THE
CURRAGH OF KILDARE
Oh the winter it is passed and the Summer's come at
last,
The small birds are singing in the trees.
Their little hearts are glad but mine is very sad
For my true love is far away from me.
All you that are in love and cannot it remove
I pity all the pain that you endure
For experience let me know that your heart is full
of woe
It's a woe that no mortal can endure
And straight I will repair to the Curragh of Kildare
For it's there I'll find tidings of my dear.
A livery I will wear and I'll comb back my hair
And in velvet so green I will appear
And straight I will repair to the Curragh of Kildare
For it's there I'll find tidings of my dear.
Celtic
Voices - Man
BOYS OF FAIRHILL
Come and have a holiday
With our hurling club so gay
You're souls we'll charm
And your hearts we will thrill
The boys they won't harm you
The girls all will charm you
Here's up them all says the boys of Fairhill
Jimmy Barry hooked the ball
And we hooked Jimmy balls and all
Here's up them all says the boys of Fairhill
The Rockeys thought they were the stars
Until they met the St. Finbarrs
Here's up them all says the boys of Fairhill
They searched the county upside down
They searched the city around the town
Trying to beat us ah but they got their fill
They bought them from Tipperary's bogs
Dressed them up in Redmonds togs
But we flogged their nobs says the boys of Fairhill
DeValera crossed the foam
Just to kiss the Blarney stone
Here's up them all says the boys of Fairhill
Celtic
Voices - Man
BEAUTIFUL
CITY
I have sought to discover a haven of rest
Where the sun sinks by night in the land of the West
I have dwelt with the red man in green forest bowers
O'er the wild rolling prairie bespangled with flowers
I have hived to the north, where the hardy pine grows
'Mid the wolf and the bear, and the bleak winter snows
I have roamed through all climates, but none could
I see
Like the green hills of Cork and my home by the Lee
CHORUS
Beautiful city, charming and pretty
Beautiful city, my home by the Lee
I have slumbered in palm groves by clear running streams
And the wild groves of Blarney come haunting my dreams
I have listened to bells on the soft summer wind
But the sweet bells of Shandon were dear to my mind
I have mixed in gay dances my sorrows to hide
But there's none like the maiden that's now by my
side
There is nought in the land of the slave or the free
Like the green hills of Cork and my home by the Lee
Chorus
The bold feudal castles look down on the Rhine
That flows through the land of the olive and vine
There is freedom and health in the fresh mountain
breeze
That careers round the home of the brave Tyrolese
There is beauty and love in all spots of the earth
To the heart that can call it the land of its birth
But of all the fair countries, the dearest to me
Are the green hills of Cork and my home by the Lee
Chorus
Celtic
Voices - Man
SKIBBEREEN
Oh, father dear, I oft-times hear your talk of Erin's
Isle.
Her lofty scene and valley green, her mountains rude
and wild.
Thery say it is a pretty place wherein a prince might
dwell
Then why did you abandon it? The reason to me tell.
My son, I loved our native land with energy and pride,
Until a blight came o'er my crops, my sheep and cattle
died.
The rent and taxes were to pay, I could not them redeem,
And that's the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen.
It's well I do remember that bleak December day,
The landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all
away,
They set my roof on fire with their cursed English
spleen,
And that's another reason why I left old Skibbereen.
Your mother too, God rest her soul fell on the snowy
ground
She fainted in her anguish seeing the desolation all
around
She never rose but passed away to life's imortal dream
And that's another reason why I left old Skibbereen
And
you were only two years old and feeble was your frame
I could not leave you with my friends, you bore your
father's name
I wrapped you in my cóta mór in the
dead of night unseen
I heaved a sigh and said goodbye to dear old Skibbereen
Oh, father dear, the day will come when vengeance
loud will call.
When Irish men for freedome's sake, will rally one
and all,
I'll be the man to lead the van beneath our flag of
green,
And loud and high we'll raise the cry: 'Revenge for
Skibbereen!'
Celtic Voices
- Man
MAYO ROSALEEN
Copyright (Keating - KT
Music)
Used by permission
Strolling round the Westport fair
Early in the fore-noon
There I spied a maiden fair
Rosaleen of Killadoon
Men ye sing of girls from Clare
A flower here, a rose from there
The fairest rose that e're has been
My own dear Mayou Rosaleen
E're the evening closed the day
I asked to see her father
The sinking sun was on Clew Bay
I vowed I'd wed no other
He told me I might dare to hope
If I could win the heart of
the fairest rose that e're has been
My own dear Mayo Rosaleen
So I won then lost her
to the arms of death's deep slumber
Rosaleen I'm lonely now
And so the days I number.
