1. |
The Old Poacher's Song
03:14
|
|||
|
Oh, grant me an ownerless corner of earth,
Or pick me a hillock of stones,
Or gather the wind-wafted leaves of the trees
To cover me Socialist bones
Though small is the debt that humanity owes
To this shrunken remainder of me,
Yet, yet I deserve that my litter at last
From the taint of the thief shall be free.
In boyhood I quaffed with a passionate love
The breath of the mountain and moor
And hated the greed of the covetous lord
Who fenced out the weak and the poor,
And later, through covert and pheasant-stocked glade
I swept like the blast from the north,
I broke every law that the land robbers made
And laughed at the strength they put forth.
The books of the schoolmen to me were unknown
But, teacher-less, well could I see
That soldiers were pampered and judges were prone
To trample the brave and the free.
The wild roving creatures of forest and fen
Provided the lesson I craved
Of food dispossessed they were helpless as men
And so were destroyed or enslaved.
I longed for a country by nobody owned
I sighed for a state without law
I dreamed all day of a people full grown
And lived for the goal I foresaw.
So grant me an ownerless corner of earth
Or pick me a hillock of stones,
Or gather the wind-wafted leaves of the trees
To cover me socialist bones.
|
||||
2. |
Alexander
04:17
|
|||
|
Oh don’t you know the reason, love, this night that I am here?
It is in order to obtain the love of you, my dear.
Your sweet celestical charms they have wounded quite my brain,
Your skin’s far whiter than the swan swims o’er yon purling stream.
You are tall, genteel and handsome, you are modest mild and free
And as the lodestone varies you draw the heart from me.
The reason my love slights me is because that I am poor
But I have what’s allowed for me and I can ask no more.
She thinks she’s come of noble birth, me of a mean degree,
– But I am come of Adam’s race, my dear, as well as you.
Don’t place your mind on riches, love, nor no such worldly store
Just think on Alexandra and you’ll love me the more.
When he had conquered the whole world he sat down and wept full sore
Because there were but the one world and he could gain no more.
I will travel to Mount Hareb where Noah’s ark does stand,
From that unto Mount Albareen where Moses viewed the land.
I never will quit roving while I can wear a shoe
But like a wounded lover, my dear, I will mourn for you.
Till his sorrowful lamentation, to her true love she gave ear,
She took him in her arms and embraced him as her dear.
So now they are got married, the truth I will unfold
And her father has bestowed on them five hundred pounds in gold.
|
||||
3. |
One Starry Night
05:53
|
|||
|
One starry night as I lay sleeping
One starry night as I lay in bed
I dreamed I heard wagon wheels a-creakin
When I awoke my own love had fled
I'll search the highways likewise the byways
I'll search the botharíns, camping places too
I will enquire of all our people
Have they tide or tidings or a sight of you
For it’s many a mile with you I've travelled
Many’s the hour love with you I have spent
I dreamed you were my love for ever
But now I find love that you were only lent
I’ll go across the seas to England
To London or to Birmingham
And in some public house I’ll find you
Lamenting for your love back home
For it's many a mile with you I've travelled
Many's the hour love with you I have spent
I dreamed you were my love for ever
But now I find love that you were only lent
Well, I am drunk today, love, I am seldom sober
A constant rover from town to town
And when I'm dead and my travelling's over
Molly Bán a-stóirín come lay me down
For it's many a mile with you I've travelled
Many's the hour love with you I have spent
I dreamed you were my love for ever
But now I find love that you were only lent
One starry night as I lay sleeping
One starry night as I lay in bed
I dreamed I heard wagon wheels a-creakin
When I awoke my own love had fled
|
||||
4. |
The Labour League
03:51
|
|||
|
The Labour League is a glorious thing,
Its members a noble band;
And loud will the voice of its leaders ring,
Till slavery ceases in the land.
A bond that is binding, a friend that is true,
A cause to which honour and purpose is due,
By Union we’ll keep it and strengthen it too,
for the labouring men of old England.
Chorus:
The League that fills the farmers with dismay,
The League that will always carry the sway,
The League that guides the Lab’rer on his way,
The League of the Labourers of England.
The Labourers’ League has saved many men,
And set many captives free,
Won for the Lab’rers again and again
The battles for liberty.
The League which is joined by the manly and the bold,
The League which can never be too much extolled,
The League which has thousands of members enrolled.
The Labourers’ League of old England.
The League that fills the farmers with dismay,
The League that will always carry the sway,
The League that guides the Lab’rer on his way,
The League of the Labourers of England.
The Labour League will never, never cease,
Or fail by the poor to stand,
Nor give to the tyrant one moment’s peace,
Till freedom reigns in our land,
And what if unreasoning, jeering and scorn
Be flung at the men who its glories adorn,
Yet thousands will bless the day it was born,
To the labouring men of old England.
The League that fills the farmers with dismay,
The League that will always carry the sway,
The League that guides the Lab’rer on his way,
The League of the Labourers of England.
