Index Mc to Me
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McPherson’s Lament
From the Irish songbook, Tiparm Pub., Inc.
Farewell ye dungeons dark and strong.
Farewell, farewell to thee;
McPherson’s life will not be long
On yonder gallows tree.
Chorus
Sae rantingly, sae wantingly, and sae dauntingly gaed he;
He played a tune and he danced around below the gallows tree.
Take off these bands from off my hands
And give to me my sword,
For there’s not a man in all Scotland
But I’d brave him at his word.
Chorus
There’s some come here for to see me hung,
And some to buy my fiddle;
But before that I do part with her,
I’ll break her through the middle
Chorus
He took his fiddle in both his hands,
And he broke it o’er a stove,
Saying, there’s nay ither hand shall play on thee
When I am dead and gone.
Chorus
The reprieve was coming o’er the Brig of Banff,
For to set McPherson free;
But they put the clock a quarter before,
And they hanged him from a tree.
Chorus
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McShane
Oh my name is
McShane from the plains of Kildare
Farmer I was, until the last year
Till I got a notion out by the promotion
Went over to England to harvest my share
Chorus:
Rum turalee, rum tur-a-lalley
Rum turalee, misha tur-a-lie-ay
I parted with Molly so blithe and so jolly
I picked up a stick for a staff in me hand
To keep myself cheery, for fear I'll grow weary
I sang as I walked as I marched through the land
I landed in England on a bright summers evening
The lap of the kiltar I held in me hand
Some of them laughing, and some of them chanting
And some of them trying to put Paddy away
I went to this woman, and I asked her for lodging
She instantly showed me the bed in the room
And being so tired and so worn out from walking
I layed myself down on the bed in the room
Old Lumpar the Tinker stood up from the corner
He said "By my soul I will cut off your life"
Says I "Old Tinker, you know who you're daggin'
For I'm old McShane from the plains of Kildare"
He tried for to fetch me a punch in the stomach
I instantly nailed him a one in the throat
He went like a heel over head in the corner
and cut his old head on a rusty old cot
He lay on the floor, like a sheep he was bleeding
I swore by my soul I would cut off his life
I lifted him up and sat down for a naggin'
and me and old Tinker we ended our strife
Well my name is McShane from the plains of Kildare
Farmer I was until the last year
Till I got a notion out by the promotion
Went over to England to harvest my share
Chorus X2
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The
Memory of the Dead
BY JOHN KELLS INGRAM
WHO FEARS TO SPEAK OF THE
NINETY-EIGHT? WHO BLUSHES AT THE NAME?
WHEN COWARDS MOCK THE PATRIOT'S FATE, WHO HANGS HIS HEAD IN
SHAME?
HE'S ALL A KNAVE., OR HALF A SLAVE, WHO SLIGHTS HIS COUNTRY THUS;
BUT A TRUE MAN, LIKE YOU MAN, WILL FILL YOUR GLASS WITH US.
WE DRINK THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE, THE FAITHFUL AND THE FEW;
SOME LIE FAR OFF BEYOND THE WAVE, SOME SLEEP IN IRELAND, TOO;
ALL ARE GONE; BUT STILL LIVES ON THE FAME OF THOSE WHO DIED;
ALL TRUE MEN, LIKE YOU, MEN, REMEMBER THEM WITH PRIDE.
SOME ON THE SHORES OF DISTANT
LANDS THEIR WEARY HEARTS HAVE LAID,
AND BY THE STANGER'S HEEDLESS HANDS THEIR LONELY GRAVES WERE
MADE,
BUT, THOUGH THEIR CLAY BE FAR AWAY BEYOND THE ATLANTIC FOAM,
IN TRUE MEN, LIKE YOU, MEN, THEIR SPIRIT'S STILL AT HOME.
THE DUST OF SOME IS IRISH EARTH, AMONG THEIR OWN THEY REST
AND THE SAME LAND GAVE THEM BIRTH HAS CAUGHT THEM TO HER BREAST;
AND WE WILL PRAY THAT FROM THEIR CLAY FULL MANY A RACE MAY START
OF TRUE MEN, LIKE YOU, MEN, TO ACT AS BRAVE A PART.
THEY ROSE IN DARK AND EVIL DAYS TO RIGHT THEIR NATIVE LAND;
THEY KINDLED HERE A LIVING BLAZE THAT NOTHING SHALL WITHSTAND.
