Oh swan of slenderness, Dove of tenderness, Jewel of joys, arise! The little red lark, Like a [rosy]1 spark Of song to his sunburst flies. But till [thou art]2 risen Earth is a prison Full of my lonesome sighs; Then awake and discover To thy fond lover The morn of thy matchless eyes. The dawn is dark to me. Hark! o hark to me, Pulse of my heart, I pray! And out of thy hiding With blushes gliding Dazzle me with thy day. Ah, then, once more to thee Flying I'll pour to thee Passion so sweet and gay. The lark shall listen, And dewdrops glisten, Laughing on [every]3 spray.
Songs of Old Ireland. A Collection of Fifty Irish Melodies Unknown in England
by Charles Villiers Stanford, Sir (1852 - 1924)
1. The little red lark  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The little red lark", appears in Irish Songs and Ballads, in Songs and Ballads, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Stanford: "soaring"
2 Stanford: "thou'rt"
3 Stanford: "ev'ry"
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
2. Emer's farewell to Cucullin  [sung text checked 1 time]
O might a maid confess her secret longing To one who dearly loves, but may not speak! Alas! I had not hidden to thy wronging A bleeding heart beneath a smiling cheek; 1 had not stemmed my bitter tears from starting, And thou had’st learned my bosom's dear distress, And half the pain, the cruel pain of parting, Had passed, Cucullin, in thy fond caress. But go! Connacia’s hostile trumpets call thee, Thy chariot mount and ride the ridge of war, And prove whatever feat of arms befall thee, The hope and pride of Emer of Lismore; Ah, then return, my hero, girt with glory, To knit my virgin heart so near to thine, That all who seek thy name in Erin’s story Shall find its loving letters linked with mine.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Emer’s Song to Cuchullin"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson3. Awake, awake Fianna  [sung text checked 1 time]
Awake, awake, Fianna! For through the shadows, see, Great Oscur is hosting hither Beneath the red rowan tree. And as we march to meet him, The minstrels together raise On joyful harp and tympan The mighty Oscur's praise. For height and might of stature, A giant he stands rockfast, And yet his foot for fleetness Out-runneth the Autumn blast. His eyes are earnest azure, His laughter a peal of pearls; The coolun round his shoulders A rain of ruddy curls. Behold, behold, his chariot Is bursting amid the foe! Oh, hark ! his dread spear hurtles; Their leader in blood lies low, A bard of bards is Oscur, The moulder of mellow words, A minstrel true is Oscur Among the chiming chords.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson4. Ancient lullaby  [sung text checked 1 time]
O Sleep, my baby, you are sharing With the sun in rest repairing; While the moon her silver chair in Watches with your mother. Shoheen, sho lo, Lulla lo lo!1 The morning on a bed of roses, Evening on rude hills reposes: Dusk his heavy eyelid closes, Under dreamy curtains. Shoheen, sho lo, Lulla lo lo! The winds lie lulled on bluest billows, Shining stars on cloudy pillows, Waters under nodding willows, Mists upon the mountains. Shoheen, sho lo, Lulla lo lo! Upon the fruits, upon the flowers, On the wood birds in their bowers, On low huts and lofty 'towers, Blessed sleep has fallen. Shoheen, sho lo, Lulla lo lo! And ah! my child as free from cumber, Thus thro' life could'st thou but slumber, Thus in death go join the number Of God's smiling angels. Shoheen sho lo, Lulla lo lo!
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Ancient lullaby", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Irish hush words (from a note in the poetry book)
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
5. The royal hunt  [sung text checked 1 time]
Tantara rara, hark from Tara, how the herald's trumpet clear Gaily summons King and Commons to the hunting of the deer; And now the Ard Righ rides before us, circled by his shining court; Whilst the crowd's acclaiming chorus hails him to the happy sport, And tantara, tantara, tantara, tantara, hark the bugles' greeting Soft echoes, re-echoes, re-echoes, and echoes far into the distance retreating. Tantara rara, lirra lara ! sweet the silver bugles blow, Dogs are doubting, footmen shouting hunt the covers high and low. Now uncouple Bran the supple, Bran and Scolan swift as flame ! Loose us Laom, loose us Taom, free us ev'ry hound of fame! The stag is started in the hollow ! Hark, the huntsman's view halloo! Hark, the hounds in chorus follow ! Hulla hulla, hulla hoo! While tantara, tantara, fainter and fainter the horn is now replying, And further, and further, and further, and further the hunt in the distance is dying. Tantara rara now from Tara over hill and dale we go, While we chevy, yoicks, tantivy, tally, tally, tallyho !
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The royal hunt"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson6. Battle hymn  [sung text checked 1 time]
Above the thunder crashes, Around the lightning flashes: Our heads are heaped with ashes But Thou, God, art nigh! Thou launchest forth the levin, The storm by Thee is driven, Give heed, O Lord, from Heaven, Hear, hear our cry! For lo, the Dane defaces With fire Thy holy places, He hews Thy priests in pieces, Our maids more than die. Up, Lord, with storm and thunder, Pursue him with his plunder, And smite his ships in sunder, Lord God Most High!
