Fred Redden CD Lyrics

1. The Wind that Shakes the Corn
2. The Lovely Banks of Boyne
3. Mally Leigh
4. Nell Flaherty's Drake
5. The Flower of Sweet Strabane
6. My Cape Breton Home
7. The Cobalt Song
8. Mantle of Green
9. The Cumberland's Crew
10. County Tyrone
11. Pat Malone Forgot that  He Was Dead
12. Doran's Ass

13. The Days of Forty-Nine
14. Erin So Far Away
15. Moreton Bay
16. The Dawning of the Day
17. Six Feet of Earth
18. Courtin' in the Kitchen
19. Nineteen Years Old
20. The Bold Wattler
21. The Turfman From Ardee
22. Noreen Bawn
23. Ballyjamesduff
24. Highland Soldier
25. Neddy Horne's Clogs

1. The Wind that Shakes the Corn

I sat within the valley green in the glen of Atherlow
I sat and thought I'd choose between old Erin or my love.
I looked at her and then I thought how Ireland was torn,
How soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden corn.

It was hard the sad news to tell of how I'd leave my home,
How I would roam for many's the year far from my native home;
How I would leave my own dear glen -- I would leave in early morn,
And join them brave United men, as soft wind shook the corn.

I tried to drive away her fears, my arms around her flung.
A gun shot burst upon our ears from out the wild woods 'round.
A bullet pierced my true love's side, midst the rose bush and the thorn,
And in my eyes, my true love died, while soft winds shook the corn.

Now I have roamed for many's the year since I left my dear glen,
And many the fray I've fought and won with those United men.
As up the glen I wander drear, sometimes in early morn,
With breaking heart sometimes I hear the wind that shakes the corn.


2. The Lovely Banks of Boyne

I am a youthful damsel; I loved my laddy well.
I loved him more sincerely than human hearts can tell.
His promises seemed sincere to me, his aspects gay and fine,
But he left me here to wander round the lovely banks of Boyne.

He courted me a year or two, he promised he would wed.
First he gained my favour and then from me he fled.
His love it flew like the morning dew when the sun began to shine,
But he left me here to wander 'round the lovely banks of Boyne.

I understand this fair young man to London sailed away.
I packed up all my jewelry just on that very day.
I bid farewell to my parents dear, who for me now do pine,
And left my father's castle on the lovely banks of Boyne.

I followed him with heavy heart into old London town,
Where I hear he has got married to a lady of renown.
I wish him health and happiness, with all his golden coin,
But for him I'll yearn and now return to the lovely banks of Boyne.

Farewell unto yon purling stream that glides so far away
Where me and my young lover spent many a happy day.
Within the walls of bedlam I'll spend my youthful time
But in dream my mind willwander back to the lovely banks of Boyne.


3. Mally Leigh

As Mally Leigh came down the street her capuchin she did flee,
She cast a look behind her to see her negligee.
She had twa lappits at her head, that flaunted gallantly,
And ribbon knots at back and breast, the bonny Mally Leigh.

And we're all gone east and west;
We're all gone a-gee,
We're all gone east and west,
A-courtin' Mally Leigh.

As down along the cannon gate where beaus of ilk degree,
And many a one turned 'round to look at bonny Mally Leigh.

From Seton's land, the countess fair looked o'er a window hi',
And pine to see the gentle shape o' bonny Mally Leigh.

And when she reached the palace porch, there lounged nobles three,
And each one thought his Kate or Meg a drab to Mally Leigh.


She danced right through the palace hall, a comely sight to see,
And none was there so bright or braw as bonny Mally Leigh.

Though some had jewels in their hair, like stars 'mong clouds did shine,
Yet Mally did surpass them all with but her gleaming eye.

A prince come out from among 'em all with a garter at his knee,
And danced a stately rigadoon with bonny Mally Leigh.