The Labour League in the years that are past
Has fought for the right to live
So when to reduce wages plans are cast,
This is the answer we give –
‘We don’t want to fight but we won’t run away,
We bid you politely remember the day
When you locked out the men but had to give way,
To the Labourers’ League of old England.
The League that fills the farmers with dismay,
The League that will always carry the sway,
The League that guides the Lab’rer on his way,
The League of the Labourers of England.
|
||||
5. |
On Yonder Hill
04:47
|
|||
|
On yonder hill there sits a hare,
Full of worry, woe and care,
And o’er her lodgings they were bare,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
And o'er her lodgings they were bare,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
There came a huntsman riding by,
And on this poor hare he cast his eye,
And o'er the bogs he’s hallooed his dogs,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
And o'er the bogs he’s hallooed his dogs,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
And now she's run from hill to hill.
All for his best dog may show his skill
To kill the poor hare that ne’er done ill,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
To kill the poor hare that ne’er done ill,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
And now she's turned and turned again,
Merrily she runs o’er the fen,
And may she live to turn again,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
And may she live to turn again,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
On yonder hill there sits a hare,
Full of worry, woe and care,
In mortal dread of hound, gun and snare,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
In mortal dread of hound, gun and snare,
Sing ho, brave boys, hi-ho.
|
||||
6. |
The Banks of Inverurie
04:50
|
|||
|
Ae nicht as I went walkin an doon as I did pass,
By the banks o Inverurie I spied a bonnie lass;
Her hair hung ower her shuiders broad, her een like stars did shine,
On the banks o Inverurie an och gin she were mine.
I did embrace that fair maid wi aa the haste I cuid,
Her hair hung ower her shuiders broad aa in its threids o gowld;
Her hair hung ower her shuiders broad, her een like stars did shine,
On the banks o Inverurie an och gin she were mine.
She said, ‘Young man gie ower an no delude me sae,
For efter kissin wooin cams an efter wooin woe;
Ma tender hairt ye will ensnare an I'll beguilèd be,
On the banks o Inverurie I'll walk alain,’ says she.
She says, ‘Ma man, give ower ma company refrain,
I ken ye are o gentle blood, but o a graceless clan;
I ken yer occupation, lad, an guid it cannae be,
On the banks o Inverurie I'll walk alain,’ says she.
I said, ‘My pretty fair maid, the truth I'll ne'er deny,
On the banks o Inverurie fair maids beguiled hae I;
I used tae flatter fair maids but noo that no shall be.
On the banks o Inverurie if ye’ll walk alang wi me’.
He put a horn tae his lips an blew both lood an shrill,
Till four an twenty armèd men cam tae their maister's will,
‘I used tae flatter fair maids but noo I'll faithful be,
On the banks o Inverurie ma wedded wife ye’ll be.
‘Sae come my pretty fair maid an moont on horseback high,
An tae a parson we will gae an that immediately,
An I will sing the psalms wi joy until the day I dee,
In praise o Inverurie's banks where first I met wi thee’
|
||||
7. |
Gazing at Lochnagar
03:43
|
|||
|
Glimpsed atween pine stand and iron byre,
residual snows chalk charcoal Lochnagar,
otherwise invisible in the wee hours pitch.
A blue hare melted into the shadow, momentarily held
in the track, mesmerised by melodic fiddle tune,
will-o’-the-wisp feathering across late summer
howe, seeking a cure for fretful insomnia.
As the music faded on a soporific breeze,
rowan and juniper crept out from the night,
a new calf’s hungry moan rolled up from Durnach,
and an oystercatcher’s piping alarm betrayed
opportunist fox slithering through the darkness.
We stood, scenting early ling, bright vanilla whin,
watching the mountain come and go.
We had an intense, silent conversation –
music and weans, blackcock and weasel,
Scotland and Ireland, the moment’s significance,
pure and binding, a joyous gift to be savoured.
Turning back to the house, we could not resist
a last respect to the mountain and I asked for
‘Niel Gow’s Lament For the Death of His Second Wife’.
Through shut eyes, I saw everything: your bowing
style, determined stance and powerful, gentle strength.
The black void paid its respects with a deep silence,
roosting crossbills ceasing their reassuring twitter,
Lochnagar disappearing to avoid any unnecessary
distraction, anything that would take from the tune.
|
||||
8. |
The Lowlands o Holland
06:00
|
|||
|
The lu that I hae chosen I’ll herewith be content
The saut sea shall be frozen afore that I repent
Repent it shall I never until the day I dee
But the lowlands o Holland hae twined ma lu an me.
Ma lu lies in the saut sea an I am on the side
Enough tae brak a young thing's heart who lately wis a bride.
Who lately wis a bonny bride wi pleasure in her een.
But the lowlands o Holland hae twined ma lu an me.
Ma lu he built a bonny ship an set her on the sea
Wi seven score guid mariners tae bear her company.
But four score were sunk an three score deid at sea
An the lowlands o Holland hae twined ma lu an me.
