James N Healy, published by The Mercier Press, Dublin, in 1983, reprinted 1985, '88, '90. The author was connected with French's family and gives a brief history. William Percy French was born in Ireland on 1 May 1854, spent the first half of his life in Ireland, then moved to England and died in Lancashire, England in 1920. He was trained as an engineer and originally worked as an "Inspector of Drains". In his spare time he was an artist, songwriter and writer and later worked full-time in those roles and also as an entertainer on the stage. Abdulla Bulbul Ameer is his earliest known work, written and composed by him for a smoking concert while he was a student at Trinity College, Dublin in 1877. He sold it to an unscrupulous publisher for five pounds and it later became very popular, with other names often appearing as author; French never received any royalties.
He was a prolific songwriter, responsible for many well known Irish songs, and this book gives the words and music of 44 of the better known ones. According to the author the following are the original words of Abdul...
ABDULLA BULBUL AMEER
Oh the sons of the Prophet are brave men and bold
And quite unaccustom'd to fear
But none were so reckless of life or of limb,
As Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
When they wanted a man to encourage the van
Or to harrass the foe in the rear
Or to take a redoubt they would always send out
For Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
There are heroes in plenty, and well known to fame
In the ranks that were lead by the Czar,
But the bravest of all was a man by the name
Of Ivan Potschjinksi Skidar.
He could imitate Toole, play Euchre and Pool
And perform on the Spanish guitar.
In fact quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
One morning the Russian had shouldered his gun
And assumed his most truculent sneer
And was walking down town when he happened to run
Into Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
"Young man," says Bulbul, "can your life be so dull
That you're anxious to end your career? -
For, infidel, know - you have trod on the toe
Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
Take your ultimate look at sunshine and brook,
Make your latest remarks on the war;
Which I mean to imply you're going to die,
Mr Count Cask-o-whisky Cigar."
Said the Russian, "My friend, my remarks in the end
Would avail you but little, I fear,
For you'll never survive to repeat them alive,
Mr Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
Then the bold Mameluke drew his trusty chiboque
And shouted "Il Allah Akbar."
And being intent upon slaughter, he went
For Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
But just as his knife had abstracted his life
(In fact he was shouting "Huzza!")
He felt himself struck by that wily Calmuck,
Count Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
The Consul drove up in his red-crested fly
To give the survivor a cheer,
He arrived just in time to exchange a goodbye
With Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.
And Skobeleff, Gourko and Gorsechekoff too
Drove up on the Emperor's car.
But all they could do was cry "Och-whilliloo!"
With Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
There's a grave where the waves of the Blue Danube roll
And on it in characters clear
Is: "Stranger, remember to pray for the soul
Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."
A Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep
By the light of the true lover's star
And the name that she murmurs so sadly in sleep
Is Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.
(Notes: 1. A footnote to the words says that "Potschjinski" is pronounced "like a sneeze".
2. According to the Oxford English Dictionary a "chiboque" (which has various spellings) is a long Turkish smoking pipe! I suspect that this is one of French's little jokes.)
.....end of excerpt