4. Nell Flaherty's Drake

Oh, my name it is Nell and the truth for to tell,
I came from Coot Hill which I'll never deny.
I had a fine drake and I'd die for his sake,
That my grandmother gave me and she's going to die.
The dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow,
He could fly like a swallow or swim like a hake,
Til some dirty savage, to grease his white cabbage,
Most wantonly murdered my beautiful drake.

His neck it was green, most fit to be seen,
He was fit for a queen of the highest degree;
His body was white -- and would you delight --
He was plump fat and round and brisk as a bee.
He was wholesome and sound, he weighed twenty pound;
The universe round I would roam for his sake.
Bad wind to the robber, be he drunk or sober,
That murdered Nell Flaherty's beautiful drake.

May his pig never grunt; may his cat never hunt;
May a ghost ever haunt him at dead of the night;
May his hen never lay; may his ass never bray;
May his goat fly away like an old paper kite.
May the flies and the fleas the wretch ever tease;
May the piercing March wind make him shiver and shake;
May the lump of a stick raise bumps fast and thick
On the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake.

May his spade never dig; may his sow never pig;
May each hair on his wig be well threshed with a flail;
May his door never latch; may his house have no thatch;
May his turkeys not hatch; may the rats eat his mail (meal).
May every old fairy from Cork to Dunlarey,
Dip him snug and airy in river or lake,
Where the eel and the trout may dine on the snout
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's drake.

Oh, the only good news that I have to infuse
Is that old Paddy Hughes and young Anthony Blake
Also Johnny Dwyer and Corny McGuire
Each man has a grandson of my darling drake.
My treasure has dozens of nephews and cousins
And one I must get or my heart, it will break
To keep my mind easy or else I'll run crazy
So ends the whole story of Nell Flaherty's drake.


5. The Flower of Sweet Strabane

If I were king of Ireland and had things at my will,
I'd roam for recreation to get some comfort still,
But the comforts I would seek the most, as you may understand,
Is that lovely girl called Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.

Her cheeks they were a rosy red, and her hair a lovely brown,
Which on her milk white shoulders so carelessly hung down.
She is one of the fairest creatures in this whole melesian clan,
And this darling's name was Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.

If I had you, lovely Martha, way down in Ennistymon,
Or in some lovely valley in the wild woods of Tyrone,
I'd do my best endeavour to work my newest plan
To win the heart of Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.

I often been to the Liffy banks and the winding bank of Ayre,
I've been to bonny Scotland, and there's none that can compare
With that darling girl called Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.

But since I cannot win her love, no joy there is for me.
I'm sailing for America, far o'er the wide blue sea.
My boat is bound for Liverpool, hard by the Isle of Mann,
So farewell my lovely Martha, the flower of sweet Strabane.


6. My Cape Breton Home

(composed by Lillian Crewe Walsh and Charlie MacKinnon, arranged by Fred Redden)

Round the scenes of my childhood
My memory doth cling
While others great stories of other lands sing
They speak of the grandeur of Italy and Rome
But say not a word of my Cape Breton home.

Wherever I wander on land or on sea
The place of my childhood remembered shall be
God's blessing rest on it wherever I roam
I shall never forget thee Cape Breton home.

The lakes and the valleys, the pastures so green
The wide rolling hillsides I see in my dream
The thoughts of my childhood wherever I roam
I shall never forget thee my Cape Breton home.

I love every inch of my own native shore
And listen with joy to the old ocean roar.
And gaze with delight on the clear, sparkling foam
That plays round the cliffs of my Cape Breton home.

In a small, quiet village that stands by the sea
I played with my comrades, lighthearted and free
Some sleep in the churchyard while others have roamed.
And left far behind them their Cape Breton home.

Let others tell tales of the great golden west,
The place of my childhood's the land I love best.
There is no fairer country 'neath heaven's bright dome,
There is none can surpass thee, my Cape Breton home.