ALAS! THAT MIGHT CAN VANQUISH
RIGHT- THEY FELL AND PASSED AWAY;
BUT TRUE MEN, LIKE YOU, MEN, ARE PLENTY HERE TODAY
THEN HERE'S THEIR MEMORY! MAY IT BE FOR US A GUILDING LIGHT,
TO CHEER OUR STRIFE FOR LIBERTY, AND TEACH US TO UNITE -
THROUGH GOOD AND ILL, BE
IRELAND'S STILL, THOUGH SAD AS THEIRS YOUR FATE,
AND TRUE MEN BE YOU MEN, LIKE THOSE OF THE NINETY-EIGHT,
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Men
of the Picts
By Rudyard Kipling
Rome never heeds where she treads.
Always the heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts and our heads.
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
The sentries pass on, that is all.
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall
With only our tongues for our swords.
We are the little folk, we.
Too little to love or to hate.
But leave us alone and you'll see
Just how we can drag down the State.
We are the worm in the wood,
We are the rot at the root,
We are the taint in the blood,
We are the thorn in the foot!
Mistletoe choking an oak,
Rats gnawing cables in two,
Moths making holes in a cloak,
How they must love what they do.
Yes, and we little folk too!
We are as busy as they,
Working our works out of view.
But watch, and you'll see them someday.
No, indeed we are not strong.
But we know people who are!
And we, we will guide them along
To crush and destroy you in war.
Yes, we have always been slaves,
And, yes, we will still be their slaves.
But you, you will die of the shame.
And then we will dance on your graves.
( finish quietly, whispering the last line. )
We are the little folk, we.
Too little to love or to hate.
But leave us alone and you'll see
Just watch as we drag down the State.
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The
Men of the West
BY HONOR IN SONG AND IN STORY,
THE NAMES OF THE PATRIOT MEN,
WHO'S VALOR HAS COVERED WITH GLORY
FULL MANY A MOUNTAIN AND GLEN.
FORGET NOT THE BOYS OF THE HEATHER
WHO MARSHALLED THEIR BRAVEST AND BEST
WHEN IRELAND WAS BROKEN IN WEXFORD
AND LOOKED FOR REVENGE IN THE WEST.
CHORUS: I GIVE YOU THE GALLANT OLD WEST, BOYS,
WHERE RALLIED OUR BRAVEST AND BEST,
WHEN IRELAND WAS BROKEN AND BLEEDING.
HURRAH! FOR THE MEN OF THE WEST.
THE HILL TOPS WITH GLORY WERE GLOWING
'TWAS THE EVE' OF A BRIGHT HARVEST DAY,
WHEN THE SHIPS WE'D BEEN WEARILY
WAITING TO 'WAKEN TIN EVERY BREAST
THE FIRE THAT'S NEVER BEEN QUENCHED, BOYS,
AMONG THE TRUE HEARTS OF THE WEST.
KILLALA WAS OUR'S ERE THE MIDNIGHT
AND HIGH OVER BALLINA TOWN,
OUR BANNERS IN TRIUMPH WERE WAVING
BEFORE THE NEXT SUN HAD GONE DOWN.
WE GATHER TO SPEED THE GOOD WORD, BOYS,
THE TRUE MEN OF NEAR AND OF FAR,
AND HISTORY CAN TELL HOW WE ROUTED
THE RED-COATS THROUGH OLD CASTLEBAR
I GIVE YOU THE GALLANT OLD WEST, BOYS,
WHERE RALLIED OUR BRAVEST AND BEST,
WHEN IRELAND WAS BROKEN AND BLEEDING.
HURRAH! FOR THE MEN OF THE WEST.
THE HILL TOPS WITH GLORY WERE GLOWING
'TWAS THE EVE' OF A BRIGHT HARVEST DAY,
WHEN THE SHIPS WE'D BEEN WEARILY WAITING
TO 'WAKEN TIN EVERY BREAST
THE FIRE THAT'S NEVER BENN QUENCHED, BOYS,
AMONG THE TRUE HEARTS OF THE WEST.
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O’ there’s many types of warriors that you’ll see
swagger round,
And each and everyone of them says they’re the best
that’s found,
They’ll be short or tall or thin or fat, or young or
sometimes old,
But they’re all alike in their contempt of those who fight
for gold.
