Three Irish Songs

Song Cycle by Arnold Edward Trevor Bax, Sir (1883 - 1953)

1. Cradle Song  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
O men from the fields,
  Come gently within,
Tread softly, softly,
  O men, coming in...

[For]1 [m'mhurnin]2 is going
  From me and from you
Where Mary will fold him
  With mantle of blue,

From reek of the smoke
  And cold of the floor
And [peering]3 of things
  Across the half-door.

O men from the fields,
  Softly, softly come through;
Mary puts round him 
  Her mantle of blue.

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View original text (without footnotes)
1 omitted by Coulthard and Moeran
2 Coulthard, Moeran, and Weigl: "Mavourneen"
3 Moeran: "the peering"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

2. Rann of Exile  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Nor right, nor left, nor any road I see a comrade face, 
Nor word to lift the heart in me I hear in any place; 
They leave me, who pass by me, to my loneliness and care, 
Without a house to draw my step nor a fire that I might share! 

Ochone, before our people knew the scatt'ring of the dearth, 
Before they saw potatoes rot and melt black in the earth, 
I might have stood in Connacht, on the top of Cruchmaelinn, 
And all around me I would see the hundreds of my kin.

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Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada and the U.S., but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.

Note: revised in 1960 (not shown)

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

3. Rann of Wandering  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
On Saint Bride's day, when it comes, I will throw a sail on the lake, 
And in Kiltimagh of my friends on a fine day I'll awake, 
Where the hounds will go before us, and make music of delight ; 
Where the fires will be piled up, and the tables spread at night ! 

O, my courage will be mounting up until my spirit's so, 
That within a mile of the World's Mouth I will be fain to go : 
Sure the scatt'ring of the mist across leaves no half wish behind, 
And my heart was ever lifted with the lifting of the wind.

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See other settings of this text.

Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada and the U.S., but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Total word count: 266