Written by Thomas P Keenan, this prolific
songwriter captured the reality and sentimentality attached
to the pain of Emigration perfectly. This ever popular
ballad laments the parting of the waves between an Irishman
and his mother, as her beloved son heads out to a land from
which he'll probably never return. It really works well at
conjuring up the quayside scene of unbearable sadness that
befell so many as they fled from starvation and poverty. A
sobering message too that we should cherish and love our
mother's whilst we are still lucky enough to have them.
An Irish boy was leaving
Leaving his own native home
Crossing the broad Atlantic
Once more he wished to roam
And as he was leaving his mother
Whilst standing at the quay
She threw her arms around his waist
And these words to him did say
A mother's love's a blessing
No matter where you roam
Keep her while she's living
You'll miss her when she's gone
Love her as in childhood
Though feeble, old and grey
You'll never miss a mother's love
Till she's buried beneath the clay
And as the years roll onwards
I'll settle down in life
And find a nice young colleen
And take her for my wife
And as the babes grow older
And playing around my knee
I'll teach them the very words
My mother she taught to me
A mother's love's a blessing
No matter where you roam
Keep her while she's living
You'll miss her when she's gone
Love her as in childhood
Though feeble, old and grey
You'll never miss your mother's love
Till she's buried beneath the clay
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This is without doubt one of my favourite
songs to sing and has got the lot. A classical melody,
powerful story and lyrics, and bursting at the seams with
passion and history. The 1798 Rebellion was a unique period
in Irish History where large sections of the Irish people of
all traditions, arose en masse with a united effort to
achieve Nationhood. During the many battles, many based in
county Wexford, 'Protestant, Catholic and Dissenter' often
stood side by side in unquestionable solidarity and courage.
The battle of Vinegar Hill was a last stand that ended in
mass slaughter of the rebels who were lead by the great
Father Murphy.
At Boulavogue, as the sun was setting
O'er the bright May meadows of Shelmalier,
A rebel hand set the heather blazing
And brought the neighbours from far and near.
Then Father Murphy, from old Kilcormack,
Spurred up the rocks with a warning cry;
"Arm! Arm!" he cried, "for I've come to lead you,
For Ireland's freedom we'll fight or die."
He led us on 'gainst oncoming soldiers,
The cowardly Yeomen we put to flight;
'Twas at the Harrow that the boys of Wexford
Showed Bookey's regiment how men could fight.
Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
Search every kingdom where breathes a slave,
For Father Murphy of the County Wexford
Sweeps o'er the land like a mighty wave.
We took Camolin and Enniscorthy,
And Wexford storming drove out our foes;
'Twas at Slieve Coillte our pikes were reeking
With the crimson stream of the beaten yeos.
At Tubberneering and Ballyellis
Full many a Hessian lay in his gore;
Ah, but Father Murphy, had aid come over,
And the green flag floated from shore to shore!
At Vinegar Hill, o'er the pleasant Slaney,
Our heroes vainly stood back to back,
And the Yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy
And burned his body upon the rack.
God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy,
And open Heaven to all your men;
The cause that called you may call tomorrow
In another fight for the green again
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................
Brady's Music Copyright 2009 MCPS PRS
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An Irish evergreen
that never fails to get a great response. It's slow and in
parts quite miserable and melancholic, but it has that
silent indefinable 'wow' factor. It has similarities to 'The
Water is Wide' but the origins and meanings of the lyrics
are mysterious. There are
lots of connections, Dominic Behan, The Clancy's, even
Peter O'Toole! Nobody seems to know where Ballygran is! It's
a 'beaut' and interpretation is open. I have my own take on
the story. I see it as a hopeless alcoholics lament for his
lost and deceased love whom he yearns to be with in the life
hereafter.