7. Cobalt Song

(related to the song composed by L.F. Steenman and R.L. MacAdam, 1910, about Cobalt, Ontario)

Let us sing a song of Cobalt
If you don't live there it's your fault.
Dear old Cobalt, you're the best old town I know.
Where all the silver comes from
Where you live a life and then some
Dear old Cobalt, you're the best old town I know.

Oh, we stay up here at Nancy's
Buy whiskey down at Clancey's
We board at No-Pants-Nora's
Where there's tons of buns and stew.
And there's pots of some slumgullion
Made up of beef and mullion
And one-eyed Annie fries the steaks
You can neither chop nor chew.

And you have no time to worry
For you're always in a hurry
In dear old Cobalt, you're the best old town I know.

Let us sing a song of Cobalt
If you don't live there that's your fault.
Dear old Cobalt you're the place I like to be.
Where all the silver comes from
Where you live a life and then some.
Oh, it's hobnailed boots and a flannel shirt
In Cobalt town for me.


8. Mantle of Green

As I went awalking one morning in May
Where Nature's green mantle turns everything gay
I espied a fair damsel, she appeared like a queen
In her costly red robes and her mantle so green.

Says I," My fair damsel, if you'll come with me
We will join hands in wedlock, if you will agree.
I will dress you in satin, you'll appear like some queen
In your costly red robes and your mantle so green."

She answered me," Young man, I must you refuse.
For I'll wed with no man, you must me excuse.
Through the green fields I'll wander, I will shun all men's view
Since the lad that I love died in famed Waterloo."

Now if you had a sweetheart, pray tell me his name.
For I was in that great battle and I might know the same.
It was Willy O'Riley so plain to be seen.
It was neatly embroidered on her mantle so green.

She took off her mantle, this did I behold
My name and my surname in letters of gold.
I am Willy O'Riley that's speaking to you,
For I was not lost, Love, in famed Waterloo.

Oh Nancy, lovely Nancy, it was I won your heart
In your father's garden the day we did part.
In your father's garden where we'd often been
And I held you in my arms, in your mantle so green.


9. The Cumberland's Crew

Come shipmates and gather and join in my ditty,
It's of a great battle that happened of late.
Let each Union tar shed a sad tear of pity,
When he thinks of the once gallant Cumberland's fate.

The eighth day of March told a terrible story;
Many a brave tar this world bid adieu.
Our flag it was wrapped in a mantle of glory,
By the heroic deeds of the Cumberland's crew.

Oh, the battle it started at ten in the morning,
The day being cloudless and bright shone the sun.
The drums of the Cumberland sounded a warning
That told every seaman to stand by his gun.

Then up stepped our Captain with firm resolution,
"My boys, of this monster, now, don't be dismayed.
We're sworn to maintain our beloved constitution.
We'll die for our country; we are not afraid."

Now, our gallant ship fired her guns, they did thunder.
Her broadside hail on the rebels did pour.
The people gazed on struck with terror and wonder.
Our shots struck her broadside and glanced harmlessly o'er.

But the pride of our navy could ne'er be dedaunted.
The dead and the wounded our decks they did strew,
And the star spangled banner above them was flying;
It was hauled to the mast by the Cumberland's crew.

She struck us amidships, our planks she did sever.
Her sharp iron prong pierced our noble ship through,
And slowly as we sank beneath Virginia's dark waters,
"We'll die at our guns," cried the Cumberland's crew.


10. County Tyrone

My parents they told me they ne'er could contol me.
A draper they'd make me if I'd stay at home,
But to prove them all liars, I'll never deny it,
I am bound to get married in the County Tyrone.

I took a wee notion for higher promotion.
I courted a wee lass for a wife of my own,
But when I come nigh her she could not endure me,
But still I love Jenny from the County Tyrone.

She swore she would never go back on her promise.
I offered her cordials that I brought from home,
But she swore by her conscience that she would not take them,
She would not taste them until she'd see Tyrone.