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Battle Hymn", appears in The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves, in Countryside Songs, and Songs and Ballads, first published 1908
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]7. The return from Fingal  [sung text checked 1 time]
Moan, ye winds, ye caverns call " Orro, orro ! " to our sorrow, While we bear 'neath one black pall Brian, Murrough, from Fingal. Still though wasted, wounded, weary, On, Dalcassians ! to your eyrie, Eagles, crying from your crag, " We have rent the Raven's flag." How O'Brien's banshee cried, Wailing, warning, ere that morning, When the Lochlan in his pride Whitened all the ocean side. Sea kings stern from Norway’s highlands, Pirate chiefs from Orkney’s islands. Lords of Leinster, Britain, Wales, By the shore a thousand sails "On this day," great Brian cried To the foeman, "Jew and Roman Christ, our Saviour, crucified. Hold we truce till Easter-tide ! " Loud rang back their impious laughter, "Fight comes first, thanksgiving after!' "Perish then, with shameful loss, Howling fiends before the Cross!" Plait and Donnell brand to brand First in raging wrath engaging, Heart pierced by each other's hand, Fell together on the strand. Then before the sword of Murrough Fled the Dane; till to our sorrow Anrud, Norway's champion dread, Murrough met and both lay dead. But our rallying cry awoke, "Kian, Kian, Desmond's lion!" And, at Kian's dreadful stroke, Reeled the Lochlan ranks and broke. "Now with strains of martial glory To the King to tell our story," But we found great Brian low; Och, ochone ! och ullalo! Moan, ye winds, ye caverns call "Orro, orro !" to our sorrow, While we bear 'neath one black pall Brian, Murrough, from Fingal. Still though wasted, wounded, weary, On, Dalcassians! to your eyrie, Eagles, crying from your crag, "We have rent the Raven's flag!"
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The return from Fingal"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson8. Colleen Oge Asthore  [sung text checked 1 time]
When I marched away to war, How you kissed me o'er and o'er: Weeping, pressed me; Sobbing, blessed me; Colleen, colleen oge asthore. I was wounded, wounded sore, Dead, your father falsely swore; Mad to harry You to marry One with miser-gold in store. Ah! but when you dreamed me dead, Forth you flew a wildered maid: Ever grieving, Ever weaving Willow, willow for your head. "Nay, he lives," your mother said, But you only shook your head; "Why deceive me? Ah! believe me, Mother, mother, he is dead." So you pined and pined away, Till, when in the winter grey Home I hasted, Wan and wasted, Colleen, colleen oge, you lay. "Tis his lonesome ghost," you said, "Come to call me to the dead;" "Nay, discover Your dear lover Longing now at last to wed." Then your cheek, so pale before, With the rose of hope once more, Faintly, slowly, Brightly, wholly, Blossomed, colleen oge asthore. Till upon the chapel floor, Side by side, we knelt and swore, Duty dearest, Love sincerest, Colleen, colleen oge asthore.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Colleen Oge Asthore", appears in Irish Songs and Ballads, in Songs and Ballads
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Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]9. Fairy nurse song  [sung text checked 1 time]
Mortal babe the fays have brought me, At your woe freshly flow All the bitter griefs they wrought me Long ago, shohoolo! When a blooming bride they snatched me, Welladay, welladay! From my husband’s arms and matched me With a fay, with a fay. Loveless here below I languish. Sholoolo! From above Hast thou come to soothe my anguish, Cooing dove, with thy love. Hush my pretty, hush my honey, Shohoolo! see my show, Goblin gems and magic money, How they glow! Shohoolo! Bonny babe thou art beguiling, Shohoolo! by your joy, My sad lips at last to smiling, Shohoolo! bonny boy. Soft the fringed curtain closes, Closes quite o’er his sight; On my bosom he reposes, Love, goodnight, love goodnight.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Fairy nurse song"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson10. The flight of the earls  [sung text checked 1 time]
To other shores across the sea We speed with swelling sail; Yet still there lingers on our lee A phantom Innisfail. Oh fear, fear not, gentle ghost, Your sons shall turn untrue! Though fain to fly your lovely coast, They leave their hearts with you. As slowly into distance dim Your shadow sinks and dies, So o'er the ocean's utmost rim Another realm shall rise; New hills shall swell, new vales expand, New rivers winding flow, But could we for a foster land Your mother-love forego? Shall mighty Espan's martial praise Our patriot pulses still, And o'er your memory's fervent rays Forever cast a chill? Oh, no! we live for your relief, Till home from alien earth We share the smile that gilds your grief, The tear that gems your mirth.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The flight of the earls", appears in Irish Songs and Ballads, in Songs and Ballads
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Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]11. Fond Chloe  [sung text checked 1 time]
Now the starlight only Lights thy lover lonely, Now the moon has wandered Far away, Bright’ning other billows, Whitening other willow Lighting other rovers, So they say. Then to earth’s amazement From thy casement O’er the climbing roses, Love incline Till the golden sunlight, Till the silver moonlight In thy glowing glances Seem to shine. Ah my love is sleeping, All her senses steeping In Elysian fountains, Fast aswoon. Hush my harp thy rapture, If thy chord would capture Chloe’s dreaming fancy, Change thy tune! With a softer ditty Seek her pity, Stealing through her slumbers To her heart, Till at last she waken, Love’s true captive taken, Blushing, sighing, smiling ‘Neath thy art.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Fond Chloe"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson12. Lament for Owen Roe O'Neill  [sung text checked 1 time]
Oh! black breaks the morrow in tempest and gloom, When we bear to our sorrow O'Neill to the tomb. Whilst with wailing and weeping the long, long train Comes woefully weeping o'er Uladh's dark plain. 'Twas not reaving their cattle, you fell, Owen Roe, Or in red, raging battle, your face to the foe. But the black snake of treason they sent, O'Neill, To pierce you with poison since you scoffed at their steel. Oh! leader God-gifted, oh! arm stern of stroke, That well-nigh had lifted from our shoulders the yoke, Your death-bell is ringing our doom, our doom, For with you we are bringing our hopes to the tomb !
