I’ll sing to you of our rich legacy of stories and music
Ireland’s most famous songs have a fascinating history. These extracts from
To celebrate St Patrick’s Day, Emma Byrne and Eoin O’Brien bring you the lyrics and stories behind some of our best loved folk songs.
Here we take a selection of songs from their book
THE DAWNING OF THE DAY
The original Irish-language version of this song, Fáinne Geal An Lae
(literally ‘the bright ring of the day’), was published in 1847’s Irish
Popular Songs. The air is based on a tune from the 17th Century, probably composed by Thomas Connellan. The simpler, 19thcentury air is one of the first tunes taught to aspiring tin whistle players. But the melody is doubtlessly better known as the setting for Raglan Road, a poem by Patrick Kavanagh. In this song, the poet meets a beautiful woman on Raglan Road, in south Dublin. he knows that the relationship will end tragically, yet he can’t help continuing ‘along the enchanted way’. The Dawning Of The Day was beautifully sung by Count John McCormack from Athlone.
One morning early as I walked forth
By the margin of Lough Leinn, The sunshine dressed the trees in green,
And the summer bloomed again, I left the town and wandered on Through fields all green and gay, And who should I meet but my colleen bawn
At the dawning of the day.
No cap 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. Her beauty excelled even Helen of Troy
At the dawning of the day.
On a mossy bank I sat me down With the maiden by my side.
With gentle words I courted her And asked her to be my bride. She said, ‘Young man, don’t bring me blame,
But let me go away,
For the morning light is shining bright
At the dawning of the day’
THE IRISH ROVER
Attributed to songwriter Joseph M Crofts, and most recently made famous by The Pogues and The Dubliners, this song features a monstrous ship ‘with 27 masts’, a mad crew and a huge cargo. The ship goes on a fantastical voyage from Cork to New York. As the song goes on, the verses grow more exuberant. The famous cargo reads like the contents of a witch’s cauldron. The seven-year voyage ends in disaster when the vessel sinks. The captain’s dog is finally drowned and only the narrator survives, as the ‘last of the Irish Rover’. It has also been recorded by Dominic Behan, The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem.
On the fourth of July, eighteen hundred and six, we set out for the sweet cove of Cork,
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks for the Grand City
Hall in New York.
‘Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft,
And oh, how the wild wind drove her,
She’d stood several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts and we called her the Irish Rover.
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags,
We had two million buckets of stones,
We had three million sides of old blind horses’ hides,
We had four million barrels of bones,
We had five million hogs, had six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter, We had eight million bales of old nanny goats’ tails
In the hold of the Irish Rover.
There was old Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute,
When the ladies lined up for his set.
He was tootin’ with skill for each sparkling quadrille,
Though the dancers were fluther’d and bet.
With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk
And he rolled the dames under and over,
They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance
And he sailed in the Irish Rover.
There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone,
There was Jimmy McGurk, who was scared stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone,
There was Slugger O’Toole, who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish
Rover.
For a sailor it’s always a bother in life,
It’s so lonesome by night and by day,
’Til he launch for the shore and this charming young whore,
Who will melt all his troubles away.
All the noise and the rout, swillin’ poitín and stout,
For him soon the torment’s over. Of the love of a maid, he’s never
afraid,
An old sot from the Irish Rover
We had sailed seven years when
the measles broke out,
And the ship lost its way in a fog, And that whale of a crew was
reduced down to two,
Just meself and the captain’s old
dog.
Then the ship struck a rock, oh
Lord, what a shock.
The bulkhead was turned right
over,
Turned nine times around, and
the poor old dog was drowned. I’m the last of the Irish Rover.
I’LL TELL ME MA
This children’s folk song was collected in Britain in the 19th Century. The chorus mentions Belfast, but it has also been adapted to Dublin. The song is coupled with a children’s game. A notable recording was made in 1988 by Van Morrison and The Chieftains, on Irish heartbeat. Ronnie Drew of The Dubliners also recorded it with The Chieftains. Sham Rock’s 1998 version reached number 13 in the UK singles chart, selling over 200,000 copies. There are other versions by The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, The Dubliners and Sinéad O’Connor.
I’ll tell me ma, when I go home, The boys won’t leave the girls alone.
They pull my hair, they stole my comb,
But that’s all right till I go home.
She is handsome, she is pretty, She is the belle of Belfast city, She is courtin’ one, two, three, Please won’t you tell me who is she?
Albert Mooney says he loves her. All the boys are fighting for her. They knock at the door and ring at the bell,
Sayin’, ‘Oh my true love, are you well?’
Out she comes as white as snow, Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes.
Ole Jenny Murray says she’ll die If she doesn’t get the fella with the roving eye.
I’ll tell me ma ...
Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high
And the snow come tumbling from the sky.
She’s as nice as apple pie,
She’ll get her own lad by and by. When she gets a lad of her own, She won’t tell her ma when
she gets home. Let them all come as
they will, For it’s Albert Mooney she loves still.