Men ye sing of girls from Clare
A flower here, a rose from there
The fairest rose that e're has been
My own dear Mayo Rosaleen
Celtic
Voices - Man
BUNCLODY
Oh, were I at the Moss House where the birds do increase,
At the foot of Mount Leinster or some silent place,
By the streams of Bunclody where all pleasures do
meet,
And all I would ask is one kiss from you sweet.
If I was in Bunclody I would think myself at home,
'Tis there I would have a sweetheart, but here I have
none.
Drinking strong liqour in the height of my cheer,
Here's a health to Bunclody and the lass I love dear.
The cuckoo is a pretty bird, it sings as it flies,
It brings us good tidings and tells us no lies.
It sucks the young birds eggs to make its voice clear,
And the more it cries cuckoo, the summer draws near.
If I was a clerk and could write a good hand,
I would write my love a letter that she might understand,
For I am a young fellow that is wounded in love,
Once I lived in Bunclody but now must remove.
If I was a lark and had wings I could fly,
I would go to yon arbour where my love she does lie,
I'd proceed to you arbour where my true love does
lie,
And on her fond bosom contented I would die.
'Tis why my love slights me as you may understand,
That she has a freehold and I have no land,
She has great store of riches and a large sum of gold,
And everything fitting a house to uphold.
So adieu my dear father, adieu my dear mother,
Farewell to my sister, farwell to my brother;
I am bound for America, my fortune to try,
When I think of Bunclody, I'm ready to die.
Celtic
Voices - Man
WILD WICKLOW HILLS
Copyright (Keating - KT
Music)
Used by permission
When I was nineteen, they sent me aboard,
A big ship that took me to France
The crash of a shell that half blew me to hell
Took a leg off for fear I might dance.
I lay in the mud that was crimson with blood
And was studded with shrapnell and shell, bloody hell
The pain in my thigh, it just darkened my sky
And I dreamt of the wild Wicklow hills
CHORUS
For Wicklow was peaceful that time of the year
The hush through her heather was all you could hear
in her hills and her valleys, no anguish or fear
There's peace on the wild Wicklow hills
The gave me a crutch and they sent me back home.
I pitied the men left behind.
For those not soon dead, they were numbered instead
As crippled, as maimed or as blind
At Charring Cross Station, they turned round the train
Took more human fodder to war
They hadn't a chance on the green fields of France
The Somme, it ran red with their gore
Chorus
The war to end war, it was counted in cost
Twenty eight million missing or dead
But rather that end it, the second time round
We juast doubled the numbers instead
We've killed and we've maimed and we've slaughtered
again
And lord I just don't know what for
There's flies in the eyes of a child as he cries
Indifference goes on evermore
And Wicklow's still peaceful this time of the year
The hush through the heather is all you can hear
in her hills and her valleys, no anguish or fear
There's peace on the wild Wicklow hills, Oh Lord
There's peace on the wild Wicklow hills
Celtic
Voices - Man
NORA DALY
It was down near Miltown Malby not a thousand miles
from Galway
When I was young and merry in the breezy hills of
Clare
When I spied a colleen comely with winsome ways and
homely
And she driving in the donkey cart a-going to the
fair.
It was mild and pleasant weather with the bloom of
firs and heather
Which filled my soul with gladness in the wild and
balmy air
Well my spirits felt far lighter and my life seemed
ten times brighter
When I met that little colleen and she going to the
fair
CHORUS
Oh says she I'm Nora Daly from the parish of Killmaley
My father he's a farmer and the crossest man in Clare
If he saw you here beside me I've no doubt that he
would chide me
So please get down and walk a bit before we reach
the fair
I reluctantly obeyed her for I could not have gain
stayed her
For visions of her father with the fierce and angry
glare
Up before me quickly started so from her I gladly
parted
But I treasured her sweet memories until we reached
the fair
And before my soul I met her and within my heart I
set her
I 'cited tales and tidings on my wanders everywhere
Her heart was in a flutter for she feared her eggs
and butter
Would scatter on the roadside a-going to the fair
Chorus
After years of lonesome journey, my love still brightly
burning
I sought for her and married her and settled down
in Clare
And I oft time yet remind her of that day long left
behind her
When I met her in the donkey cart a-going to the fair
I have told my little story thought ancient now and
thorny
It makes them feel quite young again and puts to flight
all care
When along with what I've told you one more secret
I'll unfold you
That you never met more loving hearts than those in
County Clare
Chorus
Celtic
Voices - Man
FINNEGAN'S WAKE
Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street
A gentleman Irish, mighty odd
He had a tongue both rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod
Now Tim had a sort of a tippling way
With a love of the liquor poor Tim was born
And to help him on his way each day
He'd a drop of the cratur every morn
CHORUS
Whack fol de do now dance to your partner
Round the floor your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake
One morning Tim was rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull
So they carried him home, his corpse to wake
They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed
With a gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head
Chorus
His friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First, the brought in tea and cakes
Then pipes with tabacco and whiskey punch
Miss Biddy O'Brien began to cry
'Such a neat clean corpse did you ever see
Yerrah Tim, avourneen, why did you die?'
