ADD: songs from 'Songs and Ballads of Ireland'

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Irish Songs and Ballads
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 16 Mar 09 - 05:29 PM

I believe the book MMario has been copying from is actually this one:

Irish Com-All-Ye's:
A Repository of Ancient Irish Songs and Ballads—Comprising Patriotic, Descriptive, Historical and Humorous Gems, Characteristic of the Irish Race
Compiled and arranged by Manus O'Conor (New York: L. Lipkind, 1901)

Although the title page says "Irish Com-All-Ye's" the page heading on all the pages is "Songs and Ballads of Ireland."

I have posted an index to this book in the thread Irish Songbook Index PermaThread

There is also a link there to the page images at Google Books.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Irish Songs and Ballads
From: MartinRyan
Date: 14 Mar 09 - 10:51 AM

You may be thinking of THIS ONE

Regards

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Irish Songs and Ballads
From: GUEST,paf1968
Date: 14 Mar 09 - 10:45 AM

Several years ago when the Catholic and Protistants were still fighting in Northern Ireland, one of the TV [ABC, CBS, NBC] networks did a documentary of the conflict. I remember watching part of it and hearing this lady sing a really pretty ballad. The only lyrics I can recall is "I had three fine sons". If anyone has any idea what the song is I would love to know.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Irish Songs and Ballads
From: ard mhacha
Date: 14 May 08 - 12:25 PM

That is lorgain2 You Tube.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Irish Songs and Ballads
From: ard mhacha
Date: 13 May 08 - 04:50 PM

Try lorgain2 for Her mantle so green sung by Sinead O`Connor.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Irish Songs and Ballads
From: Bob the Postman
Date: 18 Aug 07 - 12:03 PM

"Mantle So Green" lyrics here in Digitrad. The lyrics of Fred Redden's version are here. You can order a CD of field recordings of this Novca Scotia source singer from the Helen Creighton Folklore Society.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Irish Songs and Ballads
From: GUEST
Date: 17 Aug 07 - 01:39 PM

Peg ; No one seems to have answered your question about "Her mantle so green"
I would recommend " Margaret Barry's recording............Mike

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Bearheart
Date: 23 Apr 03 - 10:39 AM

Thanks for this thread. Have traced it for ref.

Bekki

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: GUEST,Martin Ryan
Date: 23 Apr 03 - 10:17 AM

I can't see it being a London publication by Boosey, as suggested much earlier in this thread. More likely American. Spelling evidence?
Regards

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 23 Apr 03 - 09:53 AM

nope

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: GUEST,Martin Ryan
Date: 23 Apr 03 - 09:43 AM

Did we ever establish what this book was?

Regards

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 23 Apr 03 - 09:20 AM

hey Michelle - never too late...

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: GUEST,Ard Mhacha
Date: 19 Nov 02 - 02:46 PM

Just come on to this thread, the song Patrick Reilly states that Reilly came from "Clonis" in the County Tyrone, I have never come across a "Clonis" in County Tyrone.
This should be Clones in County Monaghan and there is a better chance of meeting with a Reilly in that particular County than in CountyTyrone. Ard Mhacha.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: GUEST,Michelle
Date: 18 Nov 02 - 09:53 PM

Wow
I wish I had kept this up

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 03:56 PM

the version "here" is almost the same as the nova scotia example linked by malcolm above - there are a couple of verses in that condensed compared to the scan Michele sent. I'll try to get it typed up early next week.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 03:44 PM

Thankyou, Martin!  I don't have O'Lochlainn's second volume (though there's a copy in the City Library if I need it), but armed with that information I found a text and a couple of alternative titles on the net.  It turns out that there are two versions in the DT:

REILLY'S FAREWELL.  Version from Nova Scotia; no tune.
JOHN RALLY  Set with tune, from The Greig-Duncan Folk Song Collection (noted from a Mr. Lyall).  Greig-Duncan actually has six versions from Scotland, two with tunes.