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson13. St. Mary's Bells  [sung text checked 1 time]
How many a time in Cratla’s dells I list your chime, St. Mary’s bells! And hearing, seem to find unfold, As in a dream, the legend old; Which tells of one with a master’s hand, Who of silver spun your magic bland, That from your tower, at the holy hour, Around us swells, St. Mary’s Bells. Again I view you founder sail The ocean blue for Innisfail; Again I hark the breakers roar About his bark on Shannon shore; Till in heaven-sent calm to the hope forlorn, Your angel psalm o’er the ocean borne Rings on his ear with rapture clear, And with tears he tells his own sweet bells.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "St. Mary's Bells"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson14. The sailor girl  [sung text checked 1 time]
When the Wild-Geese1 were flying to Flanders away, I clung to my Desmond, beseeching him stay, But the stern trumpet sounded the summons to sea, And afar the ship bore him, mabouchal machree2. And first he sent letters, and then he sent none, And three times into prison I dreamt he was thrown; So I shore my long tresses, and [stained]3 my face brown, And went for a sailor from Limerick town. Oh! the ropes cut my fingers, but steadfast I strove, Till I reached the Low Country in search of my love. There I heard how at Namur his heart was so high, That they carried him captive, refusing to fly. With that to King William himself I was brought, And his mercy for Desmond with tears I besought He considered my story, then smiling, said he, "The young Irish rebel for your sake is free. "Bring the varlet before us. Now, Desmond O'Hea, Myself has decided your sentence to-day. You must marry your sailor with bell, book, and ring, And here is her dowry," cried William the King!
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The sailor girl", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Wild-Geese : the popular name given to the Irish who followed Sarsfield into the Low Countries after the Capitulation of Limerick. (note from book of poetry)
2 mabouchal machree = my heart's own boy (note from book of poetry)
3 Stanford: "stain'd"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
15. The lament  [sung text checked 1 time]
Ah why, Patrick Sarsfield, did we let your ships sail Away to French Flanders from green Innisfail? For far from your country you lie cold and low; Ah why, Patrick Sarsfield, ah, why did you go? We prayed, Patrick Sarsfield, to see you sail home, Your flag waving victory above the white foam. But still in our fetters, poor slaves we live on; For oh, Patrick Sarsfield, for oh, you are gone!
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson16. Lady Sybil  [sung text checked 1 time]
She’s bid her maiden bower goodbye, and down the stair she’s stole, And tiptoe passed the revelers stretched around their empty bowl; And hushed her father’s watch hounds fierce, and turned the postern key, And leapt the moat to her lover’s arms, O blessed liberty! Now Lady Sibyl, will you ride to my castle far away, A haughty keep that crowns the steep by Dingle’s lovely bay? Her blushes warm his beating heart, as thus she answers clear, “Through shine and snow, through weal and woe, I’ll follow you, my dear!” He springs upon his chafing steed with all a lover’s pride; One sudden stoop, and to the croup he lifts his blooming bride. Away, away,” the blood hounds bay, the loud alarm is spread, “Now race and chase – by rise of sun your lady shall be wed.”
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson17. 'Twas pretty to be in Ballinderry  [sung text checked 1 time]
'Twas pretty to be in Ballinderry, 'Twas pretty to be in Aghalee, 'Twas prettier to be in little Ram's Island, Trysting under the ivy tree! Ochone, ochone! Ochone, ochone! For often I roved in little Ram's Island, Side by side with Phelimy Hyland, And still he'd court me and I'd be coy, Though at heart I loved him, my handsome boy! "I'm going," he sighed, "from Ballinderry Out and across the stormy sea; Then if in your heart you love me, Mary, Open your arms at last to me." Ochone, ochone! Ochone, ochone! I opened my arms; how well he knew me! I opened my arms and took him to me; And there, in the gloom of the groaning mast, We kissed our first and we kissed our last! 'Twas happy to be in little Ram's Island, But now 'tis sad as sad can be; For the ship that sailed with Phelimy Hyland, It sunk for ever beneath the sea. Ochone, ochone! Ochone, ochone! And 'tis oh ! but I wear the weeping willow, And wander alone by the lonesome billow, And cry to him over the cruel sea, "Phelimy Hyland, come back to me!"
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "'Twas pretty to be in Ballinderry", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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Note: Stanford makes the following abbreviations: Line 10: “Tho’” and “lov’d” ; Line 11: “sigh’d” ; Line 17: “open’d” ; Line 18: “open’d” ; Line 20: “kiss’d” and “kiss’d” ; Line 23: “sail’d”Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
18. Will you float in my boat?  [sung text checked 1 time]
“Will you float in my boat Down to the town?” “Sir, I’m in dread.” “Why, blooming maid, Are you afraid?” “Lest over the foam Far away from my home, You might carry me And marry me, Sir,” she said. “If I land on the strand Say, will you stay?” “P’rhaps then I would.” “Now Colleen dear, Sure you’ll not fear In my curragh to glide For an hour on the tide.” “Ah! I’d rather ask father, Indeed, I should.” “May I bring you the ring? Call Father Paul?” “Mother says yes!” “Do you say so?” “I don’t say no.” “Then come in my boat For an hour let us float Then I’ll marry and carry you Off to bliss.”
