Dies Irae

On that great, that awful day,
This vain world shall pass away.
Thus the sibyl sang of old,
Thus hath holy David told.

There shall be a deadly fear
When the Avenger shall appear,
And unveiled before his eye
All the works of man shall lie.
Hark! to the great trumpet's tones
Pealing o'er the place of bones:
Hark! it waketh from their bed
All the nations of the dead,--
In a countless throng to meet,
At the eternal judgment seat.

Nature sickens with dismay,
Death may not retain its prey;
And before the Maker stand
All the creatures of his hand.
The great book shall be unfurled,
Whereby God shall judge the world;
What was distant shall be near,
What was hidden shall be clear.
To what shelter shall I fly?
To what guardian shall I cry?

Oh, in that destroying hour,
Source of goodness, Source of power,
Show thou, of thine own free grace,
Help unto a helpless race.

Though I plead not at thy throne
Aught that I for thee have done,
Do not thou unmindful be,
Of what thou hast borne for me:
Of the wandering, of the scorn,
Of the scourge, and of the thorn.
Jesus, hast thou borne the pain,
And hath all been borne in vain?

Shall thy vengeance smite the head
For whose ransom thou hast bled?
Thou, whose dying blessing gave
Glory to a guilty slave:
Thou, who from the crew unclean
Didst release the Magdalene:
Shall not mercy vast and free,
Evermore be found in thee?

Father, turn on me thine eyes,
See my blushes, hear my cries;
Faint though be the cries I make,
Save me for thy mercy's sake,
From the worm, and from the fire,
From the torments of thine ire.
Fold me with the sheep that stand
Pure and safe at thy right hand.

Hear thy guilty child implore thee,
Rolling in the dust before thee.
Oh the horrors of that day!
When this frame of sinful clay,
Starting from its burial place,
Must behold thee face to face.

Hear and pity, hear and aid,
Spare the creatures thou hast made.
Mercy, mercy, save, forgive,
Oh, who shall look on thee and live?



 
Thomas Babbington Macaulay

The Fair Hills of Ireland


A PLENTEOUS place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,   
                Uileacan dubh O!   
Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear;   
                Uileacan dubh O!   
There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,           
And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann’d,   
There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i’ the yellow sand,   
        On the fair hills of holy Ireland.   

Curl’d he is and ringleted, and plaited to the knee—   
                Uileacan dubh O!           
Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish Sea;   
                Uileacan dubh O!   
And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,   
Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,   
And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command,           
        For the fair hills of holy Ireland.   

Large and profitable are the stacks upon the ground,   
                Uileacan dubh O!   
The butter and the cream do wondrously abound;   
                Uileacan dubh O!           
The cresses on the water and the sorrels are at hand,   
And the cuckoo ’s calling daily his note of music bland,   
And the bold thrush sings so bravely his song i’ the forests grand,   
        On the fair hills of holy Ireland.

Sir Samuel Ferguson

The Battle of Otterburn


I

IT fell about the Lammas tide   
  When husbands win their hay,   
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride   
  In England to take a prey.   

II

He has chosen the Graemes, and the Lindsays light,           
  And the gallant Gordons gay;   
And the Earl of Fyfe withouten strife,   
  He’s bound him over Solwày.   

III

They come in over Ottercap Hill,   
  So down by Rodeley Cragge;           
Upon Green Leyton they lighted down   
  Styrande many a stagge.   

IV

And they have brent the dales of Tyne,   
  And harryed Bamborowe shire,   
And the Otter Dale they have brent it hale           
  And left it a’ on fire.   

V

Then spake a berne upon the bent,   
  Of comfort that was not cold,   
And said, ‘We have brent Northumberland,   
  We have all wealth in hold.           

VI

‘Now we have harryed all Bamborowe shire,   
  All the wealth in the world have we:   
I rede we ryde to Newcastell   
  So still and stalworthlye.’   

VII

Upon the morrow, when it was day,           
  The standards shone full bright;   
To Newcastell they took the way,   
  And thither they came full right.   

VIII

To Newcastell when that they came,   
  The Douglas cry’d on hyght:           
‘Harry Percy, an thou bidest within,   
  Come to the field, and fight!—   

IX

‘For we have brent Northumberland,   
  Thy herytage good and right;   
And syne my lodging I have ta’en,           
  With my brand dubb’d many a knight.’   

X

Sir Harry Percy came to the walls   
  The Scottish host for to see,   
Sayd, ‘An thou hast brent Northumberland,   
  Full sore it rueth me.           

XI

If thou hast haryed all Bamborowe shire,   
  Thou hast done me great envye;   
For this trespasse thou hast me done   
  The tone of us shall die.’   

XII

‘Where shall I bide thee?’ sayd the Douglas,           
  ‘Or where wilt thou come to me?’—   
‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne,   
  And wait there dayès three.   

XIII

‘The roe full rekeles there she rins,   
  To make the game and glee;           
The falcon and the phesant both,   
  To fend thy men and thee.   

XIV

‘There may’st thou have thy wealth at will,   
  Well lodg’d thou there may’st be:   
It shall not be long ere I come thee till,’           
  Sayd Sir Harry Percy.   

XV

‘There shall I bide thee,’ sayd the Douglas,   
  ‘By the faith of my bodye.’—   
‘There shall I come,’ said Sir Harry Percy,   
  ‘My troth I plight to thee.’           

XVI

A pipe of wine over the wall,   
  He gave them [to their pay],   
There he made the Douglas drinke,   
  And all his host that day.   

XVII

The Douglas turn’d him homeward again,           
  [And rode withouten stay].   
He pyght his standard at Otterbourne   
  Upon a Wedensday.   

XVIII

And syne he warned his men to go   
  To choose their geldings grass;           
[And he that had no man to send]   
  His own servant he was.   

XIX

A Scottish knight hoved on the bent   
  At watch, I dare well say,   
So was he ware of the noble Percy           
  In the dawning of the day.   

XX

He pryck’d to his pavilion door   
  As fast as he might run:   
‘Awaken, Douglas!’ cried the knight,   
  ‘For his sake that sits in throne!           

XXI

‘Awaken, Douglas!’ cried the knight,   
  ‘For thou mayst wake with wynne!   
Yonder have I spied the proud Percy,   
  And seven standards with him.’   

XXII

‘Now by my troth,’ the Douglas sayd,           
  ‘It is but a faynèd tale!   
He durst not look on my broad banner   
  [Were all England in] hail!   

XXIII

‘Was I not yesterday at Newcastell   
  That stands so fair on Tyne?           
For all the men the Percy had   
  He could not gar me to dine.’   

XXIV

He stepp’d out at his pavilion-door   
  To look an it were lease:   
Array you, lordings, one and all!           
  For here begins no peace.   

XXV

‘The Earl of Menteith, thou art my eme,   
  The vaward I give to thee:   
The Earl of Huntley, cante and keen,   
  Take him to go with thee.           

XXVI

‘The Lord of Buchan, in armure bright,   
  On the other side he shall be;   
Lord Johnstone and Lord Maxwell   
  They two shall go with me.   

XXVII

‘Swynton, fair fall upon your pride!           
  To battle make you bowne.—   
Sir Davy Scott, Sir Walter Steward,   
  Sir John of Agerstone!’   

XXVIII

The Percy came before his host,   
  He was ever a gentil knight:           
Upon the Douglas loud can he cry   
  ‘I will hold that I have hyght.’   

XXIX

‘For thou hast brent Northumberland,   
  And done me great envye,   
For this trespasse thou hast me done           
  The tone of us shall die.’   

XXX

The Douglas answer’d him again   
  With great words upon hie,   
And sayd, ‘I have twenty against thy one:   
  Behold, and thou mayst see!’           