There was an old boat lying close by the shore,
And unto the old boatman our secrets made known.
He threw a plank to us and shipboard he drew us.
Our vessel was bound for the County Tyrone.

Passing Omagh before on the road to Drummore,
And we tripped through the meadows in the moonlight alone.
Into Tullamore chapel our feet made no rattle.
We were glad to be back in the County Tyrone.

Now we are landed in the sweet town of Trillick;
Got into my father's in the County Tyrone.
Five hundred pounds he freely paid down,
And he crowned us with glory in the County Tyrone.


11. Pat Malone Forgot that He Was Dead

Times were hard in Irish town, everything was going down,
Pat Malone was pushed for ready cash.
He had for life insurance spent all his money to a cent,
And all of his affairs were going to smash.

Then Pat's wife spoke up and said, "Pat, dear, if you were only dead,
There's twenty thousand pounds that I could take."
So Pat lay down and tried to make out that he had died,
Until he smelled the whiskey at his wake.

First they give him a tiny sup; after that they filled him up,
And they gently laid him out upon the bed.
It was in the morning grey, everyone was feeling gay,
And they all forgot that Pat had played off dead.

Some flowers they did bring, others came to pray and sing,
Others stayed quite handy to the cask.
As the keeners gathered there, oh their wailings filled the air,
Thinking of poor Pat 'twould be his last.

Then the driver of the cart says, "Bedad, I'll never start,
Unless I see that someone pays the fare."
Then Pat Malone forgot that he was dead.
He raised up in the coffin and he said,
"If you dare to doubt me credit, you'll be sorry that you said it.
Drive along or else the corpse will break your head."

Then the funeral started out on the cemetery route,
The neighbours tried the widow to console.
When they got near to the base of Pat Malone's last meeting place,
Oh, they gently lowered Patrick in the hole.

As the sods begin to drop, Pat burst off the coffin top,
And quickly to earth he did ascend.
He had come nearly goin' under, it's a lucky thing, by thunder,
For they all forgot that Pat had played off dead.


12. Doran's Ass

When Paddy Doyle lived in Killarney,
He courted a girl named Biddy Doo.
To Pat, her tongue, it was tipped with the blarney;
The same to Paddy was a golden rule.

One heavenly night in last November
Paddy set out to meet his love.
What night it was I don't remember;
The moon shone brightly from above.

That night the boy had got some liquor
That made his spirits bright and gay.
He says,"What's the use of me going thither,
For I know she'll meet me on the way?"

Oh, whack-for-to-lorra-lorra-lido,

He filled his pipe and he started humming
As gently onwards he did trod,
But soon the whiskey overcame him,
And Pat lay down upon the sod.

He was not long without a comrade;
One who could pick up the hay,
For a jackass soon had smelled him out ,
And lay down beside him on the way.

As Pat lay there in peaceful slumber,
Dreaming of his Biddy dear,
He dreamed of pleasures without number
Coming in the ensuin' year.

He threw his arms about its neck,
Whereas the ass began to bray.
Then Paddy jumped onto his feet,
Saying, "Who would serve me in this way?"


When Pat got up and started off
At railroad speed I'm sure or more.
And he never stopped a leg or a foot
Until he came to Biddy's door.

Now by this time it was getting morning
Down on his knees he got to pray.
"Oh, let me in dear Biddy darling,
I'm killed, I'm murdered on the way".


He told his story straight and civil
While Biddy she filled up a glass,
Of how he had hugged a hairy devil,
"Go on," says she, "T'was Doran's Ass".

But Pat maintained it was a warning,
They were married the very next day.
But he never got back his old straw hat
That the jackass ate upon the way.



13. The Days of Forty-Nine

Your gazin' now at old Tom Moore,
A relic of bygone days,
It's a bummer now they calls me,
But what cares I for praise.
It's oft, says I, for the days gone by,
It's oft do I repine,
For the days of old when we dug out the gold
In the days of forty-nine.