The song even has a DT number, DT #463, and a Laws number, M8.  There is an entry at  The Traditional Ballad Index:

Riley's Farewell (Riley to America; John Riley) [Laws M8]

There also appears to be a set at the  Max Hunter Folk Song Collection,  but it's not yet available online.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MartinRyan
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 02:45 PM

Malcolm

There was a mention of (O')Reilly the Fisherman HERE in the Forum, referring to the version in O'Lochalinn's "More Irish Street Ballads"

Regards

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 01:39 PM

"The Memory of the Dead" is in the DT with midi. - as sheet music is available for "Mary of Tipperary" - I'll skip that as well.

I found a number of references to recordings of "O'Reilly the Fisherman" on the web - but no lyrics or tunes.

As usual - thanks Malcolm for the additional information and the tune connections!

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 12:51 PM

Paddy at the Theater was presumably set to one form or other of the Derry Down tune. There are several in the DT; the one with KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY would fit the bill:

DERRYDWN.MID

Remember the Glories of Brian the Brave was written by Thomas Moore, and set to the tune Molly MacAlpine, of which variants may be found under a great many names; for some of them, see: Tune Req: Carolan's Dream.

The Memory of the Dead was written by John Kells Ingram (b. 1822) with music by W.E. Hudson. I'll put up a midi once you've posted the text.

Mary of Tipperary (The Irish Milkmaid's Song) was written by Samuel Lover. Sheet music (1857) is available at The Lester S. Levy Collection of Sheet Music:

MARY OF TIPPERARY. THE IRISH MILKMAID'S SONG.

I feel sure that I've seen O'Reilly the Fisherman recently, probably here; but I'm blessed if I can find it.

Subject: Lyr Add: PADDY AT THE THEATER
From: MMario
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 10:45 AM

PADDY AT THE THEATER
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - p48)

From the County Monaghan lately I came,
I'm a tinker by trade, Larry Dooly's my name;
My cousin, Tim Murphy, I met yesterday,
Says he, Mr. Dooly'll come to the play!
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

Is it the play that you mean, are you sure that you're right?
They're treating the town to Pizzaro to-night;
But the treat, as he called it, and the one that I mean,
Bad luck to his treat, it cost me all my tin.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

Well, the green curtain drew up, and a lady I spied,
When a man came to kiss her she scornfully cried:
Get out, you big blackguard, I'll bother your jig!
When in comes Pizzaro with a grunt like a pig
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

In the days of ould Goury, a long time ago,
The Spaniards claimed war 'gainst Peru , you know,
The demanded its cash, its jewels and keys,
When a boy, they called Rowler, says: no, if you please.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

The Rowler came in like a day-star appeared,
He made a long speech and the sojers all cheered
Says he, Beat well the Spaniards, and do the neat thing,
And then , boys, stand up for your country and king.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

The Mr. Murphy Alonzo somehow went to jail,
He got out by a back door without giving bail;
While Rowler was jumping o'er brides and greens,
He was shot by some blackguard behind the big screens.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

Then Rowler came forward, and with him a child,
Looking all for the world like a man that was wild;
Here's your gossoon, dear Cora, it's my own blood that's spilt
In defense of your child, blood an' 'ounds, I'm kilt!
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

The Alonzo and Pizzaro had a terrible fight
Pizzaro got killed, that seemed perfectly right;
For the audience came down with showers of applause,
They were all enlisted in the Peruvian's cause.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

Then Alonzo came forward and handsomely bowed,
Saying: Ladies and gentlemen, meaning the crowd,
By your kind permission, to-morrow, then,
We will murder Pizzaro over again.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

Subject: ADD: THE RIVER ROE - addendum
From: MMario
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 10:00 AM


THE RIVER ROE - addendum

When she came up to him he thus to her did say:
I'm glad to meet you here, my love, on this very day
I'm glad to meet you her, love, the way that I will know;
If you're going to wed with me and dwell beside the river Roe.
She modestly did answer and said she was content,
I kissed and embraced her, and away both went:
We were married next evening, as you will shortly know,
She had serrvants to attend her, and she dwell upon the Roe.

