A note on Copyright.
Although all the songs are traditional, the versions of the lyrics
presented here have been researched from various sources and adapted
for IONA's arrangements. If you are going to reprint any of these
lyrics please include:
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
If you use them in performance, please acknowledge the source. If you
use them in a money
making venture, please talk to us first. We are not greedy!
Je m'endors, je m'endors et j'ai soif et j'ai faim.
Le soleil est couché et tu viens loin de la maison.
Qu'avez-vous, oui belle blonde? Qu'avez-vous, oui belle brune?
C'est tous pour les blondes; c'est rien pour les brunes.
O les gens de Crowley sont toujours dans le chemin,
Sont toujours dans le chemin-z à rechercher-z à mal faire.
Avec le jug de plombeau et le ferail dans la poche,
Sont toujours dans le chemin-z à rechercher-z à mal faire.
Je m'endors, je m'endors et j'ai soif et j'ai faim.
Le soleil est couché et tu viens loin de la maison.
Bye-bye, oui belle blonde, bye-bye, oui belle brune:
C'est tous pour les blondes; c'est rien pour les brunes.
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
Mile marbh' aisg air a'ghaol
O hi ri ri hi ri iù
Asam fhin a thug e'n chlaoich
O hi iù o, ò hug ò
O hi iù o, ò hi iù hao ri iù o, ho hug
ò
Sgaoilt e mo chridhe nam chom
Dh'fhuasgail e'm falt far mo chinn
Cha téid mi gu mac a'mhaoir
No idir go mac an t-saoir
Cha téid mise cha téid mi
Cha téid mi do ghin san tir
Gus an tig mi leannan fhin
Giomanach a'ghunna chaoil
Leagadh e'n eal'air a taobh
‘S earba bheag nan gearrchas caol.
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
It was in the merry, merry month of May,
when the meadows are fresh and gay,
He hung his bugles around about his neck,
and he went riding away.
He rode ‘til he came to fair Ellen's house,
he knocked and he tingled at the ring.
"Asleep or awake, fair Ellen," he said,
"pray arise and let me in".
Fair Ellen arose and she slipped on her clothes
to arise and let him in.
No one was so ready as fair Ellen herself
to arise and let him in.
He mounted her upon a milk white steed,
himself on the iron grey.
He hung his bugles around about his neck,
and they went riding away.
They rode ‘til they came in three miles of the place.
They stopped and they looked all around.
They stopped and they saw seven iron men,
a-hasting o'er the ground.
"Get down, get down fair Ellen," I said,
"and take my steed in hand,
‘Til I go back to yonder spring
and stop those seven iron men".
She stood ‘til she saw her six brothers fall,
her father he fell so near.
"Sweet William," she cried, "pray and stop your case,
for I fear you are too severe".
She took a handkerchief from her side,
‘twas made of linen so fine.
She took and she wiped his bleeding, bleeding wound
that ran red as any wine.
He mounted her upon a milk white steed,
himself on the iron grey.
He hung his bugles around about his neck,
and they went riding away.
He rode ‘til he came to his mother's house,
he knocked and he tingled at the ring.
"Asleep or awake, dear mother," he said,
"pray arise and let me in".
His mother arose and she slipped on her clothes
to let Sweet William in.
No one was so ready as his mother herself
to arise and let him in.
"Oh mother," he said, "come and bind up my head.
You never shall bind it any more."
Sweet William he died of the wounds that he bore,
and fair Ellen she died also.
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
My Donald, he works on the sea,
Where the waves, they blow wild and free.
He splices the ropes, he sets the sails.
Southward he roams, in search of the whales.
He never thinks of me far behind,
All the torment and rage in my mind.
He's only mine for half part of the year,
And leaves me alone with nothing but a tear.
All you ladies who seek the wild rose,
Think you for your perfumes where a man goes.
Think you of the wives, and the bairns who yearn
For their men ne'er returned from hunting the sperm.
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
Dacw ‘nghariad y lawr yn y berllan,
Tw-rym-di ro-rym-di-ra-dl-i-dl-al.
O na Bawn i y-no fy hunan,
Tw-rym-di ro-rym-di-ra-dl-i-dl-al.
Dacw'r t , a dacw'r sgubor,
Dacw ddrws y beudy'n agor.
Ffal-di-ra-dl-i-dl-al, Ffal-di-ra-dl-i-dl-al,
Tw-rym-di-ro, rym-di-ra-dl-i-dl-al.
Dacw'r dderwen wych ganghennog,
Golwg arni sydd dra serchog:
Mi arhosaf dan ei chysgod
Nes daw ‘nghariad i'nghyfarfod.
Dacw'r delyn, dacw'r tannau,
Beth wyf well heb neb i'w chwarae?
