I'm once again back home in Innisfree.
I wander o'er green hills thro' dreamy valleys,
And find a peace no other land could know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels,
And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.
And then into a humble shack I wander,
My dear old home and tenderly be-hold
The folks I love around the turf fire gathered
On bended knees their rosary is told.
(new CHORUS)
But dreams don't last, tho' dreams are not forgotten,
And soon I'm back to stern reality,
But tho' they paved the footways here with gold dust,
I still would choose the ISLE OF INNISFREE.
Johnny I Hardly Knew Ye
While goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo
While goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo
While goin' the road to sweet Athy,
A stick in me hand and a drop in me eye,
A doleful damsel I heard cry,
Johnny I hardly knew ye.
With your drums and guns and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and drums and guns,
The enemy nearly slew ye
Oh my darling dear, Ye look so queer
Johnny I hardly knew ye.
Where are your eyes that were so mild, hurroo, hurroo
Where are your eyes that were so mild, hurroo, hurroo
Where are your eyes that were so mild,
When my heart you so beguiled
Why did ye run from me and the child
Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye
Where are your legs that used to run, hurroo, hurroo
Where are your legs that used to run, hurroo, hurroo
Where are your legs that used to run,
When you went for to carry a gun
Indeed your dancing days are done
Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye
I'm happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo
I'm happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo
I'm happy for to see ye home,
All from the island of Sulloon;
So low in flesh, so high in bone
Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye
Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg,
Ye're an armless, boneless, chickenless egg
Ye'll have to put with a bowl out to beg
Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye
They're rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
They're rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
They're rolling out the guns again,
But they never will take our sons again
No they never will take our sons again
Johnny I'm swearing to ye
Kilgary Mountain
Same tune as "Whiskey in the Jar"
As I was a-walkin' 'round Kilgary Mountain
I met with Captain Pepper as his money he was countin'
I rattled my pistols and I drew forth my saber
Sayin', "Stand and deliver, for I am the bold deceiver"
Chorus:
Musha rig um du rum da
Whack fol the daddy o
Whack fol the daddy o
There's whiskey in the jar.
The 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 devil's in the women and they never can be easy
Chorus:
When I was awakened between six and seven
The guards were all around me in numbers odd and even
I flew to my pistols, but alas I was mistaken
For Molly's drawn my pistols and a prisoner I was taken
Chorus:
They put me into jail without judge or writin'
For robbing Colonel Pepper on Kilgary Mountain
But they didn't take my fists so I knocked the sentry down
And bid a fond farewell to the jail in Sligo town
Chorus:
Now some take delight in fishin' and in bowlin'
And others take delight in carriages a-rollin'
But I take delight in the juice of the barley
And courtin' pretty girls in the morning so early
Chorus:
Leaving of Liverpool
or "Fare Thee Well My Own True Love"
Farewell to Prince's Landing Stage
River Mersey, fare thee well
I am bound for California
A place I know right well
Chorus:
So fare thee well, my own true love
When I return united we will be
It's not the leaving of Liverpool that's grieving me
But my darling when I think of thee
I'm bound off for California
By the way of stormy Cape Horn
And I'm bound to write you a letter, love
When I am homeward bound
I have signed on a Yankee Clipper ship
Davy Crockett is her name
And Burgess is the Captain of her
And they say she's a floating Hell
I have shipped with Burgess once before
And I think I know him well
If a man's a seaman, he can get along
If not, then he's sure in Hell
Farewell to lower Frederick Street
Ensign Terrace and Park Lane
For I think it will be a long, long time
Before I see you again
Oh the sun is on the harbor, love
And I wish I could remain
For I know it will be a long, long time
Till I see you again
Londonderry Air
Would God I were the tender apple blossom
That floats and falls from off the twisted bough
To lie and faint within your silken bosom
Within your silken bosom as that does now.
Or would I were a little burnish'd apple
For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold
While sun and shade you robe of lawn will dapple
Your robe of lawn, and you hair's spun gold.
Yea, would to God I were among the roses
That lean to kiss you as you float between
While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses
A bud uncloses, to touch you, queen.
Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing
A happy daisy, in the garden path
That so your silver foot might press me going
Might press me going even unto death.