It was within ten miles of Newton, convenient to the tide,
You'll find my habitation convenient to the soil,
You'll see ships from Limerick sailing down the silvery tide,
And the lads and lassies sparking along the river side,
Farewell to friends and parents, and to the flowing quay,
Likewise my old acquaintance, and I have no time to stay;
Here is health to my own sweetheart, the girl that you know,
And we will sing to the maid that dwells along the river Roe.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 09:58 AM

judt got two more page scans - which include:

two additional verses to The RIVER ROE

Paddy at the Theater

Brian the Brave

The memory of the Dead

Mary of Tipperary

O'Rielly the Fisherman

The Irish Hurrah

(the last two are going to be missing some words as the page is ripped)

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 23 Aug 01 - 11:48 AM

Sorry; that should be Timothy, not Thomas, and the link should be  MICHAEL DWYER

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 23 Aug 01 - 11:42 AM

This particular Michael Dwyer was written by Thomas D. O' Sullivan, (b. 1827), and that's all I can find about the song just now, except that the place is usually spelled Imaal. As a folk-hero, Dwyer features in a number of songs.  Here's one in the DT: MICHAEL DWYER

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Wolfgang
Date: 23 Aug 01 - 11:38 AM

An even more detailed account gives the 15th of February as the exact date of the incident.

Wolfgang

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Wolfgang
Date: 23 Aug 01 - 11:33 AM

Background to the Michael Dwyer song: Michael Dwyer

'The Battle of Derrynamuck' (Feb 1799) down on that page seems to be the event that is described in the above song in poetic detail.

Wolfgang

Subject: Lyr Add: MICHAEL DWYER
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 01 - 10:57 AM

*dang!* I did look, honest!

MICHAEL DWYER
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - pp 44,45)

At length brave Michael Dwyer and his undaunted men
Were scented o'er the mountains and tracked into the glen;
The stealthy soldiers followed, with ready blade and ball,
And swore to trap the outlaws that night in wild Emall.

They prowled about the valley, and toward the dawn of day
Discovered where the faithful and fearless heroes lay;
Around the little cottage they formed a ring,
And called out, "Michael Dwyer, surrender to the king!"

Thus answered Michael Dwyer: "Into this house we came
Unasked by those who own it, they cannot be to blame;
Then let those guiltless people, unquestioned, pass you through,
And when they're passed in safety, I'll tell you what we'll do.:

'Twas done-"and now," said Dwyer, "your work you may being;
You are a hundred outside, we're only four within;
We've hear your haughty summons, and this is our reply:
We're true united Irishmen, we'll fight until we die."

Then burst the war's red lightning, then poured the leaden rain,
The hills around reechoed the thunder peals again.
The soldiers falling round him, brave Dwyer see with pride-
Bu, ah! One gallant comrade is wounded by his side.

Yet there are three remained good battle still to do;
Their hands are strong and steady, their aim is quick and true;
But, hark-that furious shouting the savage soldiers raise!
The house is fired around them, the roof is in a blaze!

And brighter every moment the lurid flames arose,
And louder swelled the laughter and cheering of their foes;
Then spake the brave M'Allister, the weak and wounded man,
"you can escape, my comrades, and this shall be your plan:

"Place in my hands a musket, then lie upon the floor,
I'll stand before the soldiers, and open wide the door;
They'll pour into my bosom the fire of their array,
Then while their guns are empty, dash through them and away!"

He stood before the foemen, revealed amidst the flame,
From out their leveled pieces the wished for volley came;
Up sprang the three survivors for whom the hero died,
But only Michael Dwyer burst through the ranks outside.

He baffled his pursuers, who followed like the wind,
And swam the river Slaney and left them far behind,
But many a scarlet soldier he promised soon should fall,
For those, his gallant comrades, who died in wild Emall.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 23 Aug 01 - 10:53 AM

In the DT: BOYS OF KILKENNY

The tune (in abc format) is here:  TUNE ADD: Meeting of The Waters

See also  Origins of Bonny Portmore

Subject: Lyr Add: THE BOYS OF KILKENNY
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 01 - 10:40 AM

THE BOYS OF KILKENNY
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - p44)

OH, the boys of Kilkenny are nate roving blades,
And whenever they meet with the nice little maids,
They kiss them and coax them and spend their money free!
Oh, of all the towns in Ireland, Kilkenny for me!