XXXI

With that the Percy was grievèd sore,   
  Forsooth as I you say:   
He lighted down upon his foot   
  And schoote his horse away.   

XXXII

Every man saw that he did so,           
  That ryal was ever in rowghte:   
Every man schoote his horse him fro   
  And lighted him round about.   

XXXIII

Sir Harry Percy took the field   
  Even thus, as I you say;           
Jesus Christe in hevyn on height   
  Did help him well that day.   

XXXIV

But nine thousand, there was no more—   
  The chronicle will not layne—   
Forty thousand of Scots and four           
  That day fought them again.   

XXXV

But when the battel began to join,   
  In haste there came a knight;   
And letters fair forth hath he ta’en,   
  And thus he sayd full right:           

XXXVI

‘My lord your father greets you well,   
  With many a noble knight;   
He doth desire you now to bide,   
  That he may see this fight.   

XXXVII

‘The Baron of Graystoke is out of the west           
  With a noble companye:   
All they lodge at your father’s this night,   
  And the battel fayn would they see.’   

XXXVIII

‘For Jesus’ love,’ sayd Sir Harry Percy,   
  ‘That died for you and me,           
Wend to my lord my father agayn,   
  Say thou saw me not with thee.   

XXXIX

‘My troth is plight to yon Scottish knight,   
  —It nede’s me not to layne—   
That I should bide him upon this bent,           
  And I have his troth agayn.   

XL

‘And if that I wend off this growende,   
  Forsooth, unfoughten away,   
He would call me but a coward knight   
  In his land another day.           

XLI

‘Yet had I liefer be rynde and rent,   
  —By Mary, that mickle may!—   
Than ever my manhood be reproved   
  With a Scot another day.   

XLII

‘Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake!           
  And let sharp arrows flee.   
Minstrels, play up for your waryson!   
  And well quit it shall be.   

XLIII

‘Every man thynke on his true-love,   
  And mark him to the Trinitye:           
For unto God I make mine avowe   
  This day will I not flee.’   

XLIV

The blodye herte in the Douglas arms   
  His standard stood on hie,   
That every man might full wel knowe;           
  Bysyde stood starrès three.   

XLV

The white lyon on the English part,   
  Forsooth as I you sayn,   
The lucettes and the cressants both   
  The Scot fought them again.           

XLVI

Upon Seynt Andrewe loud can they crye,   
  And thrice they showt on hyght,   
Syne mark’d them on our English men,   
  As I have told you right.   

XLVII

Seynt George the bryght, Our Ladye’s knyght,           
  To name they were full fayne;   
Our English men they cry’d on hyght,   
  And thrice they shot agayne.   

XLVIII

With that sharp arrows began to flee,   
  I tell you in certayne:           
Men of arms began to joyne,   
  Many a doughty man was slayne.   

XLIX

The Percy and the Douglas met   
  That either of other was fayne;   
They swapp’d together while they swet           
  With swords of fyne Collayne:   

L

Until the blood from their bassonets ran   
  As the roke doth in the rayne;   
‘Yield thou to me,’ sayd the Douglas,   
  ‘Or elles thou shalt be slayne.           

LI

‘For I see by thy bryght bassonet   
  Thou art some man of myght:   
And so I do by thy burnysh’d brand,   
  Thou’rt an earl or elles a knyght.’   

LII

‘By my good faith,’ said the noble Percye,           
  ‘Now hast thou rede full ryght;   
Yet will I never yield me to thee,   
  While I may stand and fyght.’   

LIII

They swapp’d together, while that they swet,   
  With swordès sharp and long;           
Each on other so fast they bette,   
  Their helms came in pieces down.   

LIV

The Percy was a man of strength,   
  I tell you in this stounde:   
He smote the Douglas at the sword’s length           
  That he fell to the grounde.   

LV

The Douglas call’d to his little foot-page,   
  And sayd, ‘Run speedilye,   
And fetch my ain dear sister’s son,   
  Sir Hugh Montgomery.           

LVI

‘My nephew good,’ the Douglas sayd,   
  ‘What recks the death of ane?   
‘Last night I dream’d a dreary dream,   
  And I ken the day’s thy ain.   

LVII

‘My wound is deep: I am fayn to sleep,           
  Take thou the vaward of me,   
And hide me by the bracken bush   
  Grows on yon lilye-lee.’   

LVIII

He has lifted up that noble lord   
  With the saut tears in his e’e;           
He has hidden him in the bracken bush   
  That his merry men might not see.   

LIX

The standards stood still on eke side;   
  With many a grievous groan   
They fought that day, and all the night;           
  Many a doughtye man was slone.   

LX

The morn was clear, the day drew nie,   
  —Yet stiffly in stowre they stood;   
Echone hewing another while they might drie,   
  Till aye ran down the blood.           

LXI

The Percy and Montgomery met   
  That either of other was fayn:   
They swappèd swords, and they two met   
  Till the blood ran down between.   

LXII

‘Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,’ he said,           
  ‘Or I vow I’le lay thee low!’   
‘To whom shall I yield?’ said Earl Percy,   
  ‘Now I see it maun be so.’—   

LXIII

‘Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,   
  Nor yet shalt thou to me;           
But yield thee to the bracken bush   
  Grows on yon lilye-lee.’—   

LXIV

‘I winna yield to a bracken bush,   
  Nor yet I will to a brere;   
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,           
  Or Montgomery if he was here.’   

LXV

As soon as he knew Montgomery,   
  He stuck his sword’s point in ground;   
The Montgomery was a courteous knight,   
  And quickly took him by the hand.           

LXVI

There was slayne upon the Scottès’ side,   
  For sooth and certaynlye,   
Sir James a Douglas there was slayne,   
  That day that he cou’d dye.   

LXVII

The Earl of Menteith he was slayne,           
  And gryselye groan’d on the groun’;   
Sir Davy Scott, Sir Walter Steward,   
  Sir John of Agerstone.   

LXVIII

Sir Charlès Murray in that place   
  That never a foot would flee;           
Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,   
  With the Douglas did he dee.   

LXIX

There was slayne upon the Scottès’ side   
  For sooth as I you say,   
Of four and fifty thousand Scottes           
  Went but eighteen away.   

LXX

There was slayne upon the English side   
  For sooth and certaynlye,   
A gentle Knight, Sir John Fitzhughe,   
  It was the more pitye.           

LXXI

Sir James Hardbotell there was slayne,   
  For him their heartes were sore;   
The gentle Lovell there was slayne,   
  That the Percy’s standard bore.   

LXXII

There was slayne upon the English part           
  For sooth as I you say,   
Of ninè thousand English men   
  Five hundred came away.   

LXXIII

The others slayne were in the field;   
  Christ keep their souls from woe!           
Seeing there was so fewè friends   
  Against so many a foe.   

LXXIV

Then on the morn they made them bieres   
  Of birch and hazell gray:   
Many a widow with weeping teares           
  Their makes they fette away.   

LXXV

This fray was fought at Otterbourne,   
  Between the night and the day;   
Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush,   
  And the Percy led captive away.           

LXXVI

Now let us all for the Percy pray   
  To Jesu most of might,   
To bring his soul to the bliss of heaven,   
  For he was a gentle knight.


Trad.

The Bonny Earl of Murray


I

YE Highlands and ye Lawlands,   
  O where hae ye been?   
They hae slain the Earl of Murray,   
  And hae laid him on the green.   

II

Now wae be to thee, Huntley!           
  And whairfore did ye sae!   
I bade you bring him wi’ you,   
  But forbade you him to slay.   

III

He was a braw gallant,   
  And he rid at the ring;           
And the bonny Earl of Murray,   
  O he might hae been a king!   