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Will you float in my boat?"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson19. Her brow is like the lily  [sung text checked 1 time]
Her brow is like the lily, Her cheek is like the rose, And fair as daffodilly Her yellow coolun flows. Ne’er blue so tender Flowed in a glance, And ne’er shape as slender Went gliding in the dance. ‘Twas up among the mountains, She lived all alone, Where Connemara’s fountains Fall chiming on the stone. Singing I found her Down in a dell, With all the birds round her Entranced before her spell. I asked why she was leading So lonesome a life, And long my passion pleading, Besought her for my wife. “Ah! Hasty lover, You woo in vain, But when a year’s over Come seek me here again.” Oh! Early up the mountain When that year was o’er, The creeping minutes counting, I climbed and climbed once more, Till at last I found you, Dear Valentine, And stole my arms around you, And knew your heart was mine.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson20. Spinning‑wheel song  [sung text checked 1 time]
Once my wheel ran cheerily round, Ran cheerily round from day to day, But now it [drags]1 how wearily round; For Owen's gone away. Once I spun soft carolling O, Soft carolling O! from morn to eve, But since we started quarrelling, oh! 'Tis silently I weave. Has he joined Sir Arthur, ochone! Sir Arthur, ochone! to fight the French? Though he was rude, I'd rather, ochone! He joined me on this bench. Hush ! he's been deluthering you, Deluthering you with swords and drums, And now I think 'tis soothering you, 'Tis soothering you, he comes.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Spinning-wheel song", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Stanford: "runs"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
21. How happy for the woodbirds  [sung text checked 1 time]
How happy for the woodbirds on the branches above To flutter together and warble their love! How I wish we were like them beneath the blue sky! But ‘tis far, far we are parted, my fond love and I. O Fortune let the birdies alone on the tree And fetch wings and feathers for Mary and me, That we soon may go darting across the salt tide, And fly singing together in green Malahide.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "How happy for the woodbirds"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson22. Jack the jolly ploughboy  [sung text checked 1 time]
As Jack the jolly ploughboy was ploughing through the land, He turned his share and shouted to bid his horses stand, Then down beside his team he sat, contented as a king, And Jack he sang his song so sweet he made the mountains ring With his Ta-ran-nan nanty na, Sing ta-ran-nan nanty na, While the mountains all ringing re-echoed the singing Of Ta-ran-nan nanty na. 'Tis said old England's sailors, when wintry tempests roar, Will plough the stormy waters and pray for those on shore; But through the angry winter the share, the share for me, To drive a steady furrow, and pray for those at sea. With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na, etc. When heaven above is bluest, and earth most green below, Away from wife and sweetheart the fisherman must go; But golden seed I'll scatter beside the girl I love, And smile to hear the cuckoo, and sigh to hear the dove, With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na, etc. 'Tis oft the hardy fishers a scanty harvest earn, And gallant tars from glory on wooden legs return, But a bursting crop for ever shall dance before my flail, For I'll live and die a farmer all in the Golden Vale. With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na, etc.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Jack the jolly ploughboy", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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Stanford abbreviates "turned" to "turn'd" in line 2.Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
23. Jenny  [sung text checked 1 time]
With laughing looks I once arose, How dark so-e’er the day; Now sadly ev’ry sunburst shows, For joy has fled away, Jenny; For joy has fled away! Nor flocks, nor herds, nor store of gold, Nor broad estate have I; If beauty must be bought or sold, Alas! I cannot buy, Jenny; Alas! I cannot buy. Yet I’ll be rich, if you’ll be kind, And once again agree To bear me still in loving mind, Till I’ve a home for thee, Jenny; A home till death for thee.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Jenny"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson24. The smith's song  [sung text checked 1 time]
While we sing a song, Bwail so, seid so, Ding dong, ding-a-dong, I strike, you blow! Rake those ashes out, Boy, your fire’s low, Heap new sods about, Blow now, blow! Rouse that iron Cold and dead, Our forge fire on, Rouse him red! Ply your bellows To my blows! See! He yellows, Mellows, glows! From these embers now, Let us lift him, To our anvil’s brow Let us shift him! From your can of water, Come boy, drench him, Splash, splash, splutter, splatter, Quench him, quench him! Now with ding-a-dong On this bar’s edge Swing, swong, slow and strong Beats my big sledge, All through the clamour Red sparks rain, Whilst my hammer Shapes the shoe plain. Have the nails ready, boy, So! mare, So! Now keep her steady boy, Woa! girl, woa! Ring-ding, ring-a-ting, Rising, sinking, That’s our little hammer Now comes clinking, Ring-ding, ring-a-ting, There’s one shoe fast, Ring-ding, ring-a-ting, There boy’s our last.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson25. My love's an arbutus  [sung text checked 1 time]
My love's an arbutus By the borders of Lene1, So slender and shapely In her girdle of green. And I measure the pleasure Of her eye's sapphire sheen By the blue skies that sparkle Through the soft branching screen. But though ruddy the berry And snowy the flower That brighten together The arbutus bower, Perfuming and blooming Through sunshine and shower, Give me her bright lips And her laugh's pearly dower. Alas! fruit and blossom Shall [scatter]2 the lea, And Time's jealous fingers Dim your young charms, Machree. But unranging, unchanging, You'll still cling to me, Like the evergreen leaf To the arbutus tree.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "My love's an arbutus", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Lene = Killarney
2 Stanford: "lie dead on"
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
26. The rejected lover  [sung text checked 1 time]
On Innisfallen’s fairy isle, Amid the blooming bushes, O! We leant upon the lover’s stile And listened to the thrushes, O! When first I sighed to see her smile And smil’d to see her blushes, O! Her hair was bright as beaten gold And soft as spider’s spinning, O! Her cheek outbloomed the apple old That set our parents sinning, O! And in her eyes you might behold My joys and griefs beginning, O! In Innisfallen’s fairy grove I hushed my happy wooing, O! To listen to the brooding dove Amid the branches cooing, O! But oh! how short those hours of love, How long their bitter ruing, O! Poor cushat, thy complaining breast With woe like mine is heaving, O! With thee I mourn a fruitless quest, For ah! with art deceiving, Oh! (sic) The cuckoo-bird has robbed my nest And left me wildly grieving, Oh!