Through the town of Kilkenny there runs a clear stream,
In the Town of Kilkenny there lives a fair dame,
Her cheeks are like roses, and her lips much the same,
Or a dish of ripe strawberries smothered in cream.

Her eyes are as black as Kilkenny's famed coal,
And 'tis they through my poor heart have burned a big hole;
Her mind, like its river, is deep, clear and pure,
And her heart is more hard than its marble, I'm sure.

Oh, Kilkenny's a fine town, that shines where it stands,
And the more I think on it the more my heart warms:
If I was in Kilkenny I'd feel quite at home,
For it's there I'd get sweethearts, but here I got none.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: GUEST,Michelle
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 10:08 PM

Oh guys, I forgot to mention...My friend delivered a 40 ouncer of good ole Irish Whiskey to me this week...hahahah it was a thank you for giving him those last 2 verses of "The Irish Rebel Spy". I almost feel guilty, I can't share it with you...almost...but I am sure I will manage to get a nip down.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 01:08 PM

There are two copies of Barnaby Fin[n]egan at  Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads.  The following is the more legible, and is significantly different from the version quoted above:

Barnaby Finnegan  J. Scott of Pittenweem and J.Wood of Edinburgh.  No tune is specified.  There is a tune in O'Neill, however, which might be a possibility; it can be found via  J C's Tunefinder:

Barney O'Finnegan.  The coincidence of title may of course mean nothing, but I suppose it's a start.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 12:00 PM

okey-dokey...zip it to me in e-mail and I'll put the words to it and send it off to Joe. Monday. oops! Tuesday - If I can wake up (end of season party sunday night....monday will not exist.)

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Mary in Kentucky
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 11:57 AM

Ah yes...but mine has that third verse key change...and is prettier. (could it be because I heard it that way first?)

Subject: Lyr Add: MISTER FINAGAN
From: MMario
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 11:40 AM

MISTER FINAGAN
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND -p42)

I'm a dacent laboring youth, I wur born in the town of Dunshocaklin,
I'm a widower now in my youth since I buried swate Molly McLaughlin;
I wur married but once in my life, shure, I'll never commit such a sin again,
For I found out when she wur my wife, she wur fond of one Barney McFinagan.

Chorus:
Whack fil lil lan ta ra le, whack fil lil lan tar a laddy de,
Whack fil lil lan ta ra le, with a ri tol lol lol dil de de ae de

Her father had castles of mud, of which I wur fond of admiring,
They wur built in the time of the flood, for to keep her ancestors dry in;
When he found I had Molly bespoke, first he got fat and then he got thin again,
In the struggle his gizzard he broke, and we had a corpse of McFinagan.

For convenience, the corpse was put along with his friends in the barn shure,
While some came to it on foot, while others came down from Dunagrinshore;
Wy wife she cried and she sobbed, I chucked her out twice and she got in again,
I gave her a belt in the gob, when I wur knocked down by McFinagan.

The bed and the corpse was upset, the row it commenced in a minute, shure,
Divil a bit of a stick had I got till they broke all the legs of the furniture;
In faith, as the blood flew about, eyes were shoved out and shoved in ag'in;
I got a southwestern clout, which knocked me on top of poor Finagan.

How long I was dead I don't know, but this I know, I wasn't livin' shure,
I awoke wid a pain in my toe, bor they were foth tied wid a ribbon, shure;
I opened my mouth for to spake, the shate was roll'd up to my chin again,
"Och, Molly," says I, "I'm awake;" "Oh," says she, "you'll be buried wid Finagan."

I opened my eyes for to see-I strove to get up to knock her about-
I fount that my two toes were tield like a spoon in a pot of thick stirabout,
But I soon got the use of my toes, by a friend of the corpse, Larry Gilligan,
Who helped me get into my clothes, for to spread a grass quilt over Finagan.

Och, my she devil came home from the spree, full of whisky and ripe from the buryin' shure,
And she showed so much mercy to me, as a hungry man shows a red herrin', shure;
One billy-go-fister I gave, which caused her to grunt and to grin again,
In six months I opened the grave, and slapped her on the bones of Finagan.