'Ah hold your toungue,' says Paddy Magee
Chorus
Then Biddy O'Connor took up the moan
'Biddy,' says she, 'you're wrong I'm sure,'
But Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawling on the floor.
Oh then a mighty war did rage
'Twas woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law did all engage
And a row and ruction soon began.
Chorus
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a naggin of whiskey flew at him
It missed him, falling on the bed
The liquor splattered over Tim
Bedad, he revives and see how he rises
And Timothy rising from the bed
Says 'Fling your whiskey round like blazes
Thunderin' Jaysus, do you think I'm dead ?'
Chorus
Celtic
Voices - Man
NORA, PRIDE OF KILDARE
As beauteous as Flora is charming young Nora
The joy of my heart, and the pride of Kildare
I ne'er will deceive her, for sadly 'twould grieve
her
To find that I sighed for another less fair
Her heart with truth teeming, her eye with smiles
beaming
What mortal could injure a blossom so rare
And wherever I may be I'll never forget thee
Oh Nora, dear Nora, the pride of Kildare
And whenever I travel the far lands a roving
And beauties may smile and then try to ensnare
Yet nothing shall ever my heart from thine sever
Dear Nora, sweet Nora , the pride of Kildare
Her heart with truth teeming, her eye with smiles
beaming
What mortal could injure a blossom so rare
And wherever I may be I'll never forget thee
Oh, Nora, dear Nora, the pride of Kildare
Celtic
Voices - Man
NOREEN BAWN
There's a spot in old Tir Conaill
There's a wee house in that glen
Where there dwelt an Irish colleen
Who charmed the hearts of men
She was winsome, hale and hearty
Shy and graceful as the fawn
Neighbours loved the widow's daughter
Happy, laughing Noreen Bawn.
Till one day arrived a letter
With her passage paid to go
To that place where the Missouri
And the Mississippi flow
She said goodbye to Erin
And next morning at the dawn
A broken-hearted mother
Said farewell to Noreen Bawn
Weary years that mother waited
Till one evening at the door
Stood a gorgeous looking lady
Awful grand the clothes she wore
Whispering, "Mother, don't you know me ?
Now I've only got a cold."
Yet those purple spots upon her cheeks
The tragic story told
There's a churchyard in Tir Conaill,
Where the blossoms sadly wave,
There's a broken hearted mother
Weeping o'er that lonely grave
"Poor Noreen", she is calling
"Tis I'm lonesome since you're gone,
"Twas the curse of emigration
Laid you low, my Noreen Bawn."
Celtic
Voices - Man
AMHRAN
NA bhFIANN
Seo dhibh a chairde duan oglaigh
Caithreimeach, brioghmhar, ceolmhar
Ar dteinte cnamh go buacach taid
S an speir go min realtogach.
Is fionnmhar faobhrach sinn chum gleo
S go tiunmhar gle roimh tigheacht do'n lo
Fa ciunas chaoimh na h-oidhche ar seol
Seo libh, canaidh Amhran na bhfiann
CURFA
Sinne Fianna Fail ata fa gheall ag Eirinn
Buidhean dar sluagh tar tuinn do rainig chughainn
Famhoid bheith saor, sean-tir ar sinnsear feasta
Ni fagfar fa'n tioran na fa'n trail
Anocht a theigeamh sa bhearna baoghail
Le gean ar Gaedhil chum bais no saoghail
Le gunna sgreac; fa lamhach na pilear
Seo libh canaidh Amhran na bhFiann
Cois banta reidhe, ar ardaibh sleibhe
Ba bhuadhach ar sinnsear romhainn,
Ag lamhach go trean fa'n sar-bhrat sein
Ta thuas so ghaoith go seolta:
Ba dhuthchas riamh d'ar gcine chaidh
Gan iompail siar o imirt air
Siubhal mar iad i gcoinnibh namhaid
Seo libh, canaidh Amhran na bhfiann.
Curfa
A buidhean nach fann d'fuil
Ghaoidheal is Gall Sinn breacadh lae na saoirse
Ta sgeimhle 's sgannradh i gcroidhthibh namhad
Roimh ranngaibh laochra ar dtire
Ar dteinte is treith gan spreach anois
Sin luisne ghle san speir anoir
'S an biodhbha i roan n bpilear agaibh
Seo libh, can aidh
Amhran na bhFiann
Curfa
Celtic Voices
- Man