My heart is filled with grief and woe,
And oft do I repine,
For the days of old when we dug out the gold
In the days of forty-nine.

My comrades all, they loved me well,
A rough and jolly crew,
A few hard cases I'll admit,
Though they were brave and true.
Whatever the pinch they would never flinch,
They would never fret nor whine.
Like good old bricks they would stand the kicks
In the days of forty-nine.

There was Rag-Shag Jim, that roarin' man,
Who could out-roar a buffalo yet.
He roared all night and he roared all day,
And I guess he's roaring yet.
One night Jim fell in a prospect hole --
'Twas a roarin' bad design --
And in that hole Jim roared out his soul
In the days of forty-nine.
[Repeat last two lines]

There's old black Jess, that hard old cuss,
That never would repent.
He never missed a single meal
And never paid a cent;
But old black Jess, like all the rest,
At death he did resign,
And in his bloom went up the flume
In the days of forty-nine.
[Repeat last two lines]

Of all the comrades I had then,
There's none now left for me,
And the only thing I'm fitted for's a senator to be.
The people cry as I pass by,
"There goes a travelling sign;
It's old Tom e Moore, a bummer of
The days of forty-nine.

My heart is filled with grief and woe,
And oft do I repine,
For the days of old when we dug out the gold
In the days of forty-nine.


14. Erin So Far Away

The sun it had set on Virginia's hills, and the deadly fight was o'er.
Thousands lay on the cold, cold clay, their lives to claim no more. The
moon shone down on the battlefield, where a wounded soldier lay, And no
more will he roam to his own native home, in old Erin, so far away.

A passing comrade heard his moan, and the sufferer soon was found.
Softly and tenderly he lifted him up from the cold, cold ground.
He cried, "Oh give me water, and listen to what I say,
For no more will I roam to my own native home, in old Erin, so far away.

"I left my home in Tip'rary's vales, this wide world to roam.
I landed in America, far from my native home.
I fought all for the Union, against them ranks of gray,
And no more will I roam to my old native home, in old Erin, so far away.

Tell my mother that I fought well, my face towards the foe
I never thought of turning back when on them we did go
The rebel soldiers shot me down and left me in the fray
And no more will I roam to my own native home, in old Erin, so far away.

A lock of hair I pray you send to my mother far o'er the sea
And when she gazes upon it, she will fondly think of me
Tell her it's here in Virginia's hills my mouldering bones will lay
And no more will I roam to my own native home, in old Erin, so far away.


15. Moreton Bay (By Brisbane's Waters)

One Sunday morning as I was walking
By Bribane's Waters I chanced to stray,
I heard a prisoner his fate bewailing
As on the sunny river bank he lay.
I am a native of Erin's Island
Transported now from my native shore.
They tore me from my aged parents
And from the maiden whom I adore.

I've been a prisoner at Port MacQuarie,
At Norfolk Island and Emu Place,
At Custon Hill and Curston Kelly,
And all those settlements of such disgrace.
But of places of condemnation
And penal stations of New South Wales,
Of Morton Bay I have found no equal;
Excessive tyranny each day prevails.

For three long years I was cruelly treated
And heavy irons on my legs I wore.
My back from flogging was lacerated;
When begged to stop they would offer more,
And many a man from downright starvation
Lies mouldering underneath the clay,
And Captain Logan, he had us tortured
At the pillories down in Morton's Bay.

Like the Egyptians or ancient Hebrews
We were oppressed under Logan's rule.
'Til a waiting  Black lying there in ambush
He gave this tyrant his mortal stroke.
My fellow prisoners be exhilerated
That all such tyrants a death shall find.
And when from bondage we are liberated
Our former sufferings will fade from mind.

One Sunday morning as I was walking
By Brisbane's waters I chanced to stray
I heard a prisoner his fate bewailing
As on the sunny river bank he lay.