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson27. The foxhunt  [sung text checked 1 time]
The first morning of March in the year '33, There was frolic and fun in our own country; The King's County Hunt over meadows and rocks, Most nobly set out in the search of a fox. [Hullahoo ! harkaway ! hullahoo ! harkaway! Hullahoo ! harkaway, boys ! away, harkaway!]1 When they started bold Reynard he faced Tullamore, Through Wicklow and Arklow along the sea-shore; There he brisked up his brush with a laugh, and says he, "'Tis mighty refreshing this breeze from the sea." Hullahoo! harkaway ! hullahoo ! harkaway! Hullahoo ! harkaway, boys! away, harkaway! With the hounds at his heels every inch of the way, He led us by sunset right into Roscrea; Here he ran up a chimney and out of the top The rogue he cried out for the hunters to stop From their loud harkaway ! hullahoo ! harkaway! Hullahoo ! harkaway, boys ! away, harkaway! "'Twas a long thirsty stretch since we left the sea-shore, But, lads, here you've gallons of claret galore; Myself will make free just to slip out of view, And take a small pull at my own mountain dew." So no more hullahoo ! hullahoo ! harkaway! Hullahoo! harkaway, boys ! away harkaway! One hundred and twenty good sportsmen went down, And sought him from Ballyland through Ballyboyne; We swore that we'd watch him the length of the night, So Reynard, sly Reynard, lay hid till the light. Hullahoo ! harkaway ! hullahoo ! harkaway! Hullahoo ! harkaway, boys ! away, harkaway! But the hills they re-echoed right early next morn With the cry of the hounds and the call of the horn, And in spite of his action, his craft, and his skill, Our fine fox was taken on top of the hill. Hullahoo ! harkaway ! hullahoo ! harkaway I Hullahoo ! harkaway, boys ! away, harkaway! When Reynard he knew that his death was so nigh, For pen, ink and paper he called with a sigh: And all his dear wishes on earth to fulfil, With these few dying words he declared his last will, While we ceased harkaway ! hullahoo ! harkaway! Hullahoo ! harkaway, boys ! away, harkaway! "Here's to you, Mr. Casey, my Curraghmore estate, And to you, young O'Brien, my money and plate, And to you, Thomas Dennihy, my whip, spurs, and cap, For no leap was so cross that you'd look for a gap." And of what he made mention they found it no blank, For he gave them a cheque on the National Bank.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The fox hunt", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Stanford: "Tally-ho! harkaway! Tally-ho! harkaway! / Tally-ho! harkaway, my boys! away, harkaway!", passim.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
28. Maureen, Maureen  [sung text checked 1 time]
Oh! Maureen, Maureen, have you forgotten The fond confession that you made to me, While round us fluttered the white bog cotton, And o'er us waved the wild arbutus tree? Like bits of sky bo-peeping through the bower, No sooner were your blue eyes sought than flown, Till white and fluttering as the cotton flower Your slender hand it slipped into my own. Oh! Maureen, Maureen, do you remember The faithful promise that you pledged to me The night we parted in black December Beneath the tempest-tossed arbutus tree, When faster than the drops from heaven flowing, Your heavy tears they showered with ceaseless start, And wilder than the storm-wind round us blowing, Your bitter sobs they smote upon my heart? Oh! Maureen, Maureen, for your love only I left my father and mother dear; Within the churchyard they're lying lonely, Tis from their tombstone I've travelled here. Their only son, you sent me o'er the billow, Ochone! though kneeling they implored me stay; They sickened, with no child to smooth their pillow; They died. Are you as dead to me as they? Oh! Maureen, must then the love I bore you -- Seven lonesome summers of longing trust -- Turn like the fortune I've gathered for you, Like treacherous fairy treasure, [all to]1 dust? But Maureen bawn asthore, your proud lips quiver; Into your scornful eyes the tears they start; Your rebel hand returns to mine for ever; Oh! Maureen, Maureen, never more we'll part.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Maureen, Maureen", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)Note: in the last stanza, Stanford abbreviates "gathered" to "gather'd" in line 3 and "treacherous" to "treach'rous" in line 4.
1 Stanford: "into"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
29. The confession  [sung text checked 1 time]
A lovely lass with modest mien Stole out one morning early; The dew-drops glancing o'er the green Made all her pathway pearly. Young Lawrence struck with Cupid's dart, -- Cupid's dart distressing, -- As through the fields he saw her start, Sighed, "She's gone confessing! O vo ! 'twould ease my heart To earn the Father's blessing." The Father, with a twinkling eye, He watched my boyo cunning, Unnoticed by his colleen's eye, Behind the bushes running. "How well," he laughed, "young Lawrence there, After all my pressing, With his sweetheart, I declare, Comes at last confessing. Oho ! I'll just take care To learn the lad a lesson." The pleasant priest unbarred the door, As solemn as a shadow, "How slow," cried he, "you've come before, How hot-foot now, my laddo. The serious steal with looks sedate, Seeking to be shriven, But you, you're in no fitting state Now to be forgiven, So go within and wait, With all your thoughts on heaven." The fair one following in a while Made out her faults with meekness; The priest then asked her with a smile Had she no other weakness, And led with that young Lawrence in; Her cheeks were now confessing. "Well, since 'tis after all a sin Easy of redressing, Here, dear, I'd best begin To give you both my blessing."