IV

He was a braw gallant,   
  And he play’d at the ba’;   
And the bonny Earl of Murray           
Was the flower amang them a’!   

V

He was a braw gallant,   
  And he play’d at the gluve;   
And the bonny Earl of Murray,   
  O he was the Queen’s luve!           

VI

O lang will his Lady   
  Look owre the Castle Downe,   
Ere she see the Earl of Murray   
  Come sounding through the town!

Trad.

The Douglas Tragedy
 

I

‘RISE up, rise up, now Lord Douglas,’ she says,   
  ‘And put on your armour so bright;   
Let it never be said that a daughter of thine   
  Was married to a lord under night.   

II

‘Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,           
  And put on your armour so bright,   
And take better care of your youngest sister,   
  For your eldest’s awa the last night.’   

III

He’s mounted her on a milk-white steed,   
  And himself on a dapple grey,           
With a bugelet horn hung down his side;   
  And lightly they rode away.   

IV

Lord William look’d o’er his left shoulder,   
  To see what he could see,   
And there he spy’d her seven brethren bold           
  Come riding over the lea.   

V

‘Light down, light down, Lady Margret,’ he said,   
  ‘And hold my steed in your hand,   
Until that against your seven brethren bold,   
  And your father, I mak’ a stand.’           

VI

O, there she stood, and bitter she stood,   
  And never did shed one tear,   
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,   
  And her father, who lov’d her so dear.   

VII

‘O hold your hand, Lord William!’ she said,           
  ‘For your strokes they are wondrous sair;   
True lovers I can get many an ane,   
  But a father I can never get mair.’   

VIII

O she’s ta’en out her handkerchief,   
  It was o’ the holland sae fine,           
And aye she dighted her father’s wounds,   
  That were redder than the wine.   

IX

‘O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret,’ he said,   
  ‘O whether will ye gang or bide?’   
‘I’ll gang, I’ll gang, Lord William,’ she said,           
  ‘For ye’ve left me no other guide.’   

X

He’s lifted her on a milk-white steed,   
  And himself on a dapple grey,   
With bugelet horn hung down by his side;   
  And slowly they baith rade away.           

XI

O they rade on, and on they rade,   
  And a’ by the light of the moon,   
Until they came to yon wan water,   
  And there they lighted doun.   

XII

They lighted doun to tak’ a drink           
  Of the spring that ran sae clear,   
And doun the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,   
  And sair she gan to fear.   

XIII

‘Hold up, hold up, Lord William,’ she says,   
  ‘For I fear that you are slain.’—           
‘’Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,   
  That shines in the water sae plain.’   

XIV

O they rade on, and on they rade,   
  And a’ by the light of the moon,   
Until they cam’ to his mother’s ha’ door,           
  And there they lighted doun.   

XV

‘Get up, get up, lady mother,’ he says,   
  ‘Get up, and let me in!   
Get up, get up, lady mother,’ he says,   
  ‘For this night my fair lady I’ve win.           

XVI

‘O mak my bed, lady mother,’ he says,   
  ‘O mak it braid and deep,   
And lay Lady Margret close at my back,   
  And the sounder I will sleep.’   

XVII

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,           
  Lady Margret lang ere day,   
And all true lovers that go thegither,   
  May they have mair luck than they!   

XVIII

Lord William was buried in St. Mary’s kirk,   
  Lady Margret in Mary’s quire;           
Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,   
  And out o’ the knight’s brier.   

XIX

And they twa met, and they twa plat,   
  And fain they wad be near;   
And a’ the warld might ken right weel           
  They were twa lovers dear.   

XX

But bye and rade the Black Douglas,   
  And wow but he was rough!   
For he pull’d up the bonny brier,   
  And flang’t in St. Mary’s Lough.    

Trad.       
 

Wha Wadna Fecht for Charlie


Wha wadna fecht for Charlie?
Wha wadna draw the sword?
Wha wadna up an' rally
At the royal Prince's word?

Think on ancient Scotia's hero's
Think on foreign foes repelled
Think on loyal Bruce and Wallace
Wha the proud usurper quelled.

See the northern clans advancing
See Glen Garry and Lochiel
See the brandished broadsword glancing
Highland hearts as true as steel!

Now the prince has raised his banner
Now triumphant is our cause
Now the Scottish lion rallies
Let us strike for Prince and Laws!

Lord of the Dance

I danced in the morning when the world was begun
I danced in the moon, the stars and the sun
I danced down from Heaven and I danced on Earth
At Bethlehem I had my birth

Chorus:
Dance, then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the dance, said He

I danced for the scribe and the Pharisee
They would not dance; they would not follow me
So I danced for the fisherman, for James and John
They came with me and the dance went on

I danced on the Sabbath and I cured the lame
They holy people said it was a shame
So they whipped, they stripped, they hung me high
And they left me on the cross to die

I danced on a Friday, when the sky turned black
Its hard to dance with the Devil on your back
Oh they buried my body, they thought I'd gone
But I and the dance still go on

They cut me down, but I lept on high
I am the light that will never, never die
But I'll live in you if you'll live in Me
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he

Quote:

“What day is it?"

It's today," squeaked Piglet.

My favorite day," said Pooh.”


A.A. Milne

Follow the Fiery Cross

Heard ye the news on the wind,
Heard ye the news on the wind,
Clansman come forth for the Prince is in the North,
Heard ye the news on the wind.

Chorus: 
Caithness, Sutherland, Cromarty and Ross

Saw ye the sign in the sky,
Saw ye the sign in the sky,
In hundreds and tens, come the loyal highland men,
Saw ye the sign in the sky.

Saw ye the Highlands awake,
Saw ye the Highlands awake,
From Lewis and from Skye, wi' their guns and powder dry,
Saw ye the Highlands awake.

Saw ye the lights in their eye,
Saw ye the lights in their eye,
Stand if ye dare, sassenach beware,
Saw ye the lights in their eye.

Heard ye the skirl of the pipe,
Heard ye the beat of the drum,
Swing your claymore, let them hear your battle roar,
 
Charles Edward Stuart he has come.

Cumha Eoghan Ruaidh Uí Néill

(Lament For Owen Roe O'Neill)

Mar táid a Dhé na Gaedhil gan treóir is truagh!
Síol ádhmhar Néill, síol Éibhir mhóir i dtuaidh.
Síol Táil go tréith, sliocht Shéarlais chródha i nguais,
Gan cháil, gan chéim, ó'n éag sin Eógain Ruaidh.

I dtáimhcheas léir tá Éire ó bhóinn go Muaidh.
Ó Árdloch Léin go Daeil, go Feóir 'sgo buais.
Ó Mháigh go Léim, Ón Éirne fóst go Cruaich,
Gan lann, gan scéith, ó'n éag sin Eógain Ruaidh.

Is láidir a shéideas gaoth gach ló do thuaidh;
Is d'fhás ar léas na ghréine neóil go nuadh;
Is árd do ghéis gach spéir le dóghra cruaidh,
'Sní lán an éasg' ó'n éag sin Eógain Ruaidh.

Faoi chlár i gcré tá féile Fódla uainn.
Bláth na nGaedheal is éasga óir an tsluaigh.
Lámh na n-éacht nár chlaon ón chóir ar luach.
Is d'fhág Éire i mbaoghal fé léan ó'n lá do chuaidh.

100 Pipers

Wi' a hundred pipers, a' a', an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers, a' a', an' a',
We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw
Wi' a hundred pipers, a' a', an' a'.
O it's owre the border awa', awa'
It's owre the border awa', awa',
We'll on an' we'll march to Carlisle ha'
Wi' its yetts, its castle an' a', an a'.
 
Wi' a hundred pipers, a' a', an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers, a' a', an' a',
We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw
Wi' a hundred pipers, a' a', an' a'.