It's now that I'm single again, I'll spend my time rakin' and batterin',
I'll go to the fair wid the men, and dance wid the girls for a patterin';
They'll swear that I am stuck to a tee, and as they say to catch him ag'in
But they'll not come the cuckle o'er me, for they might be related to Finagan.

Mary - tune and lyrics at Kerry Dances thread here

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Mary in Kentucky
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 11:35 AM

MMario, I have a midi of Kerry Dance. I assume it will be on your "no tune lise."

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Wolfgang
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 11:16 AM

A 'thank you' each time would make the thread too long, but I am also one of those waiting with joyful anticipation for each new entry.

Wolfgang

Subject: Lyr Add: PATRICK RILEY
From: MMario
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 11:09 AM

Malcolm, you are amazing!

PATRICK RILEY
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - p35)

My name is Patrick Riley, the truth I will make known,
And I was born near Clonis, In the County of Tyrone;
My parents reared me tenderly, having no child but me,
And with them I lived contented to the age of twenty three.

Alas! I took a notion to cross the raging sea,
In search of some promotion unto America;
To seek employment in that land, a fortune to obtain,
And when I had secured it to return straight home again.

Alas! I had a sweetheart, McCormick was her name,
When she heard we were for parting, straightway to me she came,
Saying: Pat, can this be possible, you're going to prove unkind,
And leave me broken-hearted in sorrow here behind!

Dear Ann, I said, be not afraid, it's you I do adore,
My daily thought shall be of you while on Columbia's shore;
And when I do return again, if God spares me my life,
Here is my hand in promise I will make you my wife.

With this she seemed quite reconciled, and home straightway she went,
And early the next morning to Captain Pilot went;
She swore that I waylaid her and used her barbarously,
And robbed her of her purse of gold, which proved my destiny.

The police then soon surrounded me, as you shall understand,
And marched me off to Liffy jail by the magistrate's command;
It's there I lay in irons until my trial day,
Oh, little was my notion she'd swear my life away.

On the twenty-first of July last my trial it came on.
This maid being void of scripture before the Judge did stand;
She swore that I waylaid her and robbed her of five pound,
And thought to force her to a pool where she would soon be drowned.

The Judge then charged the jury with words that were severe,
Saying: This maid must now be rightified for all that she did swear;
The jury gave their verdict, aloud the Judge did cry:
For your cruelty unto the maid, young Riley, you must die.

When I received my sentence the tears from my eyes did flow,
Thinking to leave my mother in sorrow, grief, and woe;
And she being far advanced in years, having no child but me,
That she will stand to see her son upon the gallows tree.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 08:46 AM

Some further notes, though so far no more tunes:

The Celtic Cross was written by Thomas D'Arcy McGee (1821-1868).  His poem appeared in  Lyra Celtica  (1896, revised 1924), with the following note by William Sharp (alias Fiona MacLeod):

"This distinguished Irishman is to be accounted only an adopted American.  He emigrated to the States in 1842, edited The Boston Pilot, and in 1857 went to Montreal and entered the Canadian Parliament.  It was when returning from a night-session that he was assassinated in Ottawa by Fenian malcontents."

There was a discussion about him here some months ago:  Thomas D'Arcy McGee;  I haven't found out what melody the poem was set to.

---

Various McFaddens were the heroes of a series of comic songs, mainly late 19th century "Stage Irish".  The Levy Collection has McFadden's Trotting Mare, Since McFadden Bought the Cornet, McFadden's Debut and Learning McFadden To Waltz; but not, unfortunately, our example.

---

There is a copy of The lads who live in Ireland, or Where the apple praties grow  at  America Singing: Nineteenth-Century Song Sheets.  It was printed by H. De Marsan of New York, and is undated.  "Composed and Sung by JAS SEYMOUR, at Niblo's, in the "Duke's Motto." The music to be had of H. B. Dodworth, 6 Astor Place."

