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.
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Charles Villiers Stanford, Sir (1852 - 1924), "The smith's song", published [1882?] [voice and piano], from the collection Songs of Old Ireland. A Collection of Fifty Irish Melodies Unknown in England, no. 24, arrangement ; London, Boosey & Co. ; dedicated to Johannes Brahms, August 1882 [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Mike Pearson
This text was added to the website: 2015-04-08
Line count: 44
Word count: 157