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The confession", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]30. An Irish lullaby  [sung text checked 1 time]
I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest In a cradle of gold, on a bough of the willow, To the sho-heen sho of the wind of the west And the lull-a-lo of the soft sea billow. Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother is here beside your pillow. Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother is here beside your pillow. I'd put my own sweet childie to sleep In a silver boat on the beautiful river, Where a sho-heen whisper the white cascades, And a lull-a-lo the green flags shiver. Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother is here with you for ever. Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother is here with you for ever. Lull-a-lo to the rise and fall Of mother's bosom 'tis sleep has bound you, And O, my child, what cosier nest for rosier rest could love have found you? Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother's two arms are clasped around you. Sleep, baby dear, Sleep without fear, Mother's two arms are clasped around you.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Irish Lullaby", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]31. A sailor lad wooed a farmer's daughter  [sung text checked 1 time]
A sailor once wooed a farmer's daughter, The fairest lass in all the country side. She loved him well; but when he besought her With beating, beating heart to be his bride, "A sailor lad," she said, "I'll never, never wed, And live a wife and widow all in one; O no, my charmer shall be a farmer, Returning faithful with the set of sun." At danger's [call]1, across the water The sailor went, but left his heart behind; Fresh lovers whispered the farmer's daughter; Yet when they prayed her to confess her mind, "A farmer's lad," she said, "I'll never, never wed, When heroes bleed to guard their native [strand]2. Till war is over I need no lover: Then let the stoutest soldier claim my hand." [When peace returned, escaped]3 from slaughter, With stars and crosses home our warriors came, And some went wooing the farmer's daughter, But none could charm the lass to change her name; [Until once more from far a gallant, gallant tar Began with beating heart his love to tell;]4 And sweetly turning, with blushes burning, She sighed: "Since first we met I've loved you well!"
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "A sailor loved a farmer's daughter", appears in Irish Songs and Ballads, in Songs and Ballads
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Stanford: "warning"
2 Stanford: "land"
3 Stanford: "The war was over and safe"
4 Stanford: "Until her sailor brave returning o'er the wave/ Again with beating heart his love did tell;"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
32. Father O'Flynn  [sung text checked 1 time]
Of priests we can offer a charmin’ variety, Far renowned for larnin’ and piety; Still, I’d advance ye widout impropriety, Father O’Flynn as the flower of them all. Chorus: Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn, Slainté and slainté and slainté agin; Powerfulest preacher, and Tenderest teacher, and Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. Don’t talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity, Famous forever at Greek and Latinity, Dad and the divels and all at Divinity Father O’Flynn’d make hares of them all! Come, I vinture to give ye my word, Never the likes of his logic was heard, Down from mythology Into thayology, Troth! and conchology if he’d the call. Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn….. Och! Father O’Flynn, you’ve the wonderful way wid you, All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you, All the young childer are wild for to play wid you, You’ve such a way wid you, Father avick. Still, for all you’ve so gentle a soul, Gad, you’ve your flock in the grandest control, Checking the crazy ones, Coaxin' onaisy ones, Liftin' the lazy ones on wid the stick. Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn…. And tho’ quite avoidin’ all foolish frivolity; Still at all seasons of innocent jollity, Where was the play-boy could claim an equality, At comicality, Father, wid you? Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest, Till this remark set him off wid the rest: "Is it lave gaiety All to the laity? Cannot the clergy be Irishmen, too?” Here’s a health to you, Father O’Flynn….
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Father O'Flynn", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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Note: in the first verse Stanford abbreviates "renowned" to "renown'd" and "flower" to "flow'r"; in the chorus, "Powerfulest" becomes "Pow'rfulest"; in the second verse, "divels" is spelled "divils" and "vinture" is spelled "venture"; and in the third verse, "Coaxin' " is spelled "Coaxing" and "Liftin' " is spelled "Lifting"Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson
33. The foggy dew  [sung text checked 1 time]
Oh! a wan cloud was drawn O'er the dim, weeping dawn, As to Shannon's side I returned at last; And the heart in my breast For the girl I loved best Was beating -- ah, beating, how loud and fast! While the doubts and the fears Of the long, aching years Seemed mingling their voices with the moaning flood; Till full in my path, Like a wild water-wraith, My true love's shadow lamenting stood. But the sudden sun kissed The cold, cruel mist Into dancing showers of diamond dew; [The]1 dark flowing stream Laughed back to his beam, And the lark soared singing aloft in the blue; While no phantom of night, But a form of delight [Ran with arms outspread to]2 her darling boy: And the girl I love best On my wild, throbbing breast Hid her thousand treasures, with a cry of joy.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The foggy dew", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Stanford: "And the"
2 Stanford: "Stood with arms outspread for"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
34. Herring our king  [sung text checked 1 time]
Let all the best fish that swim in the sea, The salmon and turbot, the cod and ling, Bow down the head and bend the knee Before fine fresh herring our king. Then lads and lassies come begin Your “hungamar féin am sowra lin;” For ‘tis we have tempted summer in At the tail of fine fresh herring. Thro’ all the winter we ran to rack, For sure the herring was out of sight! But oh! upon his silver track The moon she winked last night. It was in with the sails and away to shore, Away, away with the rise and swing Of two stout lads at each smoking oar, After fine, fresh herring, our king; Oh, there we hunted him full to land , In hissing shoals hot haste along; And then behind him from strand to strand We spread our nets so strong. Such kissing of hands and waving of caps Was never seen from girl and boy, As he leapt by scores in the lasses’ laps, Fresh herring our hope and joy.
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- a text in English by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Herring is king", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson35. The hour I prove false  [sung text checked 1 time]
The hour I prove false to my dark-headed darling, Let the grass grow to crimson, the frost fall in June; The lark cease to sing, and the rook and the starling With the cuckoo and blackbird come changing their tune. A long, long farewell, [to]1 my white-bosomed deary, And believe I'll be faithful whatever befall; And of working to win you by day never weary, And [by night]2 never tire your dear face to recall. Ah! branch of sweet bloom only cling on as faithful In that absence of years as you cling to me now, For the hour you prove false Heaven and earth would grow hateful Since you called them to witness your young virgin vow.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The hour I prove false", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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View original text (without footnotes)1 omitted by Stanford.