Ma lu he built anither boat an set her on the main
Wi nane but twenty mariners tae bring her hame.
But the weary wind began tae rise an the sea began to rout
An ma lu then an his bonny boat turned widdershins aboot.
There shall nae a quiff cam on ma heid nor comb cam in ma hair
There shall neither coal nor candlelicht shine in my bower mair.
I’ll ne’er lu anither ain until the day I die
For I ne’er had a lu but ain and he's drounéd in the sea.
Go haud your tongue my dauchter dear,lie still an be content.
There are mair lads in Gallowa, ye needna sair lament.
There are mair lads in Galloway, but there’s nane at aa for me
For I ne’er lu’d a lu but ain an he's drooned in the sea.
|
||||
9. |
Tara Monster Meeting
04:17
|
|||
|
On the fifteenth day of August,
In the year of Forty Three,
That glorious day, I well may say,
Recorded it will be,
On the royal hill of Tara,
Where thousands did prevail
In union's bonds to join their hands,
To sign for the repeal.
Such a grand sight was never seen,
Nor will till time's no more;
Its lasting fame shall long remain
Around Hibernia's shore.
No pen or talent can describe
The glories of that day,
As there was seen on Tara's green,
A matchless grand display.
There was Wexford, Wicklow, and Kildare,
Sweet Dublin, and Ardee,
West Meath, King's County, and Dundalk,
Lots charming for to see,
Ballintrae, Trim, and Bective,
With Kells, Navan and Kinsale,
On the royal hill of Tara stood.
To sign for the Repeal.
I topp'd the hill with heart and will,
And cast my eyes around.
With a charming consternation,
I viewed from the rising ground,
The approaching legions of the earth
Advancing from afar.
With floating flags and beating drums,
Like thundering claps of war.
I thus proceeded farther.
Through a splendid arch did pass,
Where I beheld some thousands
On the hill attending mass.
So many being uncovered
In a pious holy strain,
For to describe the charming sight
It fluctuates my brain.
To see the flags of Drogheda,
With their harmonious band.
With sacred pious music
Round the corpses' grave did stand.
Where is the heart that could not feel
Or eye refuse a tear,
To see these murdered victims.
For their country sleeping there.
|
||||
10. |
||||
|
At the wedding,
the swirling, smiling, skirling wedding
of Mohamed-Rashid Ahmed Adan,
Somali Rashid,
and Eurdike Eleanora Gschwind,
fair haired Schwäbisch
and her polite fustian clad family,
we celebrated in Meanwood Working Men’s
Saturday afternoon Concert Rooms.
Eddie O’Donnell from Black Sod
belted out Basin Street, Quartier Français
Louisiana blasts that got the sweat flowing,
tore the buttons from the stiff, high-collar shorts,
got old Aunt Kreszenzia galavanting with Raouf.
It was wild after that
with mouth and finger music from Bahrain
and Leeds Céilí Band melodeons hitching every
djellabia for unrelenting Sieges of Ennis.
Friedemann tunelessly mourned Der Schwarzwald
and Ambrose Aheng Beng hypnotically
stirred downtown Juba with Chicago.
By five o’clock there was a single,
untrammelled market for whatever you’re having yourself,
nothing flagged and youth was in excess supply.
Then, from a corner, Darach Ó Catháin sang,
Darach of Inis Leitir Mór
by way of Ráth Chairn and now demolishing,
not quite yet urbanely renewed
Ritter Street off Blackman lane,
Darach sang and plugged every disparate central
nervous system into some magical main-grid psyche.
No one understood a single word
and everyone understood every word simultaneously.
Abdul Moneim Khalifa,
Comrade Abdul Moneim Khalifa,
communist poet and Development Economist,
wept at a discovery he thought beyond him.
They embraced, Darach and Abdul Moneim,
the one in dark, Galician dark,
sardines and fulmar eggs Irish,
the other in Nilotic, cardamom coffee,
chilli red Arabaic.
They held hands, entwined their fingers,
called each other brother
and made us all whoop.
Never had there been such a wedding,
the talk tomorrow of Omdurman and Gezira,
Dysart and Ros Muc.
Rashid and Eurid lovingly wrapped
their wonderful wedding present
in the plain, white tissue of their memory
and Wolfgang and Rabah,
Ute and Badria Ibrahim,
each took home a small fragment of the day
in wee ribboned boxes of obligatory,
amoretti-flavoured wedding cake.
With the stewards sweeping up,
Darach and Abdul Moneim were still to leave
singing of yellow bitterns and wildebeest.
|
||||
11. |
||||
|
The sweet scented wattle sheds its perfume around,
Enticing the bird and the bee;
I lie at me rest in me fern-covered nest
Neath the shade of a Kurrajong tree;
And high overhead I can hear a sweet strain –
'Tis the butcher-bird piping his tune,
As Spring, in her glory, has come back again
To the banks of the Reedy Lagoon.
l have carried me bluey for many’s the mile,
Me boots are worn out at the toes;
I'm dressing, this season, in different style,
To what I did last year, God knows!
My cooking utensils, I am sorry to say,
Are lacking a fork and a spoon.
I've dry bread and tea, in a battered jack-shay
On the banks of the Reedy Lagoon.
Oh, where is young Frankie, oh how he could ride!
And Johnny, the kind-hearted boy;
Old Jim, they say lately has taken a bride
A benedict's life to enjoy.
And Big Jock, the Scotsman; I once heard 'em say,
He wrestled the famous Muldoon:
They're all far away, and I'm lonely today
On the bank of the Reedy Lagoon.
I think of Bob Billy and Willie the brave,
Together we oft sang a song;
They're wrapped in the slumbers that comes with the grave
Down there neath the shades of Toowong.
That dark road I'll travel, be it sooner or late,
Let death be tardy or soon,
My probable fate I'll not contemplate
On the bank of the Reedy Lagoon.
Oh, where is the lady I oft times caressed—
The girl with the sad dreamy eye;
She nestle her head on another man's breast,
Who tells her the very same lies
My bed she would hardly be willing to share
Where I camp neath the light of the moon
But it's little I care, for I couldn’t keep square
By the bank of the Reedy Lagoon.
The sweet scented wattle sheds its perfume around,
Enticing the bird and the bee;
I lie at me rest in me fern-covered nest
Neath the shade of a Kurrajong tree;
And high overhead I can hear a sweet strain –
'Tis the butcher-bird piping his tune,
As Spring, in her glory, has come back again
To the banks of the Reedy Lagoon.
|
||||
12. |
||||
|
My yard is high with wood now, my cellar deep with coal,
My windows are well battened; I’ve sealed each crack and hole,
When the storms and winds come raging, I’ll not be touched at all,
For I’ll be well protected, when the snows of winter fall.
My sheep still wander freely, upon the lonely fell,
In the field my horse is grazing, and my cattle feed as well,
But come the bleak December, with its rain and sleet and squall,
They’ll be safely penned and stabled, when the snows of winter fall.
I look out from my doorway, to the trees on yonder rise,
Soon the leaves will turn to yellow as the summer fades and dies,
I’ll put on my coat of leather, and my love will don her shawl,
How close we’ll draw together, when the snows of winter fall.
Through the bitter cold and darkness, our hopes we will keep high,
For we know the warmth of summer will come back by and by,
Then we’ll walk into the sunshine wearing neither coat nor shawl,
And together we will listen just to hear the cuckoo call.
I am not a man of riches; I have little that is new,
Some livestock and some chattels, amount to very few,
But when my love is here beside me; I need nothing more at all,
She will give her love and comfort, when the snows of winter fall.
My yard is high with wood now, my cellar deep with coal,
My windows are well battened; I’ve sealed each crack and hole,
When the storms and winds come raging, I’ll not be touched at all,
For I’ll be well protected, when the snows of winter fall.
|
||||
13. |
Tramps & Hawkers
07:59
|
|||
|
I dreamed a dreamed the ither nicht
A dream o lang ago
I saw yin o they Traivellin Fowk
Alang the open road
His step wis licht, his heid held high
Tae catch the scent o spring
And his voice rang oot the countryside
As he began tae sing
Oh, cam aa ye tramps an hawker-lads
Ye gaitherers o’ blaa
That tramp the country roun an roun
Came listen ain an aa
I’ll tell tae ye a rovin tale
O sichts that I hae seen
For its snawy tae the barren north
An sooth by Gretna Green.
Aft time I’ve laughed untae tae mysel
While trudgin oan the road
Ma tae-rags roun ma blistered feet
Ma face as broon as a toad’s
Wi’ lumps o’ cake an tattie-scones
Wi wangs o braxie ham
Nae giein a thocht tae where I’ve bin
An less tae where I’m gannin.
I have seen the high Ben Nevis
That gaes toorin tae the moon
I’ve been roun by Crieff an Callander
An’ by the Bonnie Doon
I’ve stood by Nethy’s silvery tide
Aye, an places ill tae ken
Far up intae the barren north
Lies Urquart’s fairy glen.
I’ve done ma share o humphin
Wi the dockers on the Clyde
I’ve helped them Buckie trawlers
Haul their herrin ower the side
I’ve helped tae build that michtie brig
That spans the bonnie Forth
Aye, wi mony an Angus fairmer’s rig
I hae ploo’ed the bonnie earth
I’ve aften bin by Galloway
An roun aboot Stranraer
Ma business taks me onywhere
I’ll traivel near an far
I hae that rovin notion
I wouldnae care tae loss
For it is ma daily fare
An as much’ll pay my doss.
I think I’ll gang tae Paddy’s Lan’
I’m makkin up my mind
For Scotland’s awfy changit
An I cannae raise the wind
I’ll put my trust in Providence
An if Providence proves true
I will sing tae ye o Erin’s Isle
When I cam hame tae you
I am happy in the simmer-time
Beneath the bricht bloo sky
Nae thinkin in the mornin
Whaur at nicht I’ll hae tae lie
In barn or byre or onywhaur
Dossin oot amangst the hay
And if the weather treats me richt
I am happy every day.
When I awoken frae ma dreams
The dawn hae’d jist begun
The wee birds sang their auld, auld sangs
Tae greet the risin sun
I lay amang the shadows
An I thocht o days land gang
An those wanderin tramps an hawker lads
Whose days were suirly done.
|
||||
14. |
My Nellie
02:27
|
|||
|
Let me sing about my Nellie
Just for moments one or two
Let me tell about her goodness
And the deeds that she can do
She’s the fondest friend I number
She’s the leader of the chase
She’s the queen of all the poachers
And the bravest of her race
Come with me in early morning
Ere the lazy sun is up
Over hill and over hollow
See her move and never stop
See her plough the tangled bracken
Search the bushes and the wood
When the cunning hare has bolted
Watch her light feet touch the sod
Come and share the high enjoyment
Which the outlaw only feels
When a modest meed of justice
From oppression’s grasp he steals
See my Nellie, all undaunted
Facing rank and golden store
Spoiling now a starched Archbishop
Now Exchequer’s Chancellor
All the week in smoke and bother
Do we smother she and I?
Sunday morning brings us leisure
Purer air and clearer sky,
Oh, how joyous is the journey
To the flower and the tree
In the wildwood we are happy
On the hillside we are free
Let me sing about my Nellie
Just for moments one or two
Let me tell about her goodness
And the deeds that she can do
She’s the fondest friend I number
She’s the leader of the chase
She’s the queen of all the poachers
And the bravest of her race
|
||||
15. |
Dark & Slender Boy
04:55
|
|||
|
One blooming late spring morning Hannah Watson gently strayed
By the verdant banks of Mourne to gather green pollard sprays
Cross her path came a young stranger, kind words he did employ
To enchant and so beguile her, that dark and slender boy.
She plucked young sapling willow for basket, creel and cross
Her courted her so tenderly her pure heart soon she lost
‘Oh, come away to sweet Rosguill, be my love’s own pride and joy’,
True sounded the soft entreaties of the dark and slender boy.
They walked and talked together, heard the buíóg’s tinkling trill
Plucked woodbine and dog roses lying lost in youth’s bright thrill,
He told her of his father’s fields way north above Convoy
Of mountain glade and heather bell her dark and slender boy.
To and anxious cott she did late return with ne’er hazel rod nor sally spurr
Her father’s anger flashing hot, brothers wild berating her,
She told them of her Doaltach dark, Dooey’s craggy, honeyed joys
That she would soon be repairing with, her dark and slender boy.
He was not at their trysting stone nor at Monteith’s Cross next day,
Her family cursed her foolishness and bade her bide and stay,
She searched high along sweet Mourneside banks, who could her heart so destroy
There gaping stiff neath the salmon weir, death white her slender boy.
From Derry quay she sailed away, her heart heavy and full sore
She stared across the racing foam to spired hills she’s see no more
‘I’ll seek my life’s sad fortune, use whatever ruse or ploy,
For no man more shall know me know save my dark and slender boy.
|
||||
16. |
||||
|
I am a bold seafaring man,
I come from everywhere,
Pick any point on the compass you choose,
You're bund to find me there
Born in a storm in the Roaring Forties,
Entered in the log,
Sent up aloft to the upper t'gans'ls
And christened in navy grog.
Oh, all that I own are the clothes on me back
And the tools of a sailor's trade:
Me fid and me palm, a few needles, a spike
A knife with a good keen blade.
I've a bunk in the fo'c'sle, a place on the bench
In the galley where I can feed:
An old hook to hang me old oilskins on -
What more could a shellback need?
I have crossed both Atlantics and doubled both Capes
More times than I can tell,
I have fought the high seas in a parish-rigged barque
And frozen off Cape Farewell,
I've cursed the calms in the doldrums
When you'd swear the wind was dead,
Lain to off the Horn in a westerly gale
That would blow the hair right off your head.
To the maggoty beef and the weevily bread
I've added me share of abuse
I've pounded hard biscuit to powder and mixed it
With bug-fat and jaggery juice
I have known the galley awash for a week
I've gone hungry early and late
Been served with pea soup you could stand on the poop deck
And scare off a blue-nose mate.
I have sailed on the square-masted Yankee ships
With skippers who knew the score,
I've sailed with the drinkers who can't navigate
A course past the bar-room door.
I've sailed with masters who were seamen and knew
How to treat a sailor well
But as for the others, the miserable buggers,
They’d make your life, a hell.
I do know all the boarding house keepers ashore,
From Cardiff to Callao
I've known all the crimps and the waterfront pimps
From Riga to Tokyo.
I have spent me advance with Rasmussen the Dane,
And I've lodged with the Paddy West,
I've known the old slop-chest take half me screw
And Big Nellie, she took the rest.
