WORDS OF SONGS ON THE SOUND OF IONA

A note on Copyright.

Although all the songs except Lark in the Morning, Wild Geese at Night 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:
© 1998 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!

1. Fosgail An Doras Dhan Tàilleir Fhidhleir

Fosgail an doras dhan tàilleir fhidhleir.
Fosgail an doras dhan fhidhleir thàilleir.
Fosgail an doras dhan tàilleir fhidhleir.
Cliamhain a' righ fhidhleir tàilleir.

‘Sdileas mise dha's càirdeach mi dha,
‘Sdileas mise dhan fhidhleir thàilleir,
‘Sdileas mise dha's càirdeach mi dha.
Cliamhain a' righ fhidhleir tàilleir.

Fosgail an doras dhan tàilleir fhidhleir.
Fosgail an doras dhan fhidhleir thàilleir.
Fosgail an doras dhan tàilleir fhidhleir.
Cliamhain a' righ fhidhleir tàilleir.

Bainne nan gobhar tàilleir fhidhleir,
Bainne nan gobhar fhidhleir thàillei,r
Bainne nan gobhar tàilleir fhidhleir,
Cliamhain a' righ fhidhleir tàilleir.

Fosgail an doras dhan tàilleir fhidhleir.
Fosgail an doras dhan fhidhleir thàilleir.
Fosgail an doras dhan tàilleir fhidhleir.
Cliamhain a' righ fhidhleir tàilleir.

Open the door for the fiddling tailor.
Open the door for the tailoring fiddler.
Open the door for the fiddling tailor.
The king's son-in-law is the tailoring fiddler.

Failthful am I to him, kinsman am I to him,
Faithful am I to the tailoring fiddler.
Failthful am I to him, kinsman am I to him.
The king's son-in-law is the tailoring fiddler.

Open the door for the fiddling tailor.
Open the door for the tailoring fiddler.
Open the door for the fiddling tailor.
The king's son-in-law is the tailoring fiddler.

Goat's milk for the fiddling tailor,
Goat's milk for the tailoring fiddler,
Goat's milk for the fiddling tailor,
The king's son-in-law is the tailoring fiddler.

Open the door for the fiddling tailor.
Open the door for the tailoring fiddler.
Open the door for the fiddling tailor.
The king's son-in-law is the tailoring fiddler.

2. Song of the Travelling Beggars

Arise, arise oh my trusty young lad
For the Master has knocked on the floor.
Oh arise you arise, for the pleasant sun rises,
And the grass awaits the scythe in the meadow,
Oh arise you, arise.

Behold us your friends, oh young man of the Isle,
Here afoot at the dawn of day.
We will clean out your byre for a meal in the morning,
Though we travel the roads all the day.
Oh arise you, arise.

Arise you, arise now oh pleasant young lad,
Give a heed to the knock on the floor.
Oh arise and come forth in the chill of the morning,
And give food to the beggars in the barn.
Oh arise you, arise.
© 1998 Barnaby Productions Inc.

3. Y Gwcw Fach (The Little Cuckoo)

Gwcw fach, on'd wyt ti'n ffolog,
FFal di ral di rw di rw di rai tai to.
Canu ‘mhlith yr eithin pigog,
FFal di ral di rw di rw di rai tai to.
Dos i dre Dolgelle' dirion,
FFal di ral di rw di rw di rai tai to.
Ti gei yno lwyni gwyrddion,
FFal di ral di rw di rw di rai tai to.

Gwcw fach, ehed union
Tua glannau afon Wnion.
Ar dy aden aros ennyd
Wrth annedle fy anwylyd.

Gwcw fach, os yno gweli
Un a wyla'r d r yn heli,
Cân di gân y gwanwyn iddo,
Cân o obaith i'w gysuro.

Little cuckoo, aren't you foolish,
Fal di ral di roo di roo di ray tay toe
Sitting amongst the prickly gorse.
Fal di ral di roo di roo di ray tay toe
Go to the fair town of Dolgellau
Fal di ral di roo di roo di ray tay toe
Where you'll find green bushes.
Fal di ral di roo di roo di ray tay toe

Little cuckoo, fly at once
Towards the banks of the River Wnion.
Wait a second as you wing
Near the place where my love is.

Little cuckoo, if you see there
One who weeps salty water,
Sing the song of spring to him,
A song of hope to comfort him.

4. Paddy's Green Shamrock Shores

From Derry Quay we sailed away on the twenty-third of May.
We were boarded by a pleasant crew, bound for Amerikay.
Fresh water there, we did take on, five thousand gallons or more,
In case we ran short on the way to New York,
Far away from the shamrock shores.

We sailed three days, we were all seasick, not a man on board was free,
We were all confined unto our bunks, with no one to pity poor me.
No father kind, nor mother dear, to lift up my head when it's sore,
Which made me think more of the lassie I left
On Paddy's green shamrock shores.