2 Stanford: "in dreams"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
36. I heard 'mid oak‑trees olden  [sung text checked 1 time]
I heard ‘mid oak trees olden Blackbirds unbeholden Rain, in gushes golden, Rapture from above. I saw them spread their wooing, Flying and pursuing, Fluttering, billing, cooing, Through the rustling grove. And then my song I started, How we two were parted, We so constant hearted To our early love. But as I made my murmur, Thoughts of thee, my charmer, Made my faith grow firmer, Till I thus could sing; “These giddy blackbirds pairing, April’s balmy air in, Meet again uncaring, With return of spring; When we at last, delighted, Prove the love we’ve plighted, Until death united By the marriage ring.”
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson37. 'Tis I can weave woollen and linen  [sung text checked 1 time]
'Tis I can weave woollen and linen, The finest folk wear on their backs; So, girls, come give over your spinnin', And wind off your wool and your flax!1 Five year at my woollen and linen I've woven from mornin' to night, With a heart that beat heavy beginnin', But is leapin' for ever more light. [For]2 with guineas full up is the stockin', Sewed safe in the tick of my bed, And 'tis soon that I'll rest without rockin', Since at [Shrove with my Willy]3 I'll wed.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "'Tis I can weave woollen and linen", appears in Irish Songs and Ballads, in Songs and Ballads
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Stanford adds this chorus after each verse:
For hark! As the bee hunts for treasure That’s hid in the mountainy bloom, My shuttle goes bursting with pleasure, To gather me gold from the loom.2 Stanford: "Now"
3 Stanford: "Shrovetide with Willy"
Research team for this page: Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor] , Mike Pearson
38. O thou of the beautiful hair  [sung text checked 1 time]
Of all the girls with clustering curls from Kerry to Kildare, There’s not a lass that can surpass my love with the golden hair. Oh! if the sun should cease to shine, the moon refused her ray, Her very shadow on the earth would turn the night to day. Now what’s my chance to gain a glance from one so good and fair, With all the boys from Clanmacnoise to Cork around her chair? Yet somehow still she steals one look upon me through the throng; And when I sing, with smiles and tears she answers to my song.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "O thou of the beautiful hair"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson39. One Sunday after Mass  [sung text checked 1 time]
One Sunday after Mass As Lawrence and his lass Through the green wood did pass All alone, and all alone. He asked her for a pogue, But she called him a rogue, And she beat him with her brogue, Ochone and ochone! At first my boy he bent, As if to take, content, His proper punishment. Small blame too, small blame! But on her purty foot, Unbothered by a boot, He pressed a warm salute. For shame! fie! for shame! Then Larry gets the worst, For she boxed his ears at first, Then into tears she burst, Ochone and ochone! But soon the artful rogue Soothed his crying colleen oge, Till she gave him just one pogue, All alone, and all alone!
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "One Sunday after Mass"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson40. Kitty Bawn  [sung text checked 1 time]
Before the first ray of blushing day, Who should come by but Kitty [Bhan]1, With her cheek like the rose on a bed of snows, And her bosom beneath like the sailing swan. I [looked]2 and [looked]2 till my heart was gone. With the foot of the fawn she crossed the lawn, Half confiding and half in fear; And her eyes of blue they [thrilled]3 me through, One blessèd minute; then like the deer, Away she [darted]4, and left me here. Oh! Sun, you are late at your golden gate, For you've nothing to show beneath the sky To compare to the lass who crossed the grass Of the shamrock field ere the dew was dry, And the glance that she gave me as she went by.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Kitty Bawn", appears in Irish Songs and Ballads, in Songs and Ballads
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View original text (without footnotes)In some editions of Graves, the title is "Kitty Bawn"
1 Carmichael (and some other editions of Graves): "Bawn"
2 Carmichael: "look'd"
3 Carmichael: "thrill'd"
4 Stanford: "started"
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]
41. The poison on the darts  [sung text checked 1 time]
As love was busy raising stolen honey to his lips, A bee flew out and poisoned his pretty fingertips. The thief he dropped his booty and, tortured with the pain, Ran sobbing off to Venus of his treatment to complain. “Look, Mother, how I’m wounded by just one little bee.” “What! have you learnt a lesson at last, my lad,” said she, “Perhaps when you’re preparing fresh arrows for our hearts, You’ll be a shade more sparing of the poison on the darts.”
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson42. When she answered me her voice was low  [sung text checked 1 time]
When she answered me her voice was low, But minstrel never matched his chords To such a wealth of words In Tomora’s palace long ago. When her eyes looked back the love in mine, Not Erin’s self upon my sight Has started out of stormy night With a bluer welcome o’er the brine. And no other orbs can e’er eclipse That magic look of maiden love, And never song my soul shall move Like that low sweet answer of her lips.
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- a text in English by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "When she answered me her voice was low"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson43. Jenny, I'm not jesting  [sung text checked 1 time]
"Ah, Jenny, I'm not jesting, Believe what I'm protesting, And yield what I'm requesting These seven years through." "Ah, Lawrence, I may grieve you; Yet, if I can't relieve you, Sure, why should I deceive you With words untrue? But, since you must be courtin', There's Rosy and her fortune, 'Tis rumoured you're consortin' With her of late. Or there's your cousin Kitty, So charming and so witty, She'd wed you out of pity, Kind Kate." "Fie! Jenny, since I knew you, Of all the lads that woo you, None's been so faithful to you, If truth were told: Even when yourself was dartin' Fond looks at fickle Martin, Till off the thief went startin' For Sheela's gold." "And if you've known me longest, Why should your love be strongest, And his that's now the youngest, For that be worst?" "Fire, Jenny, quickest kindled Is always soonest dwindled, And thread the swiftest spindled Snaps first." "If that's your wisdom, Larry, The longer I can tarry, The luckier I shall marry At long, long last." "I've known of girls amusing Their minds, the men refusing, Till none were left for choosing At long, long last." "Well, since it seems that marriage Is still the safest carriage, And all the world disparage The spinster lone; Since you might still forsake me, I think I'll let you take me, Yes ! Larry, you may make me Your own!"