Dacw'r feinwen hoenus fanwl,-
Beth wyf nes heb gael meddwl?
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
Willie was a youthful lover,
Full of love and full of care.
Soon his love he did discover
For a faithful lady fair.
Away they went for to be married,
Dressed they were in rich array.
But, instead of being married,
Pressed William was and sent to sea.
She dressed herself in scarlet velvet
And after her true love she did ride,
With a musket on her shoulder
And a pistol by her side.
And when on board this lady entered
By the name of Richard West,
There the wind did blow her waistcoat
And exposed her milk white breast.
"O good lady", says the captain,
"What misfortune brought you here?"
"Twas for the sake of William Taylor
That was pressed and sent to sea".
"If his name is William Taylor,
Born and raised on the Isle of Man,
You shall see him without a-roving,
For there he walks along the strand."
She rose early in the morning,
Just before the break of day,
There she spied bold William Taylor,
Walking out with his lady gay.
She called for a sword and pistol,
Which were brought at a command.
She fired and shot bold William Taylor,
With his bride at his right hand.
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
Del en-vy ow kerdhes un myttyn yn mys me,
Y clewys moren yowynk, neb geryow yn-meth hy:
"A bup galwas yn bys kekemmys may vo,
A'n araderor nyns yu par yn mys me ytho."
An awhesyth a dhyfun a'y nythva y'n myttyn,
Y bron gans gluthennow war ayr gwyn del yskyn;
An awhesyth ha'n mow aradar kescana ‘yllons y,
Dh'y nythva yn gorthewer mos wardhelergh a-wra hy.
Yth yskynnys un myttyn mar ughel, ogh mar ughel,
Y vyrys orth an le adro hag orth an ebren tewl;
Yth esa hy ow cana yn myttyn oll adro,
Nyns yu bewnans avel araderor un mys me ytho
Pan yu dewedhys oll whel a'n jeth yma dhodho,
Dhe fer po encledhyns martesen yth ello;
Y'n keth le y whra cana hag ena y whyban,
Wosa henna dh'y gares whek a dhre ef ryban.
Sowyn dhe maw aradar pypynak may vons'y
War'n glyn, neb mowes whek kemeres a whrons-y;
Whybana a wrons ha cana, owth eva coref gell,
Muy lowen yu'n tus ma es myghtern po'n gos ughel.
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
Barbara learned this song phonetically, and can't find printed words. This version (from Clannad) is not very different:
Ó éirigí suas a thogha na bhfear,
Is cuirigí píce ?r bharr gach cleith.
Is leagaigí síos iad lucht an droch-chroí
Agus cuirigí dlí na Frainc? ar bun.
Agus ó bhean a? tí, cén bhuairt sin ort?
Is ó bhean a? tí fá dhó nó trí
Beidh talamh gan chíos ón bhliain seo amach againn,
Is ó bhean a? tí, nach suairc é sin?
Tá jug ar an mbord is tá beoir ag teacht,
Tá arm go leor ag an Duke of York.
Tá ?n Francach ?s an Spáinneach ar bhruach na trá,
Agus b?fhearr liom go mór é ná comhrá ban,
Agus ó bhean a? tí, cén bhuairt sin ort?
Is ó bhean a? tí fá dhó nó trí
Beidh talamh gan chíos ón bhliain seo amach againn,
Is ó bhean a? tí, nach suairc é sin?
Ó shuigh mise síos ?s mo mhian le m?ais,
Ag ól mo cháirt dí mar dhéanfadh fear;
Sé dúirt bean a? tí den chomhrá mhín,
Gan airgead síos bí ?gabháil amach,
Agus ó bhean a? tí, cén bhuairt sin ort?
Is ó bhean a? tí fá dhó nó trí
Beidh talamh gan chíos ón bhliain seo amach againn,
Is ó bhean a? tí, nach suairc é sin?
Chorus:
Gather up your pots and the old tin cans,
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran,
And you run like the divil from the excise man.
Keep the smoke from rising, BARNABY!
Keep your eyes well peeled today,
Those excise men are on their way,
Drinkin' up that mountain tay,
In the hills of Connemara.
Chorus
Swing to the left and swing to the right,
Those excise men will dance all night,
Drinkin' up the tay ‘til the broad daylight,
In the hills of Connemara.
Chorus
A gallon for the butcher, a quart for Tom
A bottle for puir ould Father John,
To help the puir ould divil along,
In the hills of Connemara.
Chorus
Stand your ground, it is too late!
Those excise men are at the gate.
Glory be to Paddy but they're drinkin' it straight
In the hills of Connemara.
Chorus
© 2003 Barnaby Productions Inc.
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Document last modified on June 19, 2013 - IONA.