I’ll tell me ma ...
ARE YE RIGHT THERE MICHAEL?
This was written by Percy French (1854–1920), one of the country’s foremost songwriters and entertainers, whose other hits
FROM FAR LEFT: Mick Jagger as Ned Kelly; The Chieftains’ Paddy Moloney with Van Morrison; inset below, Percy French
include The Mountains of Mourne and Phil
The Fluter’s Ball. The song was inspired by an actual train journey French took in 1896, on the famous West Clare Railway service. He left Sligo in the early morning and arrived so late for an eight o’clock recital that the audience had packed up and left. The song caused huge embarrassment for the railway company, which took a libel case against French. The story goes that French arrived late to the court hearing, and when the judge questioned him on his tardiness, he responded, ‘Your honour, I travelled by the West Clare Railway.’ The judge duly dismissed the case.
You may talk of Columbus’s
sailing
Across the Atlantica Sea
But he never tried to go railing From Ennis as far as Kilkee
You run for the train in the
morning
The excursion train starting at
eight
You’re there when the clock
gives the warning
And there for an hour you’ll wait And as you’re waiting in the train
You’ll hear the guard sing this refrain
Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right ?
Do you think that we’ll be there before the night ?
Ye’ve been so long in starting That ye couldn’t say for certain Still ye might now, Michael, so ye might
They find out where the engine’s been hiding
And it drags you to sweet Corofin. Says the guard, ‘Back her down on the siding,
There’s a goods from Kilrush coming in.’
Perhaps it comes in two hours, Perhaps it breaks down on the way;
If it does, says the guard, be the powers,
We’re here for the rest of the day.
And while you sit and curse your luck
The train backs down into a truck:
Are ye right there Michael, are ye right?
Have ye got the parcel there for Mrs White?
Ye haven’t, oh begorrah,
Say it’s coming down tomorrow, And it might now Michael, so it might.
At Lahinch, the sea shines like a jewel,
With joy you are ready to shout, When the stoker cries out, ‘There’s no fuel
And the fire’s tee-totally out,
But hand up that bit of a log there I’ll soon have ye out of the fix. There’s a fine clamp of turf in the bog there,
And the rest go a-gathering sticks.’
And while you’re breaking bits of trees
You hear some wise remarks like these:
Are ye right there Michael, are ye right?
Do ye think that you can get the fire to light?
Oh, an hour you’ll require,
For the turf it might be drier;
Well it might now Michael, so it might.
Kilkee! You may never get near it.
You’re in luck if the train brings you back,
For the permanent way is so queer
It spends most of its time off the track.
Uphill the old engine is climbing While the passengers push with a will;
You’re in luck when you reach Ennistymon,
For all the way home is downhill.
And as you’re wobbling through the dark
You hear the guard make this remark:
Are ye right there Michael, are ye right?
Do you think that we’ll be there before it’s light?
It all depends on whether
The old engine holds together, And it might now Michael, so it might, so it might,
And it might now Michael, so it might.
THE WILD COLONIAL BOY
This song was originally about Jack Donahue, a 19th-century Irish rebel and convict who became a bushranger. Things didn’t end well for him, as he was eventually shot by the police. The song was banned, as it painted bushrangers in a bad light. The colonial boy was renamed as Jack Duggan, an emigrant who left Castlemaine,
Co. Kerry, for Australia, in the years after the famine. Another popular highwayman, he robbed from the rich to feed the poor. It has been recorded by The Clancy Brothers, Dr Hook, Burl Ives and Oliver Reed, and featured in the movie The Quiet
Man. Mick Jagger sings it in the 1970 movie Ned Kelly, about the real-life outlaw of the same name.
There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Duggan was his name. He was born and raised in Ireland, in a place called Castlemaine.
He was his fater’s only son, his mother’s pride and joy.
And dearly did his parents love the wild colonial boy.
At the early age of sixteen years, he left his native home,
And to Australia’s sunny shore he was inclined to roam.
He robbed the rich, he helped the poor, he shot James McAvoy; A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.
One morning on the prairie as Jack he rode along,
A-listening to the mockingbird a-singing a cheerful song,
Out stepped a band of troopers, Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy;
They all set out to capture him, the wild colonial boy.
‘Surrender now, Jack Duggan, for you see we’re three to one. Surrender in the Queen’s high name, for you’re a plundering son.’ Jack pulled two pistols from his belt and he proudly waved them high;
‘I’ll fight, but not surrender,’ said the wild colonial boy.
He fired a shot at Kelly, which brought him to the ground,
And turning round to Davis, he received a fatal wound;
A bullet pierced his proud young heart from the pistol of Fitzroy; And that was how they captured him, the wild colonial boy.
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Best-Loved Irish Ballads: Great Songs from the Irish Folk Tradition (The O’Brien Press, €14.99)