over here, over here;
Oh, in God we humbly trust
Over here;
Oh, in God we humbly trust
For to give us crumb and crust,
And He'll raise us frotn the dust
rer Over here.

The Famine Song

This song is a heartbreaking retninder of a period. little more than a hundred years
ago, when, as a result of prolonged famine and the consequent death and emigration,
the population of Ireland was reduced from eight million to four million in the course
of a few years. T h e official figures were: population of all Ireland in 1841, 8,175,124;
population of all Ireland in 1891, 4,704,750.
I n the second verse, "We could eat away in peace, Eatin' corn," etc., refers to the fact
that during the famine in Ireland the only crop that failed was the potato crop. At this
titne it was government policy to export corn in large quantities although the ~ e o p l e
were dying of hunger.
 The Wearing Of The Green

A , Allegro vivo mf

I- 0 Pad-dy dear, and

I- grow on I r - ish ground: Saint Pat-rick's Day no more we'll keep,his col-ors can't be

I- seen, there's a blood-y law a-gainst the wear-ing of the green. I-

a I -
met with Nap-per Tandy and he took me by the ha,nd,Andhe said,"How's poor old Ire-land, and

r, and

I how does she stand?"SheSthe most dis-tress-ful count-e-rie that ev-er yet was seen And theyke

I hang-ing men and women for the Wear-ing of the Green. The -Wear-ing of the Green, The

I Mbar-ing of the Green,For they're hang-ing men and worn-en for theVEar-ing of the Green.
 Then since the color we must wear is England's cruel red,

Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed,

You may take a shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,

It will take root and flourish there though underfoot it's trod.

When law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,

And when the leaves in summer-time their verdure dare not show,

Then will I change the color that I wear in my caubeen

But till that day, please God, I'll stick to Wearing of the Green.

Chorus.

. But if at last our color should be torn from Ireland's heart,

Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old isle will part;
I've heard a whisper of a land that lies beyond the sea
Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day.
0 Erin, must we leave you driven by a tyrant's hand?
hlust we ask a mother's blessing from a strange and distant land?
Where the cruel cross of England shall nevermore be seen
And where, please God, we'll live and die still Wearing of the Green.
Chorus.

The Wearing of the Green

Napper Tandy was an Irish patriot pominent at the turn of the eighteenth century.
He was a contemporary and associate of Wolfe Tone, who negotiated the dispatch to
Ireland of a military expedition from France. T h e song is attributed to Dion Boucicault.
 A Nation Once Again

A , Allegro Marziale I

I When boy-hood's fire w a s in my blood I

hun-dred men and three men. And then I pmy'd I yet might see Our fet-ters rent in

twain, And Ire-land, long a prov-ince, be A Na-tion once a - gain.-

, - ,

 A . Chorus

I -
A N a - tion once a - gain, A Na - tion once a - gain, - May

I"
I

I r e - land, long a, prov- ince, be A, Na- tion once a - gain. -

And from that time, through wildest woe,

That hope has shown a far light;

Nor could love's brightest summer glow

Outshine that solemn starlight;

It seemed to watch above my head

In forum, field and fane;

Its angel voice sang round my bed,

"A Nation once again."

Chorus.

It whispered too, that "Freedom's Ark"

And service high and holy,

Would be profaned by feelings dark

And passions vain or lowly;

For freedom comes from God's right hand,

And needs a Godly train,

And righteous men must make our land

A Nation once again.

Chorus.
 So as I grew from boy to man
I bent me at that bidding-
My spirit of each selfish plan
And cruel passion ridding.
For thus I hoped some day to aid-
Oh! Can such hope be vain-
When my dear country shall be made
A Nation once again.
Chorus.

A Nation Once Again

This song was written by Thomas Davis, who took a leading part in the United Ire-
land movement in the 1840's. He was, among other things, publisher and editor of
The Nation, a publication which, as long as it lasted, was extremely effective in the
formation of Irish public opinion. T h e song was very popular at rallies of the Irish
Parliamentary Party under Parnell's leadership and its popularity has continued into
this century.
 Step Together
A , Allegro marziale I// f

I Step to-geth-er- bold - ly tread, Firm each foot, e -

- 4 r I
rect each head, Fixed in front be ev - ' r y glance- For-ward at the word "ad-vance'L

I Ser- ried files that foes may dread; Like the deer on mouctain heath-er, Tread light

poco crasc. .f I

I Lefi!Left!Ilight!Stead-y, boys,and step to-geth- er, Stead-y, boys,andstep to-geth-erl

 Step together-be each rank

Dressed in line from flank to flank,

RIarching so you may halt

'Mid the onset's fierce assault.

Firm as is the rampart's bank

Raised the iron ranks to weather-

Proud sight!

Left, right-

Steady, boys, and step together!

Step together-be your tramp

Quick and light-no plodding stamp;

Let its cadence, quick and clear,

Fall like music on the ear;

Noise befits not hall or camp-

Eagles soar on silent feather;

Tread light,

Left, right-

Steady, boys, and step together!

1 Step Together
I
1
I M. J. Barry, the writer of this song, was associated with Thomas Davis and the United
I
Irish movement in the 1840's. It appeared first in T h e Spirit of the Nation, a collec-
tion of patriotic songs by various writers that was published ill 1845.
In more recent times, it became very popular among the Irish volunteers, especially
those who were drilling secretly in many parts of Ireland, preparing for what was even-
tually the Easter Rising of I 916. It was also much in request at formal parades while the
Irish Army was being expanded and trained during the early part of World War 11.
 A Soldier's Song

A . Allegro
marziale mf

We'll sing a- song, a

s o l - dier's song,Withcheer-ing rous-ing char - us, As round

1
 in the- si - lence of - the night, We'll chant a sol- dier's song.-

Chorus

Sol - diers a r e w e w h o s e lives are pledged to Ire - land. Some have

I come-from a land be-yond the wave; - Sworn to be free,- no

more our an-cient sire - land Shall shel-ter the des -pot or the slave. To-
 n crew.
I

I can non's roar and ri - fle's peal, We'll chant a sol-dier's song.,

Sons of the Gael, men of the Pale,

T h e long-watched day is breaking;

T h e serried ranks of Innisfail

Shall set the tyrant quaking.

Our campfires now are burning low,

See, in the east a silvery glow,

Out yonder waits the Saxon foe,

So chant a soldier's song.

Chorus.

A Soldier's Song

This was composed by the late Peader Kearney about forty years ago. It became so
popular during the 1916 Rising that it was an automatic choice for the new National
Anthem when the first Irish Government was being established. T h e copyrights are
now the property of the nation.
 BURL IVES, a son of true American
stock, descendant of Illinois farmers, river-
boat gamblers, and preachers, is an artist of
varied talents-a great folk singer, an actor
of outstanding distinction, and an able
writer. His performances, from which stems
his new book of Irish songs, display the
qualities of the modern troubadour-the
scholar of folklore, the subtle phrnsing of
the skilled artist, :ind magic that "takes
one's heart away."

BURL IVES: SONGS O F IRELAND

(Decca Album DL 8444) contains a collec-
tion of fourteen Irish ballads sung in the
subtle and sweetly mellow voice of Burl
Ives. One of our most eminent folklorists
(and our best folk singer) has specially se-
lected these authentic and charming ex-
amples of the Irish flair for song-rich in
"that wonderful turn of phrase that goes by
the name of wit."

BURL IVES O N DECCA RECORDS

Albums available on Long Play or

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