Mountains O'Mourne
Oh Mary this London's a wonderful sight
With people here workin' by day and by night
They don't sow potatoes, nor barley, nor wheat
But there's gangs of them diggin' for gold in the street
At least when I asked them that's what I was told
So I just took a hand at this diggin' for gold
But for all that I found there I might as well be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
I believe that when writin' a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies in London were dressed
Well if you'll believe me, when asked to a ball
They don't wear no top to their dresses at all
Oh I've seen them meself and you could not in truth
Say that if they were bound for a ball or a bath
Don't be startin' them fashions, now Mary McCree
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
There's beautiful girls here, oh never you mind
With beautiful shapes nature never designed
And lovely complexions all roses and cream
But let me remark with regard to the same
That if that those roses you venture to sip
The colors might all come away on your lip
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waitin' for me
In the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.
Red Is The Rose
Come over the hills, my bonnie Irish lass
Come over the hills to your darling
You choose the rose, love, and I'll make the vow
And I'll be your true love forever.
Chorus
Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows
Fair is the lily of the valley
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne
But my love is fairer than any.
'Twas down by Killarney's green woods that we strayed
When the moon and the stars they were shining
The moon shone its rays on her locks of golden hair
And she swore she'd be my love forever.
Chorus
It's not for the parting that my sister pains
It's not for the grief of my mother
'Tis all for the loss of my bonny Irish lass
That my heart is breaking forever.
Chorus
The Bard of Armaugh
Oh list' to the tale of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the string of his old withered hands
But remember those fingers they once could move sharper
To raise up the strains of his dear native land.
It was long before the shamrock, dear isle's lovely emblem
Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon's lion paw
And all the pretty colleens around me would gather
Call me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.
How I love to muse on the days of my boyhood
Though four score and three years have fled by them
It's king's sweet reflection that every young joy
For the merry-hearted boys make the best of old men.
At a fair or a wake I would twist my shillelah
And trip through a dance with my brogues tied with straw
There all the pretty maidens around me would gather
Call me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.
In truth I have wandered this wide world over
Yet Ireland's my home and a dwelling for me
And, oh, let the turf that my old bones shall cover
Be cut from the land that is trod by the free.
And when Sergeant Death in his cold arms doth embrace
And lull me to sleep with old Erin go bragh
By the side of my Kathleen, my dear pride, oh place me
Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.
The Coulin
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home,
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.
To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore,
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more,
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind.
And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes,
And hang o'er thy soft harp as wildly it breathes;
Nor dread that the cold hearted Saxon will tear
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.*
The Girl I Left Behind Me
The dames of France are fond and free,
And Flemish lips are willing;
And soft the maids of Italy,
And Spanish eyes are thrilling;
Still, though I bask beneath their smile,
Their charms fail to bind me.
And my heart goes back to Erin's Isle,
To the girl I left behind me.
For she's as fair as Shannon's side,
And purer than its water,
But she refused to be my bride
Though many years I sought her
.
Yet, since to France I sailed away,
Her letters oft remind me
,
That I promised never to gainsay
The girl I left behind me.
She says: "My own dear love come home,
My friends are rich and many;
Or 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 nigh broke when I answered "No,"
To the girl I left behind me.
For never shall my truve 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 free,
The battle's close would find me
To Ireland bound, nor message need
From the girl I left behind me.
The Irish Emigrant
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, where we once sat side by side
On a bright May morning long ago, when first you were my bride
The corn was springing fresh and green, and the lark sang loud and high
And the red was on your lips, Mary, and the love light in your eyes.
Tis but a step down yonder lane, the village Church stands near
The place where we were wed, Mary, I can see the spire from here
But the graveyard lies between, Mary, and my step might break your rest
Where I laid you darling down to sleep with a baby on your breast.
I'm very lonely now, Mary, for the poor make no new friends
But oh they love the better still the few our Father sends
For you were all I had, Mary, my blessing and my pride
And I've nothing left to care for now since my poor Mary died.
Yours was the good brave heart, Mary, that still kept hoping on
When the trust in God had left my soul and my arms young strength had gone
There was comfort ever on your lip and a kind look on your brow
And I thank you Mary for the same though you cannot hear me now.
I'm bidding you a long farewell, my Mary kind and true
But I'll not forget you, darling, in the land I'm going to
They say there's bread and work for all, and the sun shines always there
But I'll ne'er forget old Ireland, were it fifty times as fair.
And often in those grand old woods I'll sit and shut my eyes
And my heart will wander back again to the place where Mary lies
And I think I'll see that little stile where we sat side by side
In the springing corn and the bright May morn' when first you were my bride.
The Old Orange Flute
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon,
Where many the ructions meself had a hand in.
Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade,
And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade,
On the Twelfth of July as it yearly did come,
Bob played with his flute to the sound of a drum.
You may talk of your harp, your piano or lute,
But none can compare with the Old Orange Flute.