Further enquiries reveal that The Duke's Motto was a musical melodrama written by the Irish actor/playwright John Brougham, based very closely on a French original by Paul Feval.  The music was written by the English composer William Henry Montgomery.  The play was first produced in 1863 at the Lyceum in London, and subsequently at Niblo's Garden and Daly's Fifth Avenue Theater (both presumably New York).  Whether the actor Seymour actually had anything to do with the music or words of the song I have no idea; nor have I found the tune itself.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 08:43 AM

It is interesting - I love it, Michelle copies the pages, I type them up, Malcolm researches them...long distance co-operation!

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: GUEST,Martin Ryan
Date: 17 Aug 01 - 05:12 AM

Great stuff!

Regards

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: GUEST,Michelle
Date: 16 Aug 01 - 11:12 PM

I am intrigued by all this. Malcolm is amazing! I will try to send a few more pages to you soon MMario...been really busy this last week, but not forgetting.

Cheers Michelle

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 16 Aug 01 - 01:43 PM

Grazie, Malcolm.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 16 Aug 01 - 01:41 PM

The River Roe was sung to a variant of the Tramps and Hawkers/ Caroline of Edinburgh Town tune.  Additional information can be seen at Andrew Kuntz's  The Fiddler's Companion:

River Roe.

A midi of the tune will go to  The Mudcat Midi Pages.  For the time being, it can be heard via the  South Riding Folk Network  site:

The River Roe  Midi made from notation in The Irish Song Book (A.P. Graves, revised edition, 1895), where it was set to William Allingham's The Winding Banks of Erne.  It appears to be the version printed in Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music, and is played through twice to accommodate the length of the stanzas.

Subject: ADD: The River Roe
From: MMario
Date: 16 Aug 01 - 10:50 AM

THE RIVER ROE
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - p47)

As I went our one evening, all in the month of June,
The primroses and daisies and violets were in bloom;
I espied a lovely fair one, and her I did not know,
I took her for an angel that was bathing in the Roe.
Her teeth were like ivory, her skin a lily white,
Her cheeks as red as roses, her eyes like diamonds bright,
Her surname I'll not tell, lest you might her know,
But her master's habitation is on the river Roe.

I quickly stepped up to her, and this to her did say;
Are you a goddess, or what brought you this way?
She snawered me right modestly, and said: I am not so.
I'm but a servant maid that was bathing in the Roe.
I said: My pretty fair maid, if with me you'll agree,
We'll join our hands in wedlock and wedded we will be:
My father, he's a nobleman, the country well does know,
And his dwelling lies convenient to the river Roe.

She quickly made me answere, and this to me did say:
My mistress she is waiting, I have no time to stay,
I'll meet lyou to-morrow and my mistress won't know,
We'll have som econversing on the river Roe,
They both shook hands and parted, from each other did go,
In hopes to meet next morning along the river Roe;
She dressed herself in private, away then she did go
Her true love he was waiting along the river Roe.

Subject: ADD: THE ORANGEMAN'S WIFE
From: MMario
Date: 16 Aug 01 - 10:40 AM

THE ORANGEMAN'S WIFE
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - p46)

I wander by the limpid shore
When fields and flow-ret' bloom;
But, O! my heart is sad and sore-
My soul is sunk in gloom-
All cay I cry ochone! ochone!
I weep from night till morn-
I wish that I were dead and gone,
Or never had been born.

My father dwelt beside Tyrone,
And with him children five;
But I to Charlemnot had gone,
At service there to live.
O brothers fond! O sister dear!
How ill I paid your love!
O father! father! how I fear
To meet thy soul above!

My mother left us long ago-
A lovely corpse was she-
But we had longer days of woe
In this sad world to be.
My dreary days will soon be done-
I pine in grief forlon;
I wish that I were dead and gone,
Or never had been born.

It was the year of Ninety-Eight,
The Wreckers came about:
They burned my father's stack of wheat,
And drove my brothers out;
They forced my sister to their lust-
God grant my father rest!
For the Captain of the Wreckers thrust
A bayonet through his breast.

It was a dreadful, dreadful year;
And I was blindly led,
In love, and lonliness, and fear,
A loyal man to wed;
And still my heart is his alone,
It breaks but cannot turn;
I wish that I were dead and gone,
Or never had been born.