I wish I was in Carrickfergus
Only for nights in Ballygran
I would sail over the deepest ocean
Just for one night in Ballygran
But the sea is wide and I cannot swim over
Neither have I the wings to fly
If I could find me a handsome boatman
To ferry me over to my love and Die
My childhood days bring sad reflections
Of happy days spent long ago
My old dear friends and kind relations
Have all vanished like the melting snow
So I'll spend my days in endless roving
Soft is the grass my bed is free
Oh to be back now in carrickfergus
Where that long road winds to the sea
In Kilkenny it is reported
There's marble stones there as black as ink
With gold and silver I would transport her
But I'll say no more now till I get a drink
For I'm drunk today and I'm seldom sober
A handsome rover from town to town
Ah but I am sick now my days are numbered
Come all me young men and lay me down
Come all me young men and lay me down
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................ Brady's Music Copyright 2009
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Probably the most emotionally
charged song associated with Irishness worldwide. Sung regularly at
weddings, wakes and funerals to many the tear! However, it's also a
debatable song regarding it's origin and ethnicity, the lyrics were
apparently written by an Englishman, Frederick Weatherly and put to
the 'Londonderry air'. It is assumed to be about all sorts of things
from a simple song about Emigration to an in depth story to do with
the Jacobite Rebellion. Whatever the truth, we'll leave that to the
debaters!
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the
pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.
And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my grave shall warmer, sweeter be
And you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................ Brady's Music Copyright 2009
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A real foot stomper guaranteed
to get the crowd going at a gig, hands clapping, feet stomping and
singing along. An ancient Belfast Street Ballad that will live
forever and sung all over the place from London to Adelaide. It has
an interesting history and there are in fact several versions using
English towns and also a Dublin version. The 'Belfast' version is
probably the most popular and recorded version with covers by lots
of Irish acts including the Chieftains, Johnny McEvoy, The Clancy's,
etc, to name but a few. You can also buy my version on this CD
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 'til I go home.
She is handsome, she is pretty,
She is the belle of Belfast City,
She is a courtin, one, two, three
Please won't you tell me who is she?
Albert Mooney says he loves her,
And all the boys are fighting for her.
They knock at the door they 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.
Old Johnny Murray says she'll die
If she doesn't get the fellow with the roving eye.
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 'til I go home.
She is handsome, she is pretty,
She is the belle of Belfast City,
She is a courtin, one, two, three
Please won't you tell me who is she?
Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high,
Let the snow come tumb-ling from the sky.
She's as nice as apple pie,
She'll get her own lad by and by!
And when she gets a lad of her own
She won't tell her ma til' she gets home.
Let them all come as they will
It's Albert Mooney she loves still!
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 'til I go home.
She is handsome, she is pretty,
She is the belle of Belfast City,
She is a courtin, one, two, three
Please won't you tell me who is she?
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................
Brady's Music Copyright 2009 MCPS PRS
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Undoubtedly the most powerful, evocative rebel song to have been born from the Irish
Troubles of the 1920's. The tale of Kevin Barry's journey
to martyrdom sent waves of
revulsion across the globe, creating a major turning point for the
growing tide of sympathy sweeping the world, particularly in the
USA, for the struggle for
Irish independence.
In Mountjoy jail one Monday
morning
High upon the gallows tree,
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers,
Yet there's no one can deny,
As he walked to death that morning,
He proudly held his head on high.
Just before he faced the hangman,
In his dreary prison cell,
British soldiers tortured Barry,
Just because he would not tell
Tell the names of his brave comrades,
And other things they wished to know.
Turn informer of we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered, no
Calmly standing to attention
While he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother
Whose sad grief no one can tell
For the cause he proudly cherished
This sad parting had to be
Unto death walked softly smiling
That old Ireland might be free
Another martyr for old Ireland;
Another murder for the crown,
Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish,
But they can't keep their spirit down.
Lads like Barry are no cowards.
From the foe they will not fly.
Lads like Kevin will free Ireland,
For her sake they'll live and die
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................ Brady's Music Copyright 2009
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A great old lively standard sing-along that
I've been singing for years and always enjoy performing. It's
probably more English in origin than Irish but it's been covered by
everyone from The Dubliners to The Clancys and a million other
artists worldwide.
Fare the well to you my own true love
I am sailing far far away
I am bound for Cali-for-nia
but I know that I'll return someday
Chorus:
So fare thee well, my own true love
When I return united we will be
It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me
But my darling when I think of thee
I am boarding a Yankee sailing ship
The Davy Crockett is her name
And Burgess is the Captain of her
And they say she's a floating Hell
Chorus:
So fare thee well, my own true love
When I return united we will be
It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me
But my darling when I think of thee
Oh the sun is on the harbour love
And I wish I could remain
For I know t'will be a long, long time
Till I see you again
Chorus:
So fare thee well, my own true love
When I return united we will be
It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me
But my darling when I think of thee
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................ Brady's Music Copyright 2009
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This beautiful ballad has that
magical fusion that makes the classic Irish ballad so special. It
has a totally unforgettable melody that bends and sways with the
sentiment of the lyrics.............. Written in the days long
before Jumbo jets and at a time when going to America would be for
the vast majority a
one way trip of no return. This arrangement is a slightly
abbreviated version..................There's another verse or two in the original
version.