Oh! our sodger lads looked braw, looked braw,
Wi' their tartan kilts an' a', an' a',
Wi' their bonnets an' feathers an' glitt'rin' gear,
An' pibrochs sounding loud and clear.
Will they a' return to their ain dear glen?
Will they a' return oor Heilan' men?
Second sichted Sandy looked fu' wae.
An' mithers grat when they march'd away.

Oh! wha' is foremos o' a', o' a',
Oh wha' is foremost o' a', o' a',
Bonnie Charlie the King o' us a', hurrah!
Wi' his hundred pipers an' a', an ' a'.
His bonnet and feathers he's waving high,
His prancing steed maist seems to fly,
The nor' win' plays wi' his curly hair,
While the pipers play wi'an unco flare.

The Esk was swollen sae red an' sae deep,
But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep;
Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground
An' danced themselves dry to the pibroch's sound.
Dumfoun'er'd the English saw, they saw,
Dumfoun'er'd they heard the blaw, the blaw,
Dumfoun'er'd they a' ran awa', awa',
Frae the hundred pipers an' a', an ' a'.

The Last Of The Great Whales
   

My soul has been torn from me
And I am bleeding
My heart it has been rent
And I am crying
All the beauty around me fades
And I am screaming
I am the last of the great whales
And I am dying

Last night I heard the cry
Of my last companion
The roar of the harpoon gun
And then I was alone
I thought of the days gone by
When we were thousands
But I know that I soon must die
The last leviathan

This morning the sun did rise
Crimson in the north sky
The ice was the colour of blood
And the winds they did sigh
I rose for to take a breath
It was my last one
From a gun came the roar of death
And now I am done

Oh now that we are all gone
There's no more hunting
The big fellow is no more
It's no use lamenting
What race will be next in line?
All for the slaughter
The elephant or the seal
Or your sons and daughters

My soul has been torn from me
And I am bleeding
My heart it has been rent
And I am crying
All the beauty around me fades
And I am screaming
I am the last of the great whales
And I am dying.


Andy Barnes

The Lammas Tide

 
Now it fell about the Lammas Tide
When the muirmen whin their hay
The doughty Douglas bound him ride
Into England to drive a prey
He chose the Gordons and the Grahams
The Lindsays light and gay
But the Jardines wad' not wi' him ride
And they rue it to this day

Now he has burned all the dales o' Tyne
And part o' Bamburghshire
Three tall towers on Reedswire fells
He left them all on fire
He marched up tae Newcastle
And raided round about
Sayin' "Wha's the Lord o' this castle
And wha's the Lady o't?"

Then up bespake proud Percy there
And oh but he spake high
"I am the Lord o' this castle
My wife's the Lady gay"
"If thou art the Lord o' this castle
Sae weel it pleases me
For e'er I cross the border fells
The ane o' us shall dee"

Then he took a lang spear in his hand
Shod wi' the metal free
For tae meet the Douglas there
He rade right furiously
But oh how pale his lady looked
Frae off the castle wall
When down before the Scottish spear
She saw proud Percy fall

Now it fell about the Lammas Tide
When the muirmen whin their hay
The doughty Douglas bound him ride
Into England to drive a prey
He chose the Gordons and the Grahams
The Lindsays light and gay
But the Jardines wad' not wi' him ride
And they rue it to this day.

Trad.

Hymn To St Finbarr
 

You may talk of the Saints and the Scholars
Whose names we all learned in school
Who found Europe in sin and in squalor
And brought it to order and rule
A fig for these globe-trotting clerics
St. Ronan, St. Brendan, St. Gall
The man who gave women hysterics
Was Finbarr so handsome and tall

You can keep St. George and his dragons
St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes
For drinking the quarts and the naggins
St. Finbarr the trophy must take

While others were off gallivanting
In Brussels, Berlin and Paris
Finbarr his vespers was chanting
At home in his church by the Lee
His miracles all were astounding
But surely of all his great work
His finest achievement was founding
The beautiful city of Cork

You can keep St. George and his dragons
St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes
For drinking the quarts and the naggins
St. Finbarr the trophy must take

St. Canice above in Kilkenny
At hurling had made quite a name
He suffered an awful shock
When he took on our Finbarr at the game
St. Finbarr, he hurled like lightning
By pulling first time, low and high
He gave the poor man such a frightening
He thought that the Doomsday was nigh

You can keep St. George and his dragons
St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes
For drinking the quarts and the naggins
St. Finbarr the trophy must take

At bowling he cut quite a figure
On tarmac or gravel or sods
Men who were many times bigger
He beat by incredible odds
At draghunts and racetracks and meetings
His dogs always won with a will
And ever since then there's no beating
The dogs of the boys of Fair Hill

You can keep St. George and his dragons
St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes
For drinking the quarts and the naggins
St. Finbarr the trophy must take

Incensed with the heavy taxation
On brandy and spirits and wine,
Finbarr gave his dispensation to all
Without penance or fine
So the hills of West Cork were infested
With men making poitín and rum
Which then they consumed and digested
To make themselves totally numb

You can keep St. George and his dragons
St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes
For drinking the quarts and the naggins
St. Finbarr the trophy must take

Bould Finbarr being always ambitious
And eager to taste a smathán
In a way that was most surreptitious
He founded a still in Guagán
The stuff that he made was delicious
And eagerly sought and imbibed
But delivered an impact so vicious
That no-one who drank it survived

You can keep St. George and his dragons
St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes
For drinking the quarts and the naggins
St. Finbarr the trophy must take

At a conclave inside in St Peter's
The cardinals said with one voice
As they quaffed the red wine by the litre
That Finbarr for Pope was their choice
On hearing that he was elected
And urgently summoned to Rome
St Finbarr the job he rejected
Remarking "There's no place like home!"

You can keep St. George and his dragons
St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes
For drinking the quarts and the naggins
St. Finbarr the trophy must take.


Con Ó'Drisceoil

Quote:

The whole history of the world is summed up in the fact that, when nations are strong, they are not always just, and when they wish to be just, they are no longer strong.

W. S. Churchill

Viva La Quinta Brigada


Ten years before I saw the light of morning
A comradeship of heroes was laid
From every corner of the world came sailing
The Fifteenth International Brigade

They came to stand beside the Spanish people
To try and stem the rising fascist tide
Franco's allies were the powerful and wealthy
Frank Ryan's men came from the other side

Even the olives were bleeding
As the battle for Madrid it thundered on
Truth and love against the force of evil
Brotherhood against the fascist clan
 
Viva la Quinte Brigada
'No Pasaran', the pledge that made them fight
'Adelante' is the cry around the hillside
Let us all remember them tonight

Bob Hilliard was a Church of Ireland pastor
Form Killarney across the Pyrenees he came
From Derry came a brave young Christian Brother
Side by side they fought and died in Spain

Tommy Woods age seventeen died in Cordoba
With Na Fianna he learned to hold his gun
From Dublin to the Villa del Rio
Where he fought and died beneath the blazing sun

Viva la Quinte Brigada
'No Pasaran', the pledge that made them fight
'Adelante' is the cry around the hillside
Let us all remember them tonight

Many Irishmen heard the call of Franco
Joined Hitler and Mussolini too
Propaganda from the pulpit and newspapers
Helped O'Duffy to enlist his crew

The word came from Maynooth, 'support the Nazis'
The men of cloth failed again
When the Bishops blessed the Blueshirts in Dun Laoghaire
As they sailed beneath the swastika to Spain

Viva la Quinte Brigada
'No Pasaran', the pledge that made them fight
'Adelante' is the cry around the hillside
Let us all remember them tonight

This song is a tribute to Frank Ryan
Kit Conway and Dinny Coady too
Peter Daly, Charlie Regan and Hugh Bonar
Though many died I can but name a few

Danny Boyle, Blaser-Brown and Charlie Donnelly
Liam Tumilson and Jim Straney from the Falls
Jack Nalty, Tommy Patton and Frank Conroy
Jim Foley, Tony Fox and Dick O'Neill
 
Christy Moore

One Bullet

The rain is soaking to my shoulders
Falling soft upon the leaves,
Falling on these silent soldiers
Who hide beneath the forest eaves.