Next year we lived in quiet love,
And kissed our infant boy;
And peace had spread her wings above
Our dwelling at the Moy.
And then my wayworn brothers came
To share our peace and rest;
And poor lost Rose, to hide her shame
And sorrow in my breast.

They came, but soon they turned and fled-
Preserve my soul, O God!
It was my husband's hand, they said,
That shed my father's blood.
All day I cry ochone! ochone!
I weep from night till morn;
And O, that I were dead and gone,
Or never had been born!

Subject: ADD: THE LADS WHO LIVED IN IRELAND
From: MMario
Date: 16 Aug 01 - 10:31 AM


THE LADS WHO LIVE IN IRELAND
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND p 47)

My name is Ned O'Manney, I was born in sweet Killarney,
I can fight, dance, or sing, I can plow, reap or mow;
And, if I met a prett girl, I never practise blarney,
I've something mor alluring, which perhaps you'd like to know.
I'm none of your Bulgrudderies, nor other shabby families
But can unto my pedigree a pretty title show:
Oh! I'm of the O's and Mac's and likewise the sturdy Whacks,
That live and toil in Ireland where the apple praties grow,
That live and toil in Ireland where the apple praties grow,

I could a deal relate if I could but trace my pedigree:
My mothere was a Hogan, but my father I don't know;
I've ninety-nine relations in a place the call Roscarberry,
And each unto their name has a Mac or an O.
My uncle was a Brallaghan, my aunt she was a Callaghan,
And as to my charactore, why, I can plainly show.
I'm ratin' rovin' blade, and I never was afraid,
For I was born in Ireland where the apple praties grow,
For I was born in Ireland where the apple praties grow,

May Heaven still protect our hospitable country,
Where first I drew my living breath and heard its cocks to crow!
Adieu to its green hills and its lovely bay of Banty,
Where many a pleasant evening my love and I did go-
Where shoals of fish so pleasantly did sport about so merrily,
Beneath its glassy surface their wanton tricks to show-
Oh! Those scenes I did enjoy like a gay, unthinking boy,
With the lads who live in Ireland, where the apple praties grow,
With the lads who live in Ireland, where the apple praties grow,

St Patrick was our saint, and a blessed man in truth was he,
Great gifts unto our country he freely did bestow;
He banished all the frogs and toads that sheltered in our country,
And unto other regions it's they were forced to go.
There is one fact, undoubtedly, that cannot contradicted be,
For, trace the Irish histroy, and it will plainly show;
Search the universe all round, tighter fellows can't be found
Than the lads who live in Ireland, where the apple praties grow.
Than the lads who live in Ireland, where the apple praties grow.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: MMario
Date: 14 Aug 01 - 04:33 PM

Malcolm - thanks for the commentary. You are an incredible asset (Have I said that recently?) But now I'm curious about The one horned sheep

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: IRISH SONGS AND BALLADS
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 14 Aug 01 - 04:26 PM

There are several broadside copies of Digging For Go[u]ld at  Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads.  No tune is indicated, but it's worth mentioning that broadside copies of The Humours of Donnybrook (the one that starts "Here I am boys a sample of precious bad luck, not "To donnybrook steer all ye sons of Parnassus", which latter is also known as Donnybrook Fair) name Digging for Gold as tune; the jig The Humours of Donnybrook is also known as The One (or Old) Horned Sheep, and may be found under those titles at  J C's Tunefinder.

Subject: ADD: THE CELTIC CROSS
From: MMario
Date: 14 Aug 01 - 03:53 PM



THE CELTIC CROSS
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - p 45)

Through stormn, and fire, and gloom, I see it stand,
Firm, broad and tall-
The Celtic Cross that marks our Father-land, A,id them all!
Druids, and Danes, and Saxons vainly rage
Around its base;
It standeth shock on schock, and age on age,
Star of a scattered race.

O, Holy Cross! Dear symbol of the dread
Death of our Lord,
Around thee long have slept our Martyr-dead,
Sward over sward!
An hundred Bishops I myself can count
Among the slain.;
Chiefs, Captains, rank and file, a shining mount
Of God's ripe grain.