You can call up peasant levies but they’re green and seem to
run,
And the men that you’ve enlisted may desert before
you’re done,
And the King’s elite are fighters but they’re all to
keen to die,
If you’d fighter who’ll stand by you, then the
mercenaries try.
Chorus
For the mercenary fighter has got fighting in his blood,
And that’s what keeps him going when he’s wading
through the mud,
And there’s one thing you can count on, when the deal has
been made,
He’ll be loyal to your standard just as long as he is paid.
O, but don’t you try to cheat him, of the payment he is due,
For that, my friend , is something that you soon will surely rue,
Just the fact that he is living backs his claim that he is good,
You may find a pillaged ruin where before your castle stood.
O, there’s many kinds of warriors that you’ll see
swagger round,
And each and everyone of them says they’re the best
that’s to be found,
But the mercenary fighter holds his claim above the rest,
‘Cause fighting is his livelihood and that’s what he
does best.
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-Modern Traditional
There was a young sailor who looked through the glass
And spied a fair mermaid with scales on her Island
Where seagulls fly over their nest
She combed the long hair that hung over her Shoulders
That caused her to tickle and itch
The sailor cried out there's a beautiful Mermaid
A settin' out there on the rocks
The crew came a' running grabbing their Glasses
And crowded four deep to the rail
All eager to share in this fine piece of News
Which the Captain soon heard from the watch
He tied down the wheel and he grabbed for his Crackers
And cheese he kept next to the door
In case he may someday encounter a Mermaid
He knew he must use all his wits
Crying Fraulien we'll lasso her Flippers
And then we'll certainly find
If mermaids are better before or be Brave
My good fellows the captain then said
Good fortune will break through her Mermaid
And heading to starboard they tacked with dispatch
And caught that fair mermaid just under her Elbows
And hustled her down below decks
And each took a turn at her Setting Her Free
At the end of the farce
She splashed through waves landing flat on her
After awhile One man noticed some scabs
Soon they broke out with the Hocks
And the scratching and with cursing with keen
This song may be dull but its certainly Clean
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Metamorphosis
(He) As I went out one morning, morning so fair,
I met a lovely maiden with flaxen hair.
I’m going to see her Sunday, my love to declare
And win unnumbered kisses from lips so rare.
J’ai fait une mai^ tresse, ya pas long temps,
J’airai^ la voir di
Manche sans plus tarder,
Je pren drai sur sa bouche un doux baiser.
(She) Young man, before you kiss me, try as you will,
Young man, before you kiss me, try as you will,
I shall become a wild doe and run up the hill,
Because I do not like you and never will.
(He) If you become a doe and flee ‘cross the plain,
If you become a doe and flee ‘cross the plain,
Then I’ll become a hunter, and fetch you back again,
For parted from your sweetness I’ll not remain.
(She) If you become a hunter, I’ll rove about.
If you become a hunter, I’ll rove about.
I’ll jump into the river and then be a trout,
And down among the rocks I’ll swim in and out.
(He) If you become a trout, an angler I’ll be, (repeat)
I’ll cast my line and catch you where stream meets the sea,
For no one else shall have you, no one but me.
(She) If you become an angler, casting my way, (Repeat)
Then I’ll become a rose and in my garden stay,
Because my answer to you shall e’er be nay.
(He) If you become a rosebud, glist’ning with dew, (Repeat)
Then I’ll become a gard’ner and when I find you,
I’ll let no one come near, ‘till to me you’re
true.
(She) If you become a gard’ner, I’m not undone,
(Repeat)
I’ll climb right o’er the convent wall and then be a
nun,
For I will grant no favors to you, not one.
(He) if you become a nun, behind cloistered walls, (Repeat)
Then I’ll become the doctor who on the cloister calls,
For I shall never lose you, what e’er befalls.
(She) If you become the doctor, then I shall die, (Repeat)
I’ll ask the Lord to take me to my home on high,
And then to you at last I’ll have said, "Goodbye."
(He) If you go up to heaven, I’ll race you there, (repeat)
I shall become St. Peter, your home to prepare,
And, for eternity, we, the bliss, will
share.
(She) Oh, if you are St. Peter, with
golden key, (Repeat)
Then I’ll come down to earth again and say, "Marry
me."
For I have never seen such persistency.