I can see it in their faces
All the strain and all the fear,
Months of war has etched their traces
On the boys who huddle here.

Our leaders order us as cattle
And beat our plowshares into swords,
Thus we gird our young for battle
And fill their minds with empty words.

Not for those who give the orders
Any place in this charade,
Safe behind their chartered borders
Not for them the grim parade.

Knuckles whitening, faces paling
Hope that withers with the dark
Hands that falter, courage failing
Waiting for the cannon's bark.

For yesterday I sent their brothers
Scrambling up this hill to die,
The day before that, were the others.
Who yet on the meadow lie.

I watched them as the battle closes
Amidst the carnage and the din,
Seen their wounds like deadly roses
Blooming crimson on their skin.

I've heard them coughing as they stumble
I've heard their moaning as they lie,
Heard frightened prayer turn to mumbles,
And final silence as they die.

The dead lie in their awkward slumber,
Having answered glory's call.
Lying scattered beyond number
Piled like cordwood by the wall.

And as for me I'm sick of sending
These frightened boys to butchery,
I swear that when this day is over,
There'll be one bullet left for me.

Garnet Rogers

Sleeping Buffalo

He lives an hour outside of Billings
The distant hills are brown and sere
The wind plays tricks outside your hearing
And whispers lies into your ears

He's got a station at a crossroads
He's got war medals in his den
He's got a wife in the county hospice
She's not coming home again

He filled my tank and cleaned the windshield
He popped the hood and checked the oil
He wiped his hands upon his chinos
His eyes were as dark as prairie soil

He said, "Do you know of the Sleeping Buffalo?
They're about a half an hour away
A ring of sacred stones upon a hilltop
That's what the Indians say

The Indians gathered in the springtime
Bearing gifts for the Buffalo
The white men set the stones in concrete
Behind a fence beside the road

I used to go when I was younger
Before I fought in Hitler's war
Now it's a park for the goddam tourists
I won't go there anymore"
He said, "Son I ain't no Indian
You can look at me and tell
But bastards like Custer had it coming
I hope he's burning still in hell"

I left him at that windy crossroads
The shades of night began to fall
I thought I'd drive toward the sunset
And pay the Buffalo a call

The sun was just below the hilltops
The night wind pulled me by my shirt
I walked toward the granite figures
Behind the fence, set in the dirt

They loomed dull grey in the gathering twilight
I saw faded paint of red and blue
Some ancient hand had chiseled markings
Now a graven image for a roadside zoo

But I drew near I saw the flowers
Tobacco and fresh cartridges lay near
And so, for some faithful unseen wanderers
The Buffalo's spirit lingers here.

Beyond This Wall


Close your eyes, put down your gun,
Rest yourself, try to catch your breath

Beyond this wall
Below that hill, behind that house
Lies a dusty death
You learn real fast if you're halfway smart
To keep your head down, bide your time.
I've seen too many eager kids like you
Catch a bullet, we send them down the line.

That one there, he's just a kid
Maybe 14, but don't you be fooled
His father's fathers for 200 years learned to fight in a harsher school
They whipped the British and the Russians too, from the Khyber Pass to Khye-Kheen hills
My guess is a 100 years from now, they'll be whipping someone still.

We picked one up, looked a lot like him, on a night patrol in Khandahar
I tried to grab his shoulder
But he slipped away and turned to run, but not that far
There was shouting, firing, the night split open in the flash of the I.E.D
One swift moment, it was over
I looked around, we'd lost three.

Just look around you, no rich kids here
Mostly middle class and working poor
Sons and daughters sweating out another dirty little war
Dust and sweat, the end of hope, crippling fear, sudden pain
Dreams and faith flushed like blood, flushed like blood down a filthy drain.

My son turned one two days ago
I haven't held him yet
My wife emails me pictures, holds him to the phone
You take what you can get.
Christmas and birthdays come and go, from day to dusty day
We listen to each other breathing on the phone and lie that everything's ok.

Well, I miss my family, I miss my wife
I miss the kid I've never known
If  by some small chance I'm spared my life
I swear I'll never leave my home.

Why we're here
What's the bigger picture
Why we're fighting, well it's not for me to say
I'll keep my head down
And with God's grace
I'll fight to live, fight to live
Another day.

Garnet Rogers

Empty Glass


Takes two days to cross Nebraska
Give or take a year
A lifetime's worth of cigarettes twice that many beers

He's driving east
His tail between his legs
He's lost the highway itch
His wanderlust died years ago
He left it rotting in a ditch

Rain clouds in the rearview
Radio playing low
Two million miles behind him
A million miles to go

There's no Hank or Merle or Johnny now
You can't hear them anymore
Just redneck clowns with stupid hats
And young girls dressed as whores

And they grind them out like sausages
They all sound much the same
There's no room for him on the radio
He never learned to play the game
He pulled over towards evening
In a quiet Midwest town
Just a motel and a watertower
Cornfields all around

A fat man with blue marine tattoos
Showed him to his room
He put his guitar and his satchel down
Sat there in the gloom

And a dog barked down the street
He saw fresh laundry on a line
Next door a couple was making love
Somewhere a baby was crying

Another drink would go good now
One drink and then one more
Maybe, one more just for luck
No one's keeping score

He lay back in the darkness
On the narrow motel bed
He closed his eyes and heard the music still
Playing in his head
And a moth beat on the window screen
His breath grew soft and slow
He dreamt about a time and place
So many years ago

Cool mornings under cloudless skies
Barefoot on the grass
Looking at the world with hungry eyes
Nose pressed against the glass

In the cornfields around the town
A million fireflies rose
Dancing winking in the dark
As the day drew to a close

And so in clouds their numbers grew
And their ghostly light grew too
As through the dark and empty streets
Towards his room they flew
They flew in through his open door
Above the bed where still he lay
They gently lifted him aloft
And carried him away

And they floated him above the church
And the roofs of the little town
They carried him out into the dark
And gently set him down

And bit by bit and by and by
As the fireflies shone their light
The old singer disappeared
Into the breathing night

The motel maid tapped on the door
Next morning with her key
She swung it wide, looked inside
All that she could see

Was a guitar and empty glass
A satchel on the bed
And the imprint on the pillow
Where he had laid his head

The wind blows warm from Kansas
Thorough empty silent hills
Seasons come seasons go
As seasons always will

Somewhere where the waves of grass
Stretch on out of sight
His songs are on the prairie wind
Faintly in the night.



Garnet Rogers

The Enniskillen Dragoons

Fare thee well Enniskillen, fare thee well for a while
And all around the borders of Erin's green isle
And when the war is over we'll return in full bloom
And we'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoons

A beautiful damsel of fame and renown
A gentleman's daughter from Monaghan town
As she drove by the barracks this beautiful maid
Stood up in her coach to see Dragoons on parade

Fare thee well Enniskillen, fare thee well for a while
And all around the borders of Erin's green isle
And when the war is over we'll return in full bloom
And we'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoons

They were all dressed out like gentlemen's sons
Their fine shining sabres and their carbine guns
Their silver mounted pistols, she observed them full soon
Because she loved an Enniskillen Dragoon

Fare thee well Enniskillen, fare thee well for a while
And all around the borders of Erin's green isle
And when the war is over we'll return in full bloom
And we'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoons

Flora dear Flora your pardon I crave
It's now and forever that I'll be your slave
Your parents have insulted both morn, night and noon
Because you would wed an Enniskillen Dragoon

Fare thee well Enniskillen, fare thee well for a while
And all around the borders of Erin's green isle
And when the war is over we'll return in full bloom
And we'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoons

Willie dearest Willie don't heed what they say
For children their parents are bound to obey
But when the war is over they'll all change their tune
And you'll roll me in your arms by the light of the moon

Fare thee well Enniskillen, fare thee well for a while
And all around the borders of Erin's green isle
And when the war is over we'll return in full bloom
And we'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoons.