16. Dawning of the Day

One morning early as I walked forth
By the margin of Logh Leane
The sunshine dressed the trees in green
And summer bloomed again
I left the town and wandered forth
Through fields all green and gay
When whom should I meet but my Coleen Dhas
By the dawning of the day.

No cape or cloak this maiden wore
Her neck and feet were bare
Down to the grass in ringlets fell
Her glossy golden hair
A milking pail was in her hand
She was lovely young and gay
She bore with pride fair Venus' Crown
By the dawning of the day.

On a mossy bank I sat me down
With this maiden by my side
With gentle words I courted her
And asked her for my bride
She says you need not bring me blame
But let me go away
For morning's light was shining bright
By the dawning of the day.


17. Six Feet of Earth

(composed by Joseph A. Gulick and James E. Stewart, ca. 1878)

I'll sing you a song of the world and its ways
And the many strange people you meet
From the rich man who rolls in his millions of wealth
To the poor struggling wretch on the street.
But a man tho' he's poor and in tatters and rags
We should ever affect to dispise
But think of the adage, remember my friend,
That six feet of earth makes us all of one size.

There's the rich man with thousands to spare if he likes
But he haughtily holds up his head
For he thinks he's above the poor worker who toils
And is honestly earning his bread.
But his gold and his jewels he can't take away
To the world up above when he dies
For death levels all and conclusively shows
That six feet of earth makes us all of one size.

There is many a coat that is tattered and torn
That beneath lies a true, honest heart
But because he's not dressed like his neighbours in style
Why, society keeps them apart.
For on one fortune smiles while the other one fails
Yet no matter what venture he tries
But time call them both to the grave in the end
And six feet of earth makes them all of one size.

Then when you see a poor fellow who tries
To baffle the world and its frown
Just help him along and perhaps he'll succeed
Don't crush him because he is down.
For a cup of cold water in charity given
Is remembered with joy in the sky.
Were all of us human, we all got to die
And six feet of earth makes us all of one size.


18. Courtin' in the Kitchen

Come single belles and beaus unto me pay attention
Don't ever fall in love for its devil's own invention.
For once I fell in love with a maiden so betwitchin'
Miss Henrietta Bell out of Captain Kelly's kitchen.

Oh it's torra lorra lay torra lorra laddy
Oh it's torra lorra lay torra lorra laddy

At the age of seventeen I was 'prenticed to a grocer
Not far from Stephen's green where Mis Henry used to go, sir
Her manners were sublime. She set my heart a twitchin'
And she invited me to a hooley in the kitchen.

Next Sunday being the day we were to have the flareup
I dressed myself quite gay, and I fuzzed and oiled my hair up
The Captain had no wife, faith, he had gone out fishing
So we kicked up high life down below-stairs in the kitchen.


Just as the clock struck six we sat down to the table
She handed tea and cake and I ate while I was able.
I drank hot punch and tea till my sides I got stitch in
And the hours passed quick away with the courting in the kitchen.


With me arms around her waist, she shyly hinted marriage.
To the door in dreadful haste came Captain Kelly's carriage.
Her eyes soon filled with hate and poison she was spittin'
When the Captain at the door reared straight down to the kitchen.
She flew up in the air, full five feet high or higher.
And over head and heels threw me slap into the fire.
My new Repealers coat that I bought from Mr. Mitchell
With a twenty shilling note went to blazes in the kitchen.


I grieved to see my duds all smeared with soot and ashes
When a tub of dirty suds right in my face she dashes
As I lay on the floor and the water she kept pitchin'
The footman broke the door and marched right down to the kitchen.
When the Captain he came down, though he saw my situation
In spite of all my prayers I was marched off to the station
For me they'd take no bail to get home I was itchin'
But I had to tell the tale how I came down to the kitchen.