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Jenny, I'm not jesting", appears in Father O'Flynn and other Irish Lyrics, first published 1880
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Note: Stanford abbreviates "Even" to "E'en" in line 5 of verse 2.Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
44. The willow tree  [sung text checked 1 time]
Oh, take me to your arms, love, for we, alas! must part; Oh, take me to your arms, love, the pain is at my heart. She hears me not, she cares not, but coldly keeps from me, While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree. My love has blooming beauty, my cheek is deadly wan; My love has countless riches, my gallant fortunes’s gone. This ribbon fair, that bound her hair, is all that’s left to me, While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree. I once had gold and silver I thought would never end: I once had gold and silver, and I thought I had a friend: My wealth is sped, my friend is fled and stol’n my love from me; While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson45. The banks of the daisies  [sung text checked 1 time]
As Kathleen fair beyond compare Asleep upon a bank I spied; All upon tiptoe I sought her side And kissed her down in the daisies. But up she starts and on me darts The shafts of scorn from lip and eye, Then in a storm goes sweeping by, And leaves me alone with the daisies. But when next day I chanced that way, There Kathleen blushed in all her charms, With sighs she sank into my arms, And we told our love to the daisies.
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- a text in English by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "The banks of the daisies"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson46. What is life without a wife  [sung text checked 1 time]
What is life without a wife? I’ll tell you since you ask it, A thorny bower without one flower, An empty jewel casket. What is life without a wife? A march without the music, Oh what is life without a wife? A fever without physic. What sort is joy without a boy? I think that I can tell it, ‘Tis just a rose without a nose Or eye to see or smell it. Oh what is joy without a boy? A door without a rapper, O what is life without a wife? A bell without a clapper. If that be so we’d like to know From you inconstant rovers, If all intend their ways to mend And live like faithful lovers? You hear, you hear, come answer clear, All you inconstant rovers! We do intend our ways to mend And live like faithful lovers. Come now, will you, coquettes untrue, Renounce your roving fancies, And just employ upon one boy Your smiles and sighs and glances? They will. Be Still! We will, they will Renounce our/their roving fancies And just employ upon one boy Our/their smiles and sighs and glances.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson47. Fan Fitzger'l  [sung text checked 1 time]
O my head’s in a whirl for your sake Fan Fitzger’l! Ah! white bosomed pearl of the coast of Kilkee! And here’s my hand to witness I’m kilt by the completeness Of the cruelty and sweetness that in you so agree. For your blue eyes beneath their black silky sheath Go darting such death on admiring man, Love had better point his arrows from this out against the sparrows, For our hearts they cannot harness like your soft glances, Fan. And what not ever spread matched the curls of your head, For each gold waving thread it has noosed a brave boy! While your slender nose, my jewel, sure no precipice as cruel, Dips down from Carran Tual poor rovers to destroy. I could go sighing on of your blush like the dawn, And a shape like the swan ‘neath your gown’s graceful curl! But what need, when all the village has forsook its peaceful tillage And flown to war and pillage for your sake, Fan Fitzger’l.
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- a text in English by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Fan Fitzgerl"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson48. Molly Hewson  [sung text checked 1 time]
Molly bawn, white as lawn, Rosy as the rowan spray, Had us all in her thrall, Young and old, and grave and gay; For her glances through the dances Such fond fancies o’er us shed, None felt sure he struck the floor With his heels or with his head. Molly bawn, white as lawn, Sweeter than the sugar cane, Drops her eyes at the boys, Never glancing back again. Some say shyness ‘tis or coyness, And ‘tis fineness some believe; But at all, great and small, I’m just laughing in my sleeve. For there’s none ‘neath the sun But myself could tell you why Molly seems lost in dreams When the saucy lads go by. But that reason out of season ‘Twould be treason now to show; After Lent I’m content Father Tom and all should know.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931), "Molly Hewson"
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson49. Still side by side  [sung text checked 1 time]
When at the altar Together kneeling To Heaven appealing, My loving wife, Without one falter Of faith, we plighted, With hands united Our troth through life. And now, though anguish Our souls has smitten, Sad records written On cheek and brow; Doth our love languish? Ah no! but nearer, Mavrone, and dearer Our hearts beat now. And though hereafter Inconstant fortune With cruel sporting Our lot deride; Her mocking laughter Can never grieve us, If she but leave us Still side by side. That prayer be granted! And closer leaning, Each other screening From ev’ry blast, We’ll face undaunted Life’s wintriest weather, And fall together, Love-linked, at last.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson50. Good night  [sung text checked 1 time]
Now good night! our feast is over, Where in joyous troops attending, Lord and lady, maid and lover, Dance and song with smiles were blending. Beauty’s smile unknown to guile, And wit that shone but wounded none; And manly worth and woman true, Good night! and joy go home with you! Good night! and softly o’er your slumbers May your minstrel’s measures stealing Spellbind still each care that cumbers, Still subdue each stormy feeling. Beauty, mirth, and wit and worth, O fall to sleep most calm and deep, Nor rouse till rosy morrow call, “Awake and joy go with you all!”
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson