Teksten album "Beagnach"
- When winter comes and all is silent,
- the saddled mare is tightly bound.
- The fox she prowls under the moonlight,
- and snow lays thickly on the ground.
- And though we bid farewell in sorrow,
- We will meet again in distant lands,
- And drink a health in joy for parting,
- When the exile will return again.2x
- The hearth is hard to leave these long nights,
- we face a long and treacherous road.
- But hard times must be faced undaunted,
- our loved ones lighten up our roads.
- The distant Cairn of Knocknaree stands,
- bare and bleached o'er Queen Maeve's tomb.
- O Hara's castle stands undaunted,
- waiting for her lands to bloom.
- The night is cold and the children are sleeping,
- restful, dreams of Tir na n-Og.
- The Jeanie Johnson bound for sailing,
- and now my friend it's time to go.
- If my health is spared I'll be long relating,
of the boat that sailed out from Anach Cuain,And the keening after of mother and father,as the laying out of each corpse was done.Oh, King of Graces, who died to save us,It was a small affair for but one or two,but a boat load bravely in calm day sailing,without storm or rain to be swept to doom.The boat sprang a leak and left all those people,and frightened sheep out adrift on the tide,It beats all telling what fate befell them,eleven strong men and eight women died.Men who could manage a plough or harrow,for to break the fallow or scatter seed,and the women whose fingers could move so nimbly,To spin fine linen or cloth to weave.Young boys they were lying, where crops were ripening.From the strength of youth, they were borne to play.In their wedding clothes for their wake, they robed them,Oh, King of Glory, man's hope in vain.May burning mountains come tumbling downward,on that place of drowning may curses fall.For many the soul, it has left in mourning,and left without hope of a bright day's dawn.The cause of their fate was no fault of sailing.It was the boat that failed them, the Kaslahn Nuadh,and left Me to make, with a heart that's breaking,this lamentation for Anach Cuain.
Erin Grá Mo ChroíAt the setting of the sun, when my days’ work it was done,I took a ramble by the sea for a walk,And I being all alone I sat down upon a stone,Just to gaze on the scenes of New York,So, it's Erin Grá Mo Chroí, you're the dear old land to me,You're the dearest land my eyes did ever behold,And if ever I go home, it’s from you I never more roam,you’re my own native land far away.Now the dark and lonesome sea rose between my love and me,When we parted there in sorrow on the kay,Oh, my dear, oh do not moan for its soon I will return,To my own native land far away.Now my farm of land was lost, and my little cabin was tossed,When the landlord and their battering ram had swain,Now the rain it softly falls one the crumbling cabin walls,In my own native land far away.ChorusOn a bright, bright moonlit night when the turf fire burned so bright,And the snow does gently fall on the window panes,And when Saint Patrick day draws near we will wear the shamrock green,In our own native land far away,Chorus
The Well below the valleyA holy man was passing by he asked for a drink as he got dryAt the well below the valley-o Green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oMy cup is full up to the brim, if I were to stoop I might fall inAt the well below the valley-o Green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oIf your true love was passing by, you’d fill him a drink as he got dryAt the well below the valley-o Green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oShe swore by grass, she swore by corn that her true love had never been bornAt the well below the valley-o Green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oHe said, young maid you’re swearing wrong, for six fine children you’ve had bornAt the well below the valley-o Green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oIf you be a man of noble fame you’ll tell to me the father o’ themAt the well below the valley-o Green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oThere’s two of them by your uncle Dan at the well below the valley-oAnother two by your brother John at the well below the valley-oAnother two by your father dear at the well below the valley-oGreen grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oIf you be a man of noble fame you’ll tell to me what did happen to themAt the well below the valley-o Green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oThere’s one of them buried beneath the tree at the well below the valley-oAnother two near the kitchen door at the well below the valley -oAnother two beneath the well at the well below the valley-oGreen grows the lily-o Right among the bushes-oIf you be a man of noble fame you’ll tell to me what'll happen myselfAt the well below the valley-o green grows the lily-o right among the bushes-oYou’ll be seven years a-ringing a bell at the well below the valley-oAnd seven years a-burning in hell at the well below the valley-oI’ll be seven years a-ringing a bell but the Lord above may save my soulFrom burning in hell at the well below the valley-oGreen grows the lily-o Right among the bushes-o
Star of the County DownNear to Banbridge town, in the County DownOne morning in JulyDown a boreen green came a sweet colleenAnd she smiled as she passed me by.She looked so neat from her two white feetTo the sheen of her nut-brown hairSuch a coaxing elf, I'd to shake myselfTo make sure I was really there.From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay And from Galway to Dublin townNo maid I've seen like the sweet colleen That I met in the County Down.As she onward sped, and I scratched my headAnd I gazed with a feeling quareThen I said, says I, to a passer-by"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"He smiled at me, and with pride says he,"That's the gem of the Ireland crown.Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the BannShe's the star of the County Down."ChorusAt the Harvest fare she’ll be surely there,so I’ll dress in my Sunday clothes,And I’ll try sheep eyes and eleutherin liesto the heart of the nut-brown roseChorus 2x
The King’s Shilling
Oh my love has left me with bairnes twa
And that's the last of him I ever saw
He joined the army and marched to war
He took the shilling, he took the shilling and he's off to war
Come, laddies, come, hear the cannon roar
Take the king's shilling and you're off to war
Well, did he look as he marched along
With his kilt and sporran and his musket gun
The ladies tipped him as he marched along
He sailed out by, he sailed out by the Broomielaw
Pipes did play as he marched along
And the soldiers sang out a battle song
"March on, march on," cried the captain gay
For king and country, for king and country we will fight today
Well, the battle rattled to the sound of guns
And the bayonets flashed in the morning sun
The drums did beat and the cannon roared
And the shilling didn't seem, oh the shilling didn't seem much worth the war
Well, the men they fought and the men did fall
Cut down by bayonet and musket ball
And many of these brave young men
Would never fight for, would never fight for the king again
Song for IrelandWalking all the day by tall towers where falcons build their nests
In silver wing they fly, they know the call of freedom in their breasts
Saw Black Head against the sky, with twisted rocks that run down to the sea
Living on your western shore,saw summer sunsets, asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea and sang a song for Ireland
Talking all the day with true friends, who try to make you stay
Telling jokes and news, singing songs to pass the night away
Watched the Galway salmon run like silver dancing darting in the sun
Drinking all the day in old pubs where fiddlers love to play
Someone touched the bow, he played a reel which seemed so grand and gay
Stood on Dingle Beach and cast, in wild foam we found Atlantic Bass
Dreaming in the night, I saw a land where no man had to fight
Waking in your dawn, I saw you crying in the morning light
Lying where the falcons fly, they twist and turn all in you air blue sky