I said she did invite me, she gave a flat denial.
For assault she did indict me I was sent for trial.
She swore I robbed the house in spite of her screechin'.
And I spent six hard months for me courting in the kitchen.



19. Nineteen Years Old

Oh, as I was a-walking way down by the strand,
I espied a fair damsel so handsome and grand.
She had buckles and brooches of silver and gold;
Says I, "Now what a dandy, and only nineteen years old."

Well, I courted her truly in two weeks we were wed.
In two weeks we were married and the wedding bells tolled.
I'd married me a dandy only nineteen years old.

Well, the wedding being over we retired to rest.
You can bet I was astonished when my wife did undress.
Such an armload of paddings as my wife did unfold --
Says I, "Now what a dandy, and only nineteen years old."

Well, she took off her cork leg right off to her knee,
She unbuttoned her fingers until I counted three,
Then she plucked out her glass eye on the floor it did roll
Says I, "Now what a dandy, and only nineteen years old."

Well, she took off her eyebrows, I thought I would faint;
She took from her face a good bucket of paint,
Then she took off her false wig and her bald head soon told
She was handier ninety than to nineteen years old.

Now, come all you young fellows when courting you go,
Examine your true love from her head to her toe,
For if you don't do it, you're bound to be sold
To a patched up old geezer about ninety years old.


20. The Bold Wattler

I am a bold wattler, I'm one of a kind,
And I roam o'er the country good water to find.
My pay, it is low and my clothes they are few,
As I wattle around with my old rigadoo.

I came to a house and the man he was blind,
"Did you come from the front or come in from behind?"
I says to his good wife, "It's I you don't know,
But I'll wattle for water if your water is low."
She says, "I've ten hungry children and much work to do,
So wattle away with your old rigadoo."

I went down the highway to get the fresh air,
I met a fair lassie all bound for the fair.
I says to the lassie, "May I walk with you?"
She says, "Go wattle away with your old rigadoo."

As I walked down the road with the sun in the sky,
I met a good lady whose well had gone dry,
"So sad for your fate that it troubles my mind,
I'll wattle away til good water I find."
She turned to the door and says, "That is for you,
To hell with your wattle and your old rigadoo."

I have wattled away til now I've grown old,
The half of my story has never been told.
For work and for pleasure and something to do,
I'll wattle away with my old rigadoo.


21. The Turfman From Ardee

For sake of health I took a walk one morn at early dawn.
I met an aged turfman as I slowly walked along.
The greatest conversation passed between himself and me,
And soon I was acquainted with the turfman from Ardee.

We talked along together as we jogged along the road.
He says, "My steed is tired and I'd like to sell my load,
For I've had no refreshment since I left home you see,
And I'm tired out with travelling," says the turfman from Ardee.

I says, "Your cart is worn, friend; your steed is very old.
It must be thirty summers since that animal was foaled."
"Indeed, my mem'ry serves me well; September, Forty-three,
While hitched-up to the hay rack," says the turfman from Ardee.

"I often did abuse my steed with this old hazel rod,
But never once did I permit old Jack to go unshod.
The harness now upon his back was made by John McGee,
While waiting for the midwife," says the turfman from Ardee.

"I own my cart is very old; made of the best of wood.
I'm sure it must have been in use at the time of Noah's flood.
Its axle never needed grease not one year out of three;
It's a real old Carrick axle," says the turfman from Ardee.

We talked about the government and how we were oppressed;
It seems as though our member never get our wrongs redressed.
"I have no use for members, now, or nothing else you see,
Since we're ruled by bloomin' humbugs," says the turfman from Ardee.

Just then a female voice spoke out, a voice that I knew well,
Politely asked the old man his load of turf to sell.
I took his toil worn hand in mine and bowed so gracefully.
I hope some future day to meet the turfman from Ardee.


22. Noreen Bawn

There's a glen in old Kilconnel
There's a cottage in the glen,
There's a tender-hearted maiden
That inspires the hearts of men.