Bob, the deceiver, he took us all in;
He married a Papist named Bridget McGinn.
Turned Papist himself and forsook the old cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.
Now, boys of the townland made some noise upon it,
And Bob had to fly to the province of Connaught.
He fled with his wife and his fixings to boot,
And along with the latter his Old Orange Flute.
At the chapel on Sunday to atone for past deeds,
He'd say Pater and Aves and counted his brown beads.
'Til after some time, at the priest's own desire
He went with that old flute to play in the choir.
He went with that old flute for to play for the Mass,
But the instrument shivered and sighed, oh, alas,
And try though he would, though it made a great noise,
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys."
Bob jumped and he stared and got in a flutter
And threw the old flute in the blessed holy water.
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound;
When he tried it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down."
Now, for all he could whistle and finger and blow,
To play Papish music he found it no go.
"Kick the Pope" and "The Boyne Water" it freely would sound,
But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.
At the council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the old flute away.
They couldn't knock heresy out of it's head,
So they bought Bob a new one to play in it's stead.
'Twas fastened and burned at the stake as a heretic.
As the flames soared around it, they heard a strange noise;
'Twas the old flute still whistling "The Protestant Boys."
"Toora lu, toora lay,
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donnahadee."
The Rose of Tralee
C. Mordaunt Spencer
The pale moon was rising above yon green mountain,
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea,
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain,
That stands in the beautiful vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair, as the rose of the summer,
It was not her beauty alone that won me.
Oh no, t'was the truth in her eye ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee!
The cool shades of evening their mantles were spreading,
And Mary, all smiling, stood listn'ng to me,
When all through the valley her pale rays were shedding,
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair, as the rose of the summer,
It was not her beauty alone that won me.
Oh no, t'was the truth in her eye ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee!
The Star of County Down
Near to Banbridge Town, in the County Down
One morning in July,
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen,
And she smiled as she passed me by;
Oh, she looked so neat from her two white feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair,
Sure the coaxing elf, I'd to shake myself
To make sure I was standing there
CHORUS:
Oh, from Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay,
And from Galway to Dublin town,
No maid I've seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the County Down.
As she onward sped I shook my head
And I gazed with a feeling quare,
And I said, says I, to a passer-by,
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
Oh, he smiled at me, and with pride says he,
"That's the gem of Ireland's crown,
She's young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann,
She's the Star of the County Down."
I've travelled a bit, but never was hit
Since my roving career began;
But fair and square I surrendered there
To the charms of young Rose McCann.
I'd a heart to let and no tenant yet
Did I meet with in shawl or gown,
But in she went and I asked no rent
From the Star of the County Down.
At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
And I'll try sheep's eyes, and deludhering lies
On the heart of the nut-brown Rose.
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Though with rust my plow turns brown,
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Sits the Star of the County Down.
The Wearin' Of The Green
"O Paddy dear, and did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground!
No more Saint Patrick's Day we'll keep, his color can't be seen
For there's a cruel law ag'in the Wearin' o' the Green."
I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen
For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green."
For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green."
"So if the color we must wear be England's cruel red
Let it remind us of the blood that Irishmen have shed
And pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it on the sod
But never fear, 'twill take root there, though underfoot 'tis trod.
I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen
For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green."
For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green."
When laws can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow
And when the leaves in summer-time their color dare not show
Then I will change the color too I wear in my caubeen
But till that day, please God, I'll stick to the Wearin' o' the Green."
The Wild Colonial Boy
Note: This song has, at least, three different versions. One is Australian, another appears to be Irish and the third seems to be Canadian.
There was a wild colonial boy
Jack Duggan was his name
He was born and raised in Ireland
In a house called Castlemaine
He was his father�s only son
His mothers pride and joy
And dearly did his parents love
That wild colonial boy.
At the early age of sixteen years
He left his native home
And to Australia�s sunny shore
He was inclined to roam
He robbed the rich he helped the poor
He shot James MacEvoy
A terror to Australia was
That wild colonial boy.
One day upon the prairie
As Jack he rode along
A-listening to the mocking bird
Singing their cheerful song
Out jumped a band of troopers
Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy
They all set out to capture him
That wild colonial boy.
Surrender now Jack Duggan
For you see we�re three to one
Surrender in the Queen�s high name
You are a plundering son
Jack drew two pistols from his belt
And proudly waved them high
I�ll fight but not surrender
Said the wild colonial boy.
He fired a shot at Kelly
Which brought him to the ground
And turning round to Davis
He received a fatal wound
A bullet pierced his proud young heart
From the pistol of Fitzroy
And that was how they captured him
The wild colonial boy.