The Monarch's mace, the Puritan claymore,
Smote thee not down;
On headland steep, on mountain summit hear,
In mart and town;
In Glendalough, in Ara, in Tyrone,
We find thee still,
Thy open arms still stretching to thine own,
O'er town, and lough, and hill.

And they would tear thee out of Irish soil,
The guilty fools!
How time must mock their antiquated toil
and broken tools!
Cranmer and Cromwell from they grasp retired,
Baffled and thrown;
William and Ann to sap thy site conspired-
The rest is known!

Holy Saint Patrick, Father of oour Faith,
Beloved of God!
Shield thy dear church from the impending scaith,
Or, if the rod
Must scourge it yet again, inspire and raise
To emprise high,
Men like the heroic race of other days,
Who joyed to die!

Fear! Wherefore should the Celtic people fear
Their Church's fate?
The day is not - the day was never near -
Could desolate
The Destined Island, all whose seedy clay
Is holy ground-
Its cross shall stand till that predestined day,
When Erin's self is drowned!

Subject: ADD: Digging for Gould
From: MMario
Date: 14 Aug 01 - 03:13 PM

DIGGING FOR GOULD
(SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND - p 43)

Darby Kelly below in Kilkenny did live,
A sketch of whose character I'm going to give:
He was thought by the people a green polished rogue.
He could wastle the whisky, as wastle the old brogue.
All kinds of diseases with herbs he could cure,
He'd interpret your dreams, to be certain and sure;
By the boys of the village he often was fool'd,
For, aslape or awake, he was dreaming of gould.

He had a fine open house, but the winders were broke,
The gables were down to let out the smoke;
Some beautiful pigs through the wild world to range,
Though they were thin, they were thick with the mange.
He was so neglectful of domestic affairs.
The rats ate the bottoms all out of his chairs;
And the wife by the jusband was so overruled,
When she axed him for coppers he was talking of gould.

The house thus neglected, sure nothing went right;
When a youth of the village came to him one night,
A nice boy he was, his name was Dan Mac,
And ready to fly with the duds on his back,
All the clothes that he had wasn't enough
To make him a bolster to stick on a crutch,
And his juvenile days in a lime kiln were schooled,
But he used to cod Darby about finding gould

Says Dan: Ere last night I had a beautiful dream,
But bad luck to the doubt! last night I'd the same;
And tod-day, as I dozed, after slacking some lime,
I dreamt it again for the third and last time,
Och, muder! Says Darby, come tell us your dream,
Same time his two eyes like buckets did gleam;
Says Dan: I dreamt at the castle Killcool,
I found a joar that was crammed full of gould.

Poor Darby's big mouth opened like a dead Haicke,
Saying: You'll be a hero, just like your namesake;
You'll ride in your coach, you fortunate elf,
While I may be in one going down to the hulks.
No matter, said Darby, we must emigrate,
So, come down at midnight, and don't be too late;
Bring some boys whose courage won't easy be cooled,
And we'll dig till daylight to find all the gould.

They arrive at the castle, about one o'clock,
Where Dan dreamt he found all the gould in a crock;
They all set to work with picks, shovels and spades,
And a hole , that would swallow a house, soon was made
Says Darby: Bad luck to the curse we must give,
Or we'll be beggars as long as we live!
Says Dan: May the devil on my back be stooled,
For, I have bursted my breeches in digging for gould.

The prayers availed nothin, the crock was not found,
Tim rooney he lifted it over the ground;
With joy Darby leaped on the back of Ned Flail,
Like a fish from the stream with a hook in his tail.
Says Darby: My wife won't abuse me to-night
When I take home the shiners so yellow and bright!
I'll buy house and land about Kilcool;
And we'll all bless the night we went digging for gould!

The crock was then placed on Darby's own back
To carry home, and each man have his whack;
They arrived at the door with the gould to be sacked,
When Mac with a spade knocked the crock into smash.
Poor Darby, near smothered, run in with a fright,
His wife jumps up to get him a light,
When she heard Darby mourning her passion was cooled,
She knew by the smell he was covered with gould.