Trad

For Mrs. T's great uncle Captain Joseph Leonard.

Michael Collins



Come listen all me true men to my simple rhyme
For it tells of a young man cut off in his prime
A soldier and a statesman who laid down the law
And to die by the roaside in lone Beal na Blath
When barely sixteen to England crossed o'er
For to work as a boy in a government store
But the Volunteers call he could not disobey
So he came back to Dublin to join in the fray

At Easter nineteen sixteen when Pearse called them out
The men from the Dublin battalion roved out
And in the Post Office they nobly did show
How a handful of heros could outfight the foe

To Stafford and jails transported they were
As prisoners of England they soon made a stir
Released before Christmas and home once again
He banded old comrades together to train
Dail Eireann assembled our rights to proclaim
Suppressed by the English you'd think it's a shame
How Ireland's best and bravest were harried and torn
From the Arms of their loved ones and children new born

At Easter nineteen sixteen when Pearse called them out
The men from the Dublin battalion roved out
And in the Post Office they nobly did show
How a handful of heros could outfight the foe

For years Mick eluded their soldiers and spies
For he was the master of clever disguise
With the Custom House blazing she found t'was no use
And soon Mother England had asked for a truce
Oh, when will the young men a sad lesson spurn
That brother and brother they never should turn
Alas that a split in our ranks 'ere we saw
Mick Collins stretched lifeless in lone Beal na Blath

At Easter nineteen sixteen when Pearse called them out
The men from the Dublin battalion roved out
And in the Post Office they nobly did show
How a handful of heros could outfight the foe

Oh, long will old Ireland be seeking in vain
Ere we find a new leader to match the man slain
A true son of Grainne his name long will shine
O gallant Mike Collins cut off in his prime

At Easter nineteen sixteen when Pearse called them out
The men from the Dublin battalion roved out
And in the Post Office they nobly did show
How a handful of heros could outfight the foe.


Derek Warfield

McDonalds' Raiders

Well, an old castle towers o'er the billows
That thunder by Antrim's green land
And there dwelt as gallant a rover
That ever grasped sword in his hand
While eight stately towers o'er the waters
Watch over the northern domain
And Sorley-boy and his raiders
Hold the north Antrim coast in their name

And it's up wi' bold Sorley McDonald
Sorley-boy McDonald the free
As straight as the masts of his galley
As strong as the waves on the sea

The septs and the clans of MacQuillen
They harried his lands with their powers
He gave them a taste of his cannon
Then drove them like sheep from his towers
Well, the men and MacQuillen sailed over
Their strong fleet to make him a slave
They met him off old Port na Spaniagh
And the sharks gnawed their bones 'neath the waves

And it's up wi' bold Sorley McDonald
Sorley-boy McDonald the free
As straight as the masts of his galley
As strong as the waves on the sea

Long time in that old battered castle
Or out on the waves with his band
He feasted and ventured and conquered
And unloosed would give in to no man
He lived as a daring sea-raider
And died as a brave man should die
And he sleeps at the old Bonamargie Friary
And the waves sing a dirge to the skies

And it's up wi' bold Sorley McDonald
Sorley-boy McDonald the free
As straight as the masts of his galley
As strong as the waves on the sea.

Trad.

The McGregors

McGregor o' the heilan' clan ye left five sons and no' a man
Your motley crew dae a' they can tae terrorize the border
Young Jamie we' his fourteen weans, ne'er a steek tae claed their banes
Wi' idle lands and little brains cause nothing but disorder

McGregor o you've left your gun tae Robin Oidh your second son
Noo poor McLaren's days are done, Jamie's ta'en his cattle
He's led them af at early dawn, your widow Ellen led them on
She'd better see that they are gone, or be prepared for battle

McGregor o your kith and kin have loupit ower the loch and linn
A wife o' Robin they maun bin, pick on one wi' plenty
Young Jamie's taen a widow tree, wi' mansion hoose for a' tae see
Her mother just for company, and Jean was barely twenty

McGregor a tae see them go intae the hills abune Glencoe
The rascals noo are lyin' low, hope for Jeannie's favours
But she would spurn the rogue's embrace, her tempered wrath was hard tae face
They swore they'd put her in her place, and on her best behavior

McGregor o if you could see the pleedin' in the lassie's e'e
I'm sure ye'd set the widow free, it's cruel tae hear her sobbin'
Against her will though she be led, and ae man force her tae the bed
Arm up the kirk where they are wed. She'll ne'er submit tae Robin

McGregor o it's drawing near, this time the law will mak' it clear
The rascal's days are short I fear, hands are on the lever
The gallows noo will have its chance, Jamie's fled awa' tae France
He'll no' be here tae see Rab dance. In Hell they'll meet thegither.

Trad.

Kelly The Boy From Killan
   
What's the news, what's the news oh my bold Shelmalier
With your long barrelled guns from the sea
Say what wind from the south brings a messenger here
With the hymn of the dawn for the free
Goodly news, goodly news do I bring youth of Forth
Goodly news shall you hear Bargy man
For the boys march at dawn from the south to the north
Led by Kelly the boy from Killan

Tell me who is that giant with the gold curling hair
He who rides at the head of your band
Seven feet is his height with some inches to spare
And he looks like a king in command
Ah my boys that's the pride of the bold Shelmaliers
'Mongst greatest of hero's a man
Fling your beavers aloft and give three ringing cheers
For John Kelly the boy from Killan

Enniscorthy's in flames and old Wexford is won
And tomorrow the Barrow we will cross
On a hill o'er the town we have planted a gun
That will batter the gateway to Ross
All the Forth men and Bargy men will march o'er the heath
With brave Harvey to lead in the van
But the foremost of all in that grim gap of death
Will be Kelly the boy from Killan

But the gold sun of freedom grew darkened at Ross
And it set by the Slaney's red waves
And poor Wexford stripped naked, hung high on a cross
With her heart pierced by traitors and slaves
Glory-o, glory-o to her brave sons who died
For the cause of long down trodden man
Glory-o to Mount Leinster's own darling and pride
Dauntless Kelly the boy from Killan.

Patrick Joseph McCall

Raglan Road


On Raglan Road of an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might one day rue
I saw the danger and I passed
Along the enchanted way
And I said let grief be a fallen leaf
At the dawning of the day

On Grafton Street in November
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worth of passion's play
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay
Oh I loved too much and by such by such
Is happiness thrown away

I gave her gifts of the mind
I gave her the secret signs
That's known to the artists who have known
The true Gods of sound and stone
And words and tint without stint
I gave her poems to say
With her own name there and her own dark hair
Like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly
My reason must allow
That I had loved not as I should
A creature made of clay
When the angel woos the clay he'll lose
His wings at the dawn of day.

Patrick Kavanagh

The Rebel


I am come of the seed of the people
The people that sorrow
That have no treasure but hope
No riches laid up
But a memory of an Ancient glory
My mother bore me in bondage
In bondage me mother was born
I'm of the blood of serfs
The children with whom I have played
The men and women with whom I have eaten
Have had masters over them
Have been under the lash of masters
And, though gentle, have served churls
The hands that have touched mine
The dear hands, whose touch is familiar to me
Have worn shameful manacles
Have been bitten at the wrist by manacles
Have grown hard with manacles
And the task-work of strangers
I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly
I am bone of their bone
I, that have never submitted
I, that have a soul
Greater than the souls of my people's masters
I, that have vision and prophecy
And the gift of fiery speech
I, that have spoken with God
On the top of his holy hill

And because I am of the people
I understand the people
I am sorrowful with their sorrow
I am hungry with their desire
My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers
My eyes have been wet with the tears of children
I have yearned with old wistful men
And laughed or cursed with young men
Their shame is my shame
And I've reddened for it
Reddened for that they have served
They who should be free
Reddened for that they have gone in want
While others have been full
Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers
And of their jailers
With their writs of summons and their handcuffs
Men mean and cruel
I could have borne stripes on my body
Rather than this shame of my people

And now I speak, being full of vision
I speak to my people and I speak in my people's name
To the masters of my people
I say to my people that they are holy
That they are august, despite their chains
That they are greater than those that hold them
And stronger and purer
That they have but need of courage
And to call on the name of their God
God the unforgetting
The dear God that loves the people
For whom he died naked, suffering shame
And I say to my people's masters: "Beware"
Beware of the thing that is coming
Beware of the risen people, who shall take
What ye would not give
Did ye think to conquer the people?
Or that Law is stronger than life
And than men's desire to be free?
We will try it out with you
Ye, that have harried and held
Ye, that have bullied and bribed
Tyrants, Hypocrites, Liars.

Pádraic Pearse

Protestant Men
   

It was back in history's page, the story's told
Of a Napper Tandy brave and bold
With his scarlet and green, he then was seen
With his big long gun his fighting men
And they beat at the drum, they fired their gun
And they shook the English establishment
And the Lords and the Peers they then put fears
And Grattan got his Parliament

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

In Belfast town there lived a man
And his name was Samuel Neilson
A minister's son, Presbyterian
And the paper called the Northern Star
There was Henry Joy, the Green Volunteers
And Thomas Russell and McCabe and McTeir
And to them was known a man Wolfe Tone
And they formed the first United Men

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

So you sow your laws with dragons teeth and soon
You'll see that you've sowed the seeds of bigotry
Be Englands fool divide they'll rule
So they set to break the United Men
And they killed them in the fields and some in jail
And some upon the Gallows high
When Willie Orr died his very last cry was
"Unite and fight brave Irishmen"

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen

Cast dissensions to the wind let all men lend
To the common name of an Irishman
For across historys page to rant and rage
Men crossed the pails of bigotry
There was the men of '98 no sadder fate
Lord Edward, Tone and the brothers Sheres
It was Emmet's plea in 18 and 3
When he tried to set our country free

So here's to those great Protestant Men
Who gave their lives to free our land
All the people sang their praises then
For those brave United Irishmen.

Trad.

Note:

The Great Black Lump has gone off to the medios to have her teeth checked. They best be carefull. She has mighty teeth. Scares the Queen's Own don'cha know.

A Nation Once Again


When boyhood's fire was in my blood
I read of ancient freemen
For Greece and Rome who bravely stood
Three hundred men and three men
And then I prayed I yet might see
Our fetters rent in twain
And Ireland. long a province
Be a nation once again!

A nation once again
A nation once again
And Ireland, long a province
Be a nation once again!

And from that time, through wildest woe
That hope has shown a far light
Nor could love's brightest summer glow
Outshine that solemn starlight
It seemed to watch above my head
In forum, field and fame
Its angel voice sang round my bed
A nation once again

A nation once again
A nation once again
And Ireland, long a province
Be a nation once again!

It whisper'd too, that freedom's ark
And service high and holy
Would be profaned by feeling dark
And passions vain or lowly
For, freedom comes from God's right hand
And needs a godly train
And righteous men must make our land
A nation once again!

A nation once again
A nation once again
And Ireland, long a province
Be a nation once again!


Patrick Joseph McCall

The Banks Of Newfoundland
 

Me bully boys of Liverpool
I'll have you to beware
When you sail in the packet ship
No dungaree jumpers wear
But have a big monkey jacket
All ready to your hand
For there blows some cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

We'll scrape her and we'll scrub her
With holy stone and sand
And we'll think of them cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

There was Jack Lynch from Ballinahinch
Mike Murphy and some more
I tell you well, they suffered like hell
On the way to Baltimore
They pawned there gear in Liverpool
And they sailed as they did stand
And there blows some cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

We'll scrape her and we'll scrub her
With holy stone and sand
And we'll think of them cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

The mate he stood on the fo'c'sle head
And loudly he did roar
Now rattle her in me lucky lads
We're bound for America's shore
Go wash the mud off that dead man's face
And heave to beat the band
For there blow some cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

We'll scrape her and we'll scrub her
With holy stone and sand
And we'll think of them cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

So now it's reef and reef, me boys
With the canvas frozen hard
And it's mount and pass every mother's son
On a ninety-foot tops'l yard
Never mind about boots and oilskins
But haul or you'll be damned!
For there blows some cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

We'll scrape her and we'll scrub her
With holy stone and sand
And we'll think of them cold nor'westers
On the banks of Newfoundland

And now we're off the Hook, me boys
And the land's all white with snow
But soon we'll see the pay table
And have all night below
And on the docks come down in flocks
Them pretty girls will stand
Sayin': "It's snugger with me than it is at sea
On the banks of Newfoundland"

So we'll scrape her and we'll scrub her
With holy stone and sand
For while we're here, we can't be there
On the banks of Newfoundland.

Trad.

The Bard Of Armagh


Oh, list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strains of his old withered hand
But remember his fingers they once could move sharper
To raise up the memory of his dear native land

At a fair or a wake I could twist my shillelagh
Or trip through a jig with my brogues bound with straw
And all the pretty colleens in the village or the valley
Loved their bold Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh

Oh, how I long to muse on the days of my boyhood
Though four-score and three years have flitted since then
But it bring sweet reflections as every young joy should
For the merry-hearted boys make the best of old men

And when Sergeant Death in his cold arms shall embrace me
Then lull me to sleep with sweet Erin go Bragh
By the side of my Kathleen, my young wife, then place me
And forget Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh.

Trad.

The Ballad Of Michael Collins
   

The bark of a dog breaks the silence
Like a bitter last hurrah
And a raven spreads it's wings for flight
Over fields near Beál Na mBláth
With a rifle still clasped to his breast
But hanging low his head
A black August day in the County Cork
Michael Collins is dead

Hang out your brightest colours
His memory now recall
Each one wants a part of him
But no-one wants it all

Working over in London town
When he joined the I.R.B.
Sworn to use, both, deadly force
His native land to free
His squad is ready and willing to strike
His love for his ruthless charm
The Laughing Boy smiles at the castle
It's a smile to cause alarm

Hang out your brightest colours
His memory now recall
Each one wants a part of him
But no-one wants it all

A British intelligence agent
Is working from a Dublin room
Michael Collins adds a name to a list
That will take men to the tomb
A spy slowly rises from his chair
And walks across the floor
A man with a parabellum
Is knocking at the door

Hang out your brightest colours
His memory now recall
Each one wants a part of him
But no-one wants it all

Returning then to London town
Who will take the blame?
The Treaty lies before him
Michael Collins adds his name
A darker time lies across the land
Who will bear the load?
An awkward hero in an armoured car
On an Irish country road

Hang out your brightest colours
His memory now recall
Each one wants a part of him
But no-one wants it all

The bark of a dog breaks the silence
Like a bitter last hurrah
And a raven spreads it's wings for flight
Over fields near Beál Na mBláth.


Brendan O'Reilly

The Death Of The Bear

The balalaika rings silent from Minsk to Red Square
The cortege assembles to bury the bear
Nadia Rostropovich looks on in despair
With Irina, Catharina and Olga

And quietly remembering her brother Ivan
Shot in the back in Afghanistan
The Stalinist purges, the snowy white grave
That claimed Boris, Dimitri and Igor

She remembered how proud she cheered with the crowd
When Youri Gagarin sailed over the clouds
Nadia and Ivan shouted aloud
We put the first man in space

But that was before the feared KGB
Put a question mark over her own loyalty
To keep an eye on her comrades one two and three
Irina, Catharina and Olga

And poor uncle Vlad' whom the Doc declared mad
For refusing to leave his beloved Leningrad
She stood in the doorway tearful and sad
When they frog-marched him of to the Gulag

He took a last look at his own native hills
Where grew the red dogwoods and wild daffodils
The look on his face was haunting her still
Comrade Naja Rastropovic

Sometimes alone she'd think of the West
Ladies with opals adorning their breast
Park Avenue poseurs who behave like the Tzar
With silver coke spoons for their caviar

She'd reflect back to when she'd just turned ten
And faithfully subscribed to fair play for all men
But seventy odd years of Bolsjevik dreams
Had worn down her pride and left her no means
To cope with her own disillusions

If Trotsky and Engels saw the Dachas and Zils
The Politburo boys with their hands in the till
The bear was long dead before he got ill
Was it the cure or was it the fever?

No more reds under beds to freak out the Feds
A defunct Superpower in tatters and shreds
The marks left by Karl leave them queuing for bread
In the Caucasus, Baltic and Urals.

Donal McDonald

The Dublin Fusiliers
   

Well, you've heard about the Indians
With their tommy hawks and spears
And of the UN warriors
The heroes of recent years
Also I might mention the British Grenadiers
Well none of them were in it but the Dublin Fusiliers
You've heard about the Light Brigade
And of the deeds they've done
And of the other regiments
That many vic'tries won
But the pride of all the armies
Dragoons and Carabiniers
Was that noble band of warriors
The Dublin Fusiliers

With your left foot and right about face
This is the way we go
Charging with fixed bayonets
The terror of every foe
A glory to old Ireland
As proud as buccaneers
And a terror to Creation are
The Dublin Fusiliers

Well you've heard about the wars between
The Russians and the Brits
The sar' one day was reading
An ould copy of "Titbits"
And when the General came to him
And threw himself down in tears
"We'd better run back like blazes
Here's the Dublin Fusiliers"
The sar' commenced to tremble
And he bit his underlip
"Begorra boys!" says he
"I think we'd better take the tip
The Devil's come from Dublin
And to judge from what I hears
They're demons of militia men
The Dublin Fusiliers

With your left foot and right about face
This is the way we go
Charging with fixed bayonets
The terror of every foe
A glory to old Ireland
As proud as buccaneers
And a terror to Creation are
The Dublin Fusiliers

Well the Seargent cried: "Get ready lads
Lay down each sword and gun
Take off your shoes and stockings boys
And when I tell yous, run"
They didn't stop but started
And amidst three ringing cheers
Came a shower of bricks and bullets
From the Dublin Fusiliers
The time that Julius Ceasar tried
To land down at Ringsend
The coastguards couldn't stop them
So for the Dublins they did send
And just as they were landing, lads
We heard three ringing cheers:
"Get back to Rome like blazes
Here's the Dublin Fusiliers"

With your left foot and right about face
This is the way we go
Charging with fixed bayonets
The terror of every foe
A glory to old Ireland
As proud as buccaneers
And a terror to Creation are
The Dublin Fusiliers.

Donald McGillavry
   

Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry
Donald comes down the hill wild and angry
Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly
Here's to the king and Donald McGillavry
Come like a weighbauk, Donald McGillavry
Come like a weighbauk, Donald McGillavry
Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly
Off wi' the counterfeit, Donald McGillavry

Donald's run o'er the hill but his tether, man
As he were wud, or stang'd wi' an ether, man
When he comes back, there's some will look merrily
Here's to King James and Donald McGillavry
Come like a weaver, Donald McGillavry
Come like a weaver, Donald McGillavry
Pack on your back, and elwand sae cleverly
Gie them full measure, my Donald McGillavry

Donald has foughten wi' rief and roguery
Donald has dinner'd wi banes and beggary
Better it were for Whigs and Whiggery
Meeting the devil than Donald McGillavry
Come like a tailor, Donald McGillavry
Come like a tailor, Donald McGillavry
Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly
Here's to King James and Donald McGillavry

Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness
Whigging and prigging and a'newfangleness
They maun be gane: he winna be baukit, man
He maun hae justice, or faith he'll tak it, man
Come like a cobler, Donald McGillavry
Come like a cobler, Donald McGillavry
Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly
Up wi' King James and Donald McGillavry

Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery
Donald was blinded wi' blads o' property
Arles ran high, but makings were naething, man
Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man
Come like the devil, Donald McGillavry
Come like the devil, Donald McGillavry
Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly
Up wi' King James and Donald McGillavry.

Trad.

Amhrán Na BhFiann

Seo dhibh a cháirde duan Óglaigh
Cathréimeach briomhar ceolmhar
Ár dtinte cnámh go buacach táid
'S an spéir go min réaltogach
Is fonnmhar faobhrach sinn chun gleo
'S go tiúnmhar glé roimh thíocht do'n ló
Fé chiúnas chaomh na hoiche ar seol
Seo libh canaídh Amhrán na bhFiann

Sinne Fianna Fáil
A tá fé gheall ag Éirinn
buion dár slua
Thar toinn do ráinig chugainn
Fé mhóid bheith saor
Sean tír ár sinsir feasta
Ní fhagfar fé'n tiorán ná fé'n tráil
Anocht a théam sa bhearna bhaoil
Le gean ar Ghaeil chun báis nó saoil
Le guna screach fé lámhach na bpiléar
Seo libh canaídh Amhrán na bhFiann

Cois bánta réidhe, ar árdaibh sléibhe
Ba bhuachach ár sinsir romhainn
Ag lámhach go tréan fé'n sár-bhrat séin
Tá thuas sa ghaoith go seolta
Ba dhúchas riamh d'ár gcine cháidh
Gan iompáil siar ó imirt áir
'S ag siúl mar iad i gcoinne námhad
Seo libh, canaídh Amhrán na bhFiann

Sinne Fianna Fáil
A tá fé gheall ag Éirinn
buion dár slua
Thar toinn do ráinig chugainn
Fé mhóid bheith saor
Sean tír ár sinsir feasta
Ní fhagfar fé'n tiorán ná fé'n tráil
Anocht a théam sa bhearna bhaoil
Le gean ar Ghaeil chun báis nó saoil
Le guna screach fé lámhach na bpiléar
Seo libh canaídh Amhrán na bhFiann

A bhuíon nách fann d'fhuil Ghaeil is Gall
Sin breacadh lae na saoirse
Ta scéimhle 's scanradh i gcroíthe namhad
Roimh ranna laochra ár dtire
Ár dtinte is tréith gan spréach anois
Sin luisne ghlé san spéir anoir
'S an bíobha i raon na bpiléar agaibh
Seo libh, canaídh Amhrán na bhFiann

Sinne Fianna Fáil
A tá fé gheall ag Éirinn
buion dár slua
Thar toinn do ráinig chugainn
Fé mhóid bheith saor
Sean tír ár sinsir feasta
Ní fhagfar fé'n tiorán ná fé'n tráil
Anocht a théam sa bhearna bhaoil
Le gean ar Ghaeil chun báis nó saoil
Le guna screach fé lámhach na bpiléar
Seo libh canaídh Amhrán na bhFiann.