The Exile Of Erin
(Alt. Title--Plains of Emu) Traditional

O, farewell my country, my kindred, my lover,
Each morning and evening is sacred to you,
While I toil the long day without shelter or cover,
And fell the tall gums, the black-butted and blue.
Full often I think of and talk of thee Erin,
Thy heath-covered mountains still fresh in my view,
Thy glens, lakes and rivers, Loch-Con and Kilkerran,
While chained to the soil on the Plains of Emu.

The ironbark, wattle, and gum trees extending,
Their shades under which rests the shy kangaroo,
May be felled by the blessed who have hope o'er them bending,
To cheer their rude toil, though far exiled from you.
But alas, without hope, peace or honour to grace me,
Each feeling was crushed in the bud as it grew
Whilst "never" is stamped on the chains that embrace me,
And endless my thrall on the Plains of Emu.

Hard, hard was my fate, far from thee to be driven,
Unstained, unconvicted, as sure was my due,
I loved to dispense of the freedom of Heaven,
But force gained the day, and I suffer for you.
For this land never broke what by promise was plighted,
Deep treason, this tongue to my country never knew,
No base earned coin in my coffer ere lighted,
Yet enchained I remain on the Plains of Emu.

Dear mother, thy love from my bosom shall never
Depart, but shall flourish untainted and true,
Nor grieve that the base in their malice should ever
Upbraid thee, and none to give malice her due.
Spare, spare her the tear, and no charge lay upon her,
And weep not, my Nora, her griefs to renew,
But cherish her age until night closes on her,
And think of the swain who still thinks but of you.

For your names shall live, through like writing in water,
When confined to the notes of the tame cockatoo,
Each wattle scrub echo repeats to the other,
Your names, and each breeze hears me sighing anew.
For dumb be my tongue, may my heart cease her motion,
If the isle I forget where my first breath I drew,
Each affection is warmed with sincerest devotion,
For the tie is unbroken on the Plains of Emu.

The Bard of Armagh/The Streets of Laredo
Performed by Vince Gill,
traditional arrangement by Paddy Moloney.
Tin whistle; Uilleann pipes; Harp.

The melody from The Bard of Armagh, an 18th century song, became The Streets of Laredo in the United States. Also known as Erin Go Bragh or The Exile of Erin, The Bard of Armagh lamented the end of a consummate Irish figure, the harper.

From:http://www.speedlink.com.au/users/usnothem/reports/revlive.htm