So fare well you to you square masted sailing ships
Farewell to the days of sail,
Farewell you Cape Horners and every tall ship
That ever defied a gale:
Farewell to you shellbacks who sailed the seas
Through a world of wind and sky:
Your seafaring's over, your voyaging's done
Oh, you mariners all, goodbye.
|
||||
17. |
The Hound of Granemore
04:58
|
|||
|
One fine winter’s morning my horn I did blow
Through the green fields around Keady for hares we did go
We gathered our hounds and we circled the ground
For none loves the sport better than the boys of Maydown.
And as when we arrived they were all standing there
We set off through the fields in search of a hare
We had not got far till there came a loud cheer
O’er high hills and valleys that wee puss did steer.
As she flew o’er the hills, whats a beautiful sight
There were dogs black and yellow, and dogs black and white
She took the black bank for to try ua once more
Ach it was her last night, boys, o’er the hills of Granemore.
In a field of wheat stubble that wee puss did lie
And Rover and Charmer they did pass her by
And there as we stood at the top of the brae
We heard the last words this wee puss did say
‘No more through the green fields of Keady I’ll run
Nor trip through the meadows for sport and for fun
Nor hear the loud horn that Joe Toner does play
I’ll go home to my fen by the clear light of day’
You may blame Éoin MacMahon for fetching Coyle here
He’s been at his oul capers this many’s a year
On Saturdays and Sundays he ne’er does give o’er
With a pack of strange hounds round the hills of Granemore.
So, no more through the green fields of Keady I’ll tear
On fine frosted mornings in search of the hare.
A-twisting and tricking, she beat us the more
But she gave us great sport, boys, round the hills of Granemore.
|
||||
18. |
Maid of Culmore
03:56
|
|||
|
By the Diamond in Derry up to sweet Moville town
There is no finer harbour on this earth to be found,
Where the youngsters each evening go by the sea shore
And the joys bells ring out for the maid from Culmore.
The first time I saw my love, she passed me right by,
And the next time I saw my love, she did me deny,
And the last time I saw my love, she did grieve my heart sore
When she left dear ould Derry, sailed away from Culmore.
If I had the power, the storms for to rise,
The winds to blow high and to darken the skies,
The winds to blow high and the salt seas to roar,
On the day that my true love sailed away from Culmore.
To north of Americay my love I’ll go seek
For there I know no-one and, sure, no-one knows me.
And if I cannot find my love, I’ll return home no more
Like a pilgrim I'll wander far away from Culmore.
|
||||
19. |
Scattery Island
04:05
|
|||
|
For your grand-mother,
March the Eighth was not
International Women’s Day
for such days did not exist
on an island that was once
totally out of bounds to women:
sure, even the saint’s sister –
Cannera – could be buried only
in the inter-tidal zone and
not on the island itself.
No, March the Eighth was
Saint Senan’s Day, a day
she would take water from
Tobar Sinean below the tower
that once sheltered holy men
from marauding Norse.
After cleansing well, she incanted
prayers in the echoic vastness
of Teampall Naomh Mhuire.
In 977, Boru slaughtered
Ivar of Limerick to rid the island
of strangers, leaving its rich lands
to be tilled by Brennans,
Hehirs and McMahons,
Scanlans and Melicans,
the last of them fifty years
gone along with the need
for ever-ready river pilots,
folk to light guiding beacons
on baffling, fog-bound nights.
She is with you as you board
the wee ferry that brings
you and yours back to walk
hare-filled fields, scattering
nesting sea pies, flapping
lapwings, stare up at the mighty,
circling height and treasure
those black-white photographs
that flicker as backdrop,
confusing and clarifying
in equal measure, a strangely
familiar guide to the island.
And all the time, as you recall
places and objects, her stories
and never-to-be-betrayed
memories, your fingers pick
the slide she handed your father –
‘Scattery Island’ – ar dtús
‘Sleamhnán Inis Cathaigh’ –
a central link in the ever twisting
labyrinth of the Kelly DNA.
|
||||
20. |
Magaidh Ruadh
06:09
|
|||
|
On the over nicht sleeper the train clattered north,
I thocht o ma fayther, ma mither o coorse,
Ma kinsfolk aa gaithered, cauld on the pier
An I wondered wuid the lass wi reid hair still be there.