She was handsome, hale and hearty
Shy and modest as the dawn,
All the neighbours loved this widow's
Lovely daughter Noreen Bawn.

And o'er the sea there came a letter
With her passage paid to go,
To the land of full and plenty
That so many Irish know.

Very soon she had all things ready
And standing all forlorn,
This broken-hearted mother
Parted with her Noreen Bawn.

Many years this mother waited
Till one morning at the door,
Stood her broken-hearted daughter
Costly were the clothes she wore.

Saying, "Mother, don't you know me?
I have only caught a cold",
But in deepest consternation
On her face her story told.

There's a graveyard in Kilconnel
Where the flowers wildly wave,
There's a broken-hearted mother
Standing o'er a lonely grave.

To her Noreen she is saying,
"It's so lonely since you've gone,
T'was the cause of emmigration
Caused your death, my Noreen Bawn".


23. Ballyjamesduff

The Garden of Eden has vanished they say
But I know the lie of it still
Just turn to your right near the bridge of Finea
And turn when you get to Coote Hill.
'Tis there you will find it I know sure enough
When fortune has come to my call.
Ah, the grass it is green around Ballyjamesduff
And the blue sky is over it all.

In tones that are tender and tones that are gruff
Still whispers come over the sea.
Come back Paddy Riley to Ballyjamesduff
Come home Paddy Riley to me.

My mother once told me that when I was born
The day that I first saw the light
I looked down the street on that very first morn
And gave a great crow of delight.
Now most newborn babies are born in a huff
And start with a sorrowful squall.
But I knew I was born in Ballyjamesduff
And that's why I smiled on them all.

In tones that are tender and tones that are gruff
Still whispers come over the sea
Come back Paddy Riley to Ballyjamesduff
Come home Paddy Riley to me.

Oh, the night that we danced by the light of the moon
With Phil to the fore with his flute
When Phil through his lip over come again soon
Sure he danced the foot out of your boot.
The day that I took long McGee by the scruff
For slandering Rosie Kilrain
I escorted him straight out of Ballyjamesduff
And assisted him into a drain.

Oh, sweet are the dreams as this dudeen I puff
Still whispers come over the sea
Come back Paddy Riley to Ballyjamesduff
Come back Paddy Riley to me.


24. Highland Soldier

Highland soldier, highland soldier
Lay down your pipes now the battle's o'er.
As the twilght's, softly falling,
Many a brave one will rise no more.

As the pibroch, it was sounding
Up the hillside and down the glen,
Calling forth those highland soldiers,
Calling forth those highland men.


Many a maiden sits in sadness,
There is sorrow in every glen,
As the cronach is a sounding,
Sounding for those highland men.



25. Neddy Horn's Clogs #1 (Wait Until the Moon Shines)

Wait until the moon shines
Out upon the water
Then take your true love
Out for a walk.

See the shades of night time
That's the time to court her
Tell her that you love her
When the sun goes down.

Wait until the moon shines
Out upon the water
Then take your true love
Out for a walk.

Take her out this evening
Before the days get shorter
Tell her that you love her
When the sun goes down.

Tara, dara, dee, dee, deatle deatle da da
Tara da da, da deadle dahtle, dee dee dee

25.  Neddy Horn's Clogs #2 (Torra Lorra Laddie)

Oh, my money it has vanished
And it's near the break of day
And I lost my brand new breeches
In the tavern o'er the way.

Oh, if I get cold and hungry
And the way is rough and long
For if to work I am a stranger
I can dance and sing a song.

Oh, it's torra lorra laddie
Oh, it's torra lorra lay
Oh, it's torra lorra laddie
Oh, it's torra lorra lay.

Oh it's high up in the branches
The linnet sings her lay
And the farmer in the meadow
Working hard at making hay.

Oh it makes me sad and weary
Just to see him work so long
For I'd sooner court the ladies
Or to dance and sing song.