Oh then fare thee well sweet
Donegal
The Rosses and Gweedore
I'm crossing o'er the main ocean
Where the foaming billows roar
It breaks my heart from you to part
Where I spent many happy days
Farewell to kind relations
I am bound for Amerikay
Oh then Mary you're my heart's delight
My pride and only joy
It was your cruel Father
Would not let me stay here
But absence makes the heart grow fond
And when I am over the main
May the Lord protect my darling girl
'Til I return again
And I wish I was in sweet Dunloe
And seated on the ground
And by my side a bottle of wine
And on my knee a Lass
I'd call for liquor of the best
And I'd pay before I'd go
And I'll roll my Mary in my arms
In the town of sweet Dunloe
And I'll roll my Mary in my arms
In the town of sweet Dunloe
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................
Brady's Music Copyright 2009 MCPS PRS
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This is the Mother of all
songs for depicting the plight of the victims of the tyrannical
landlords and the cruel famine years in mid nineteenth century
Ireland. I've been singing it for years and never tire of it. It
never fails to send shivers up my spine and has got be one of my all
time favourites. Lots of great versions out there and slight
variations in the lyrics are commonplace. Here's my arrangement.
Oh Father dear, I
oftimes hear
You speak of Erin's isle
Her lofty scenes, her valleys green,
Her mountains rude and wild
They say it is a lovely land
Wherein a prince might dwell
Oh why did you abandon her,
The reason to me tell
My son, I loved my native land
With energy and pride
Till a blight came over all the land
My sheep, my cattle died
My rent and taxes were to pay,
I could not them redeem
And that's the cruel reason why
I left old Skibbereen
Oh well do I remember
That bleak December day
The landlord and the sheriff came
To drive us all away
They set my roof on fire
With their cursed English spleen
I heaved a sigh and bade goodbye
To dear old Skibbereen
Your Mother too, God rest her soul,
Fell on the snowy ground
She fainted in her anguish
Seeing the desolation 'round
She never rose but passed away
From life to mortal dream
And found a quiet grave, me boy,
In dear old Skibbereen
And you were only two years old
And feeble was your frame
I could not leave you with my friends
You bore your father's name
I wrapped you in my cóta mór
In the dead of night unseen
I heaved a sigh and bade goodbye
To dear old Skibbereen
And deep within my memory's the year of '48
When with my comrades one and all
We rallied against fate
I was hunted through the hills by slaves
Who served a foreign Queen
And that's another reason why
I left dear Skiberreen
Oh father dear, the day will come
When in answer to the call
Each Irish men with feelings stern
Will rally against fate
I'll be the man to lead the van
Beneath that flag of green
And loud and high we'll raise the cry,
Revenge for Skibbereen!
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................
Brady's Music Copyright 2009 MCPS PRS
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One of the most popular Irish
ballads ever, and constantly asked for at gigs. A really powerful
melody with haunting words that capture so poignantly the nostalgic
emigrants dreams of his homeland. In the days that this song was
written, the chances of returning were pretty much nil. The original
version was written in poem form and contains several more verses
and variations of this arrangement. It's sung in many versions
across the world in Irish sessions and bars from Kilburn to Sydney.
It will always be a classic Irish ballad
evergreen. Few songs so richly deserve such a mantle.
Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
Me mind been bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I steeped on board a vision and I followed with a will
'Til next I came to anchor at the cross of Spancil Hill
Delighted by the novelty enchanted with scene
Where in my early boyhood where oftimes I had been
I thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it still
It's the little stream of water that flows by Spancil Hill
I went to see me neighbours to see what they might say
The old ones they were dead and gone and the young ones turning grey
I met with the tailor Quigley he's a bold as ever still
Sure he used to make me britches when I lived in Spancil Hill
It been on the 23rd of June the day before the fair
When Ireland's sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young the old the brave and the bold their duty to fulfil
At the parish church at clooney just a mile from Spancil Hill
The next I paid a visit to my first and only love
She's as fair as any lily and as gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me saying Johnny I love you still
She was the farmers daughter the pride of Spancil Hill
Well I hugged her and I kissed her as in the days of yore
She said Johnny you're only joking as many's the time before
The cock he crew in the morning he crew both loud and shrill
I awoke in California many miles from Spancil Hill
I awoke in California many miles from Spancil Hill
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................ Brady's Music Copyright 2009
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 A sorry tale of a
young Irish American bound for the dreaded penitentiary in
Charlestown, Massachusetts. A great melody with powerful
words. I first heard a version of this song many years ago
via a Johnny McEvoy single. Johnny is himself a great
songwriter and performer who can hold an audience in the
palm of his hand. Back in the 1980's I had the honour of
working with him in Boston for a series of concerts in the
city. This song is a must for any Irish balladeer's setlist!
I was born and raised
in Boston, a place
you all know well
Brought up by honest parents The truth to you I'll tell
Brought up by honest parents and reared most tenderly
'Til I became a sporting blade At the age of twenty-three
My character was broken
and I was sent to Jail
My friends and my relations tried to get me out on bail
But The jury found me guilty and The clerk he wrote it down
Sentenced down for 20 years I was bound for Charlestown
They put me on an eastbound train
one cold December day
And at every station I passed by you could hear the people
say
There goes the Boston Burglar in strong chains he is bound
For one crime or other he is bound Charlestown
I can see my poor old father a standing at the bar
Likewise my dear old mother she was tearing out her hair
A tearing out her old grey locks as tears came tumbling down
My son, my son what have you done you are bound for
Charlestown
Now you that have your freedom take warning if you can
And don't go rambling streets at night breaking laws of God
and Man
For if you do you'll surely rue and you'll end up like me
Sentenced down to 20 years in the penitentiary
Serving full of 20 years in penal servitude
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................
Brady's Music Copyright 2009 MCPS PRS
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The original lyrics of this rousing anthem were
in fact, written in English, by Peadar Kearney in
1907, an uncle of the legendary Brendan Behan.The Irish language
version did not arive until around 1923. Legend has it that it was
sung at the height of the Easter Rising in the GPO by the
Rebels to raise their spirits. There is a longer version and of
course the Gaelic version
'Amhrán na bhFiann'. I've sung this version for
many years and it's a real passion stirrer!
I'll sing you a song, a soldier's song,
With a cheering rousing chorus,
As 'round the blazing fires we throng,
The starry heavens o'er
Impatient for the coming fight,
And as we await the morning light,
Here in the stillness of the night,
We will chant a soldier's song
Chorus:
Soldiers are we , whose lives are pledged to Ireland;
Some have come from a land beyond the waves
Sworn to be free, No more our ancient sire land
Shall shelter the despot or the slave.
Tonight we man the bhearna bhaoil
In Erin's cause, come woe or weal
'Midst cannons' roar and rifles peal,
We will chant a soldier's song.
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This charming evergreen Irish
classic has an unforgettable air that weaves it way through the
lyrics in a magical way painting a love story from an Ireland of
old, long long before the Celtic Tiger. Having your shoes shining
brightly and making an impression in front of the ladies at the
local fair was all part of the mating process. The melody is in a
minor key and always one of my favourites to sing and sounds great
with the fiddle or button box accordian.
Near Banbridge town, in the
County Down
One morning last July
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself
For to see I was surely there
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.
As she onward sped sure I shook my head
And I looked with a feeling rare
And I said, says I, to a passerby
"who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
He smiled at me, and he said says he,
"She's the gem of Ireland's crown.
Young Rosie McCann
From the banks of the Bann
She's the star of the County Down."
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.
At the Harvest fair she'll be surely there
So I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
With my shoes shone bright
And my hat cocked right
For a smile from my nut-brown rose.
No pipe I'll smoke,
No horse I'll yoke
Til my plough is a rust coloured brown
Till a smiling bride
At my own fireside
Sits the star of the County Down.
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.
Traditional arrangement Sean Brady........................
Brady's Music Copyright 2009 MCPS PRS
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The
Sean Brady Collection of Irish Ballads