Frae Oban the ferry butted oot in the morn
I lay ower the railin’s, skuas follaed forlorn
I watched for ma fair isle tae brak the skyline
An I minded when the lass wi reid hair she wis mine
Fowk on the island aa opened their hearts
Up tae the hoose they cam frae aa pairts
He lay in the coffin, sae gaunt an sae bare
But the lass wi reid hair didnae show herself there
We walked tae the chapel, saft rain as oor shroud,
A pibroch lament as aa the heids bowed
Back in the haa’ music flawed sae free
For auld Seanaidh Donald nae mair on the sea
As dawn brak the nicht wi ma brither I spake
O boats, croft an stock, arrangements taw mak
He saw ma gaze wander, says efter I went
Magaidh Ruaidh left the island tae where naebody kent
For twa days I rambled ower machair an moor
I lifted his pots neath cloody Ben Mhor
She waved frae the strand, her reid locks aa a-blaw
But wis gane wi’oot footstep when I raced tae the shore
On the overnicht sleeper the train clattered sooth
I lay in ma bunk, auld sangs dry in ma mooth
Alain in ma bedsit for Seanaidh Donald did greet
An sweet Magaidh Ruaidh I nae mair shall meet
Aye, sweet Magaidh Ruaidh I nae mair shall meet.
|
||||
21. |
||||
|
I met an old man yesterday,
In tears down by Finn river,
His coat was worn, his hair was grey,
He gave out quite a shiver.
I saw a tear form in his eye
And trickle down quite sadly.
‘Oh, woe is me!’ I heard him cry,
‘Oh, where is Brendan Bradley?’
I paused beside this human wreck
And sat myself down near him.
I rubbed my nose and scratched my neck,
And thought how best to cheer him.
Alas I could not find the words,
Although I searched quite madly.
I threw some stale bread to the birds,
And asked, ‘Who’s Brendan Bradley?’
‘You don’t deserve to speak his name,
He was a Finn Harps deity,
The master of his chosen game,
And worshipped by the laity.
He’d head as hard as he could kick,
His feet they were size twenty,
And every game Big Bren did play,
There were goals a-plenty.
For nigh on twenty years he played,
The bane of most defences,
Perfection in his chosen trade,
Astounding people’s senses.
We won the Cup in seventy-four
Against St. Pat’s Athletic.
Twice that day did Brendan score,
With grace and style balletic.
And now he’s gone and Harps are left
Trapped in the First Division.
Our forward line is quite bereft
Of cunning and incision.
McHugh can’t win games on his own -
Not wishing to deride him -
But no, he can’t do that alone,
He needs Big Bren beside him.
‘But gone is gone and past is past’,
I answered him quite gravely.
‘A pot of honey will not last,
The future beckons bravely.
So put away that handkerchief,
It doesn’t suit you really.
Just think, with gladness and relief,
You could have Dykes and Keely’.
But when I got home I scoured my books
Before I wrote this poem
I gazed his feats of skill and grace
They made for quite a tome
Imperious runs and neat wee chips
I fell for him quite badly
Now as I sing the tears downstream
‘Oh, where is Brendan Bradley?’
|
||||
22. |
The Miners' Song
02:20
|
|||
|
Deep in the gloom of the great earth’s womb
We force the birth of coal,
The power that moves the nation’s wheels
To the furnace fires we roll
We dig out wealth at the cost of health
To gild oppression’s shrine;
Twill aye be so,
For a wage of woe,
Till the miners own the mine.
We furnish forth, to the south and north,
The force that drives the mill;
We make the snorting engine dash
Through forest, fen and hill;
We rush the lordly ocean craft
Across the bounding brine;
Twill aye be so,
For a wage of woe,
Till the miners own the mine.
We move the ranks of the cogs and cranks
Which grind out food and clothes;
We warm the walls of the festive halls
When the wintry tempest blows;
We cook the fare and we make the glare
Where lords and ladies dine:
Twill aye be so,
For a wage of woe,
Till the miners own the mine.
We take the risk of the awful whisk
When the rotten cable breaks;
We pierce the deadly after-damp
When the shattered ceiling shakes;
We search the wreck for a mangled mate
And health and life resign:
Twill aye be so
For a wage of woe,
Till the miners own the mine.
But we see a light through the breaking night
And a smiling dawn we greet;
We’ll toil no more in the planet’s core
For a crust and a winding sheet;
We’ll drive despair from the bright-ning air
And our hands and hearts combine;
And we’ll find our health
In the Commonwealth
When the miners own the mine.
|
||||
23. |
Diamond Ring
03:04
|
|||
|
My sweet heart told me, she wanted a diamond ring
My sweet heart told me, she wanted a diamond ring
Oh, yes my love, I get most anything
Got myself a pistol, it was a forty-four
Got myself a pistol, it was a forty-four
Cos to get that diamond ring, I had to rob a jewellery store
Police done caught me, carried me to the country jail
Police done caught me, carried me to the country jail
Had to send for my lover, please come and pay my bail
Ma baby come to see me, my fate she could not see
Ma baby come to see me, my fate she could not see
She said, ‘Please Mister Jailer, give him this note for me’
I was there to see you, I could not see your face
I come there to see you, I could not see your face
And although I love you, I just can' take your play
|
||||
24. |
||||
|
Where oh where is our James Connolly?
Where oh where can that gallant man be?
He has gone to organise the union
That working class might yet be free
Where oh where the Citizen Army?
Where oh where can that gallant band be?
They have gone to join the great Rebellion
To break the chains of slavery.
Who'll carry high our burning flag?
Who'll carry high our Starry Plough?