So fare thee well, sweet Liza dear, and likewise to Derry Town.
And twice farewell to my comrade boys, who dwell on that sainted ground.
If fortune should ever to favor me, and I to have money in store,
I'll come back and I'll wed the wee lassie I left
On Paddy's green shamrock shores.

We safely reached the other side, in three and twenty days.
We were taken as passengers by the hand, and led round in six different ways.
We each of us drank a parting glass, in case we might never meet more,
And we a drank a health to old Ireland, and Paddy's green shamrock shores.

Reprise V. 3.
© 1998 Barnaby Productions Inc.

5. Tri Marghak

Barbara learned these words phonetically, and isn't even going to try to write them out. Good luck!

6. Bean Pháidín

Refrain
‘Sé an trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
‘Sé an trua ghéar nach mise bean Pháidín
‘Sé an trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
‘san bhean atá aige ‘bheith caillte.

Rachainn go Gaillimh, go Gaillimh go is Rachainn go Gaillimh le Páidín,
Rachainn go Gaillimh, go Gaillimh go is thiocfainn abhaile sa mbád leis.

Refrain

Rachainn go haonach an Chlocháin is siar go Béal Átha na Báighe,
Bhreathnóinn isteach tríd an bhfuinneog, ag súil is go bhfeicfinn Bean Pháidín.

Refrain

Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa, go mbristear do chosa a bhean Pháidín,
Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa, go mbristear do chosa is do chnámha.
© 1998 Barnaby Productions Inc.

7. Queen Amang the Heather

As I roved out one fine summer's morn,
Amang lofty hills, moorland and mountains,
It was there I spied a weel fort lass,
Whilst I with others was out huntin'.

No shoes nor stockings did she wear,
Nor had she hat, nor had she feathers,
But her golden hair hung in ringlets fair,
And a gentle breeze blew round her shoulders.

I said, "Braw lassie why go your lane?
Why go your lane among the heather?"
She said, "My faither's awa' frae hame,
An I'm herdin' a' the yowes the gither."

I said, "Braw lassie will you be mine,
And care tae lie on a bed of feathers?
Sure in silks and satins it's you will shine,
And ye'll be my queen amang the heather.

She said, "Kind sir your offer is good,
But I'm afraid ‘twas meant for laughter,
For I hear you are a rich squire's son,
And I'm a poor lame shepherd's daughter.

"Well, had you been a shepherd's loon,
A-herdin' yowes in yonder valley,
Or had you been a plooman's son,
Wi' a' my heart I would hae Loed ye."

Well, I've been tae halls, an' I've been tae balls,
I've been tae London an' Balquidder.
But the bonniest lass that e'er I saw
Was herdin' yowes amang the heather.

So we baith sat doon upon the plain,
We sat awhile, and we talked the gither.
An' we left the yowes to go their lane,
An' I loed my queen amang the heather.
© 1998 Barnaby Productions Inc.

9. Lark in the Morning, Wild Geese at Night

by Loralyn Coles

Refrain
Oh your whisper 'tis here in the still of the morn,
As the lark sings her song to the new risen day.
And I wake with a smile, feelin' you here beside me,
Then my heart breaks anew, for you're far, far away.

‘Twas a cruel game they played when they gave ye one choice,
To join British ranks or to leave Irish land,
And tho' some gladly turned, you'd be less of a man,
If you faced your own friends with a sword in your hand.

Refrain

So we get through the day, tho' ‘tis hard and ‘tis cold,
And the whispers ‘round town seem to grow toward night,
And I watch with the rest for the Wild Geese, a-hoping
‘Tis not your own soul coming home with this flight.

Refrain
© 1995 Loralyn Coles

10. Voici le Mois de Mai

Refrain
Jamais je n'aurais mon âge de quinze ans.
Jamais je n'aurais mon amour de vingt ans.

Voici le mois de mai où les fleurs volent au vent.
Le fils du roi d'Espagne s'en va les ramassant.
Il en ramassa tant qu'll en mis plein ses gants.
Il s'en va les porter a celle qu'il aimait tant.
Tenez voici, ma mie, tenez voici des gants.
Et vous n'les porterez que deux, trois fois par an,
La fête de la Pentecôte et la fête de Saint Jean,
Le jour de notre noces qui sera le plus grand.

I will never be fifteen again.
I will never have a lover of twenty again.

It is the month of May when the flowers fly in the wind.
The son of the King of Spain picks them up.
He collects as many as he can fill his gloves with.
He takes them to the one he loves.
Take them, my dearest, take these gloves.
You will only wear them two or three times a year,
At Pentecost and the Feast of St. John,
The day of our wedding, which will be the greatest.

Document last modified on June 21, 2013 - IONA.