Tu Ra Lura Lura Loo
Version 1
Over in Killarney
Many years ago,
Me Mither sang a song to me
In tones so sweet and low.
Just a simple little ditty,
In her good ould Irish way,
And l'd give the world if she could sing
That song to me this day.
Chorus:
"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."
Oft in dreams I wander
To that cot again,
I feel her arms a-huggin' me
As when she held me then.
And I hear her voice a -hummin'
To me as in days of yore,
When she used to rock me fast asleep
Outside the cabin door.
Tu Ra Lura Lura Loo
Version 2
Chorus:
Tu ra lura lura loo,
They're lookin' for monkeys up at the zoo
At the time I had a face like you
I joined the British army.
O kilted soldiers wear no drawers
So won't you kindly lend them yours
The rich must always help the poor
To save the British army.
Chorus:
When I was young I used to be
As fine a man as ever you'd see
Till the Prince of Wales he said to me
Come join the British army.
Chorus:
Corporal O'Kelly's a terrible lout
But give him a couple of jars of stout
And he'll whip the enemy with his mouth
To save the British army.
Chorus:
When Irish Eyes are Smiling
When Irish eyes are smiling
Sure it's like a morning spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter,
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.
There's a tear in your eye,
and I'm wondering why,
For it never should be there at all.
With such power in your smile,
sure a stone you'd beguile,
So there's never a teardrop should fall.
When your sweet lilting laughter's
like some fairy song,
And your eyes twinkle bright as can be,
You should laugh all the while
and all other times smile,
And now smile a smile for me.
Chorus:
When Irish eyes are smiling
Sure it's like a morning spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter,
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.
Whiskey In The Jar
As I was going over
The Cork and Kerry mountain
I met with Captain Farrell
And his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol
And then produced my rapier
Saying 'Stand and deliver
For I am a bold deceiver
CHORUS
With me ring am a do ama dah
Whack fol the daddy o
Whack fol the daddy o
There's whiskey in the jar.
He counted out his money
It made a pretty penny
I put it in my pocket
And I gave it to my Jenny
She sighed and she swore
That she never would deceive me
But the devil take the women
For you know she tricked me easy
Chorus
I went into my chamber
All for to take a slumber
I dreamt of gold and jewels
And for sure it was no wonder
But Jenny drew my charges
She filled them up with water
She sent for Captain Farrell
To be ready for the slaughter
Chorus
'Twas early in the morning
Before I rose to travel
Up comes a band of soldiers
And likewise Captain Farrell
When I drew my pistol
For she had stole my sabre
I couldn't shoot with water
So a prisoner I was taken
Chorus
If anyone can aid me
It's my brother in the army
If I but knew his station
Be it Cork or in Killarney
And if he would join me
We'd go roving in Kilkenny
He would treat me fairer
Than my darling sporting Jenny
Chorus
Who Put the Overalls in Mistress Murphy's Chowder
Mistress Murphy gave a party just about a week ago,
Everything was plentiful, the Murphys, they're not slow.
They treated us like gentlemen; we tried to act the same
And only for what happened, well it was an awful shame.
When Mrs. Murphy dished the chowder out she fainted on the spot;
She found a pair of overalls at the bottom of the pot.
Tim Nolan he got ripping mad, his eyes were bulging out,
He jumped upon the piano and loudly he did shout.
cho:
"Who threw the overalls in Mistress Murphy's chowder?"
Nobody spoke so he shouted all the louder.
It's an Irish trick that's true, but I can lick the Mick that threw
The overalls in Mistress Murphy's chowder.
They dragged the pants from out the soup and laid them on the floor;
Each man swore upon his life, he'd ne'er seen them before.
They were plastered up with mortar and were worn out at the knee,
They had their many ups and downs as we could plainly see.
And when Mrs. Murphy she came-to she 'gan to cry and pout,
She had them in the wash that day and forgot to take them out.
Tim Nolan, he excused himself for what he said that night,
So we put music to the words and sang with all our might.
Will Ye Go, Lassie?
(Wild Mountain Thyme)
Oh the summertime is coming
And the trees are sweetly blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather
Will ye go, Lassie go?
Chorus
And we'll all go together
To pluck wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather
Will ye go, Lassie go?
I will build my love a tower
Near yon' pure crystal fountain
And on it I will build
All the flowers of the mountain
Will ye go, Lassie go?
If my true love she were gone
I would surely find another
Where wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather
Will ye go, Lassie go?