Who but James Connolly, pale and wounded
Who’ll carry high our red banner now?
They carried him to Kilmainham Prison,
They carried him to the Stone-breakers’ yard,
And they shot him dead that bright May morning
And threw him in a quicklime grave.
We carried him down in yon green garden
With Union members on every side
And we swore we would form a mighty Union
And fill that gallant man with pride
Where oh where is our James Connolly?
Where oh where is that gallant man?
He has gone to organise the union
The hero of the working class.
|
||||
25. |
||||
|
Now is the time to bid fareweel
All in the I hopes that we may meet again
And all things may be reet again
We' have lived and spent the day
So, we'll cry fareweel Regality
And cry fareweel to Liberty
Tae honest freens' civility
Tae winter's frost and fire
And there's nowt that I can bid ye
But that peace and love gan with ye
Ne’er mind wherever call the fates
Away from Hexhamshire
And what is time that flies so fleet
But just a bird that flies on merry wings
And lights us doon in happy spring
When winter's neet is past
Aye but the curlew sings her sang
And winds her sorrows doon the Rowley Burn
As drear as winds the hunter's horn
The call is all fareweel
And as I set the mossy stones
And do me bits of jobs and gap the dykes
I hear the whisper doon the sykes
Fareweel they sigh, fareweel
Dae I remember? Dae I dream?
And did we reetly meet on Viewly Side?
For all this and much more beside
Has got me sore beguiled
And on some golden autumn dawn
Or when July is hazing Dipton Slopes
By Whitley Mill or Westburnhope
We'll live and spend the day.
|
||||
26. |
Sae Will We Yet
07:12
|
|||
|
Sit doon here my cronies an gie us yer crack
Let the wind tak the care o the wairld on its back
Oor hearts tae despondency we never will submit
For we've ayeways bon provided for, an sae will we yet
An sae will we yet, an sae will we yet
We've ayeways bin provided for, an sae will we yet
The miser delights in the hoardin’ o’ his pelf
For he hasnae the soul tae enjoy it himself
The bounties o’ Providence are mair every day
Let us live by the way, let us live by the way
As we journey thro’ life, let us live by the way
Sae fill us a tankard o nappy broon ale
It'll comfort our herts an enliven the tale
For we'll aye be the merrier the langer that we sit
For we drank thegither mony's the time, an sae will we yet
An sae will we yet, an sae will we yet
We drank thegither mony's the time, an sae will we yet
Here's a health tae the fairmer, an prosper his ploo
Rewardin his eident toils aa the year through
At the seed-time or hairst we e’er mair shall get
For we've lippen'd aye tae Providence, an sae will we yet
An sae will we yet, an sae will we yet
We've lippen'd aye tae Providence, an sae will we yet
Sae fill up your glasses, let the bottle gae roun
For the sun it will rise, tho the moon has gaen doon,
An tho the room be birlin roun an roun, it's time enough tae flit
When we fell we aye got up again, an sae will we yet
An sae will we yet, an sae will we yet
When we fell we aye got up again, an sae will we yet
Sae rax me your mill, an my nose I will prime,
Let mirth an sweet innocence employ a’ our time;
Nae quarrelin’ nor fechtin’ we n’er will admit;
For we’ve pairted aye in unity, an sae will we yet
Aye, an sae will we yet, an sae will we yet
For we’ve pairted aye in unity, an sae will we yet
|
||||
If you like Francy Devine, you may also like:
Still As Your Sleeping
by Karine Polwart & Dave Milligan
supported by 14 fans who also own “An Ownerless Corner of Earth”
Thanks for the beautiful music Karine and Dave. it's been a while since I've felt so emotional listening to a new album. Every lyric is so beautifully supported by the piano parts.
go to album
The Poor Shall Wear the Crown: Songs by Leon Rosselson
by Nancy Kerr
supported by 12 fans who also own “An Ownerless Corner of Earth”
Just another Superb well delivered album by this wonderful versatile artist very well recorded produced its a must for anyone's collection. Nancys vocals are brilliant as ever.. stand out album.
go to album
supported by 11 fans who also own “An Ownerless Corner of Earth”
Dear Sam Sweeney, thank you for your hauntingly beautiful music. Please make this collection an 'LP' soon, Kind regards, BSuhr
go to album
The Two Worlds
by Brigid Mae Power
The latest LP from Brigid Mae Power is gorgeous and ghostly, setting Power’s voice against soft brushes of guitar, piano, & shuffling drums.
go to album
Would the Light Hold Me
by Oceanique
Celtic-inspired instrumentation, delicate harmonies, and reflective lyrics abound on the sisterly indie-folk duo's debut album.
go to album
Scottish harpist and singer Rachel Newton brings an innovative, intensely emotional touch to traditional music on this dreamy LP.
go to album
The Wedding Above In Glencree
by Daoiri Farrell
supported by 11 fans who also own “An Ownerless Corner of Earth”
Unfortunately, the included pamphlet file is damaged and won't open.
go to album
