Ok obviously I like the rambunctious versions that sound like parties. Here's Young Dubliners but Planxty is good too. Simple sheet music
Lift MacCahir Óg your face brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure soon the firebrand he'd secure;
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.
Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star, low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow.
See the swords of Glen Imayle, they're flashing o'er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock? Fly up and teach him manners!
Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star, low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow.
From TaSaggart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore
O, great is Rory Óg O'More, at sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick and Grey is fled, now for black Fitzwilliam's head
We'll send it over dripping red, to Queen Liza and her ladies.
Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star, low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we'll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Winter Light: Opal
"Opal/Winter Light" poem by Amy Lowell. Music by Michael Gandolfi
You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.
Cockles & Mussels
Cockles and Mussels - I haven't found a recording I like of this
In Dublin's fair city,
Where the Girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes,
On sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel barrow,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
She was a fish monger,
And sure it was no wonder,
For so were her
Father and Mother before,
And they both wheeled their barrow,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end
Of sweet Molly Malone,
But her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
In Dublin's fair city,
Where the Girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes,
On sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel barrow,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
She was a fish monger,
And sure it was no wonder,
For so were her
Father and Mother before,
And they both wheeled their barrow,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Alive alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end
Of sweet Molly Malone,
But her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive alive o!
Rocky Road to Dublin
Rocky Road to Dublin - This is said to be one of the most difficult folk tunes to sing/play... Here's violin + piano music
While in the merry month of May from me home I started,
While in the merry month of May from me home I started,
Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted,
Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother,
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother,
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,
Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins;
Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs
And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.
Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother,
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother,
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,
Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins;
Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs
And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three four, five,
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary,
Started by daylight next morning blithe and early,
Took a drop of pure to keep me heart from sinking;
That's a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking.
See the lassies smile, laughing all the while
At me curious style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin'
Asked me was I hired, wages I required,
I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
Started by daylight next morning blithe and early,
Took a drop of pure to keep me heart from sinking;
That's a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking.
See the lassies smile, laughing all the while
At me curious style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin'
Asked me was I hired, wages I required,
I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three four, five,
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity
To be soon deprived a view of that fine city.
So then I took a stroll, all among the quality;
Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality.
Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind,
No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin'
Enquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.
To be soon deprived a view of that fine city.
So then I took a stroll, all among the quality;
Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality.
Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind,
No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin'
Enquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three four, five,
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
From there I got away, me spirits never falling,
Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing.
The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he;
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy.
Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling;
When off Holyhead I wished meself was dead,
Or better for instead on the rocky road to Dublin.
Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing.
The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he;
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy.
Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling;
When off Holyhead I wished meself was dead,
Or better for instead on the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three four, five,
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !
Well the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed,
Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it.
Blood began to boil, temper I was losing;
Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing.
"Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly.
Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in,
With a load "hurray !" joined in the affray.
We quitely cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin.
Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it.
Blood began to boil, temper I was losing;
Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing.
"Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly.
Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in,
With a load "hurray !" joined in the affray.
We quitely cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three four, five,
Hunt the Hare and turn her down
the rocky road and all the way to Dublin,
Whack follol de rah !
Hunt the Hare and turn her down
the rocky road and all the way to Dublin,
Whack follol de rah !
Black is the Color
Black is the Color - I love the Fiddlesticks version of this
Black black black is the color of my true love`s hair
His lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon he stands
For black is the color of my true love's hair
His lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon he stands
I love my love and well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes.
If he on earth no more I see
My life shall surely leave me
Black black black is the color of my true love`s hair
His lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon he stands
I go to trouble some to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I'll write him a letter, a few short lines
I'll suffer death ten thousand times
A winter's past and the leaves are green
The time has past that we have seen
But still I hope the time will come
When you and I will be as one
Black black black is the color of my true love's hair
Black black black is the color of my true love`s hair
His lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon he stands
For black is the color of my true love's hair
His lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon he stands
I love my love and well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes.
If he on earth no more I see
My life shall surely leave me
Black black black is the color of my true love`s hair
His lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon he stands
I go to trouble some to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I'll write him a letter, a few short lines
I'll suffer death ten thousand times
A winter's past and the leaves are green
The time has past that we have seen
But still I hope the time will come
When you and I will be as one
Black black black is the color of my true love's hair
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Cymbeline
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o' the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
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