STAR OF THE COUNTY DOWN

CARRICKFERGUS

THE HILLS OF CONNEMARA 

THE TRAVELING PEOPLE

FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW

SPANCIL HILL

FAREWELL TO THE RHONDA 

FIDDLER’S GREEN

STAR OF THE COUNTY DOWN    Back to Top


CLOSE TO 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 NEAT FROM HER TWO BARE FEET

TO THE SHEEN OF HER NUT-BROWN HAIR

SUCH A COAXING ELF, I’D TO SHAKE MYSELF

TO MAKE SURE I WAS REALLY THERE.

FROM BANTRY BAY UP TO DERRY QUAY

AND FROM GALWAY TO DUBLIN TOWN

NO MAID I’VE SEEN LIKE THE BROWN COLLEEN

THAT I MET IN THE COUNTY DOWN
  
AS SHE ONWARD SPED SURE I SCRATCHED MY HEAD
  
AND I SAID WITH A FEELING RARE
  
“AY,” SAYS I TO A PASSER-BY

“WHO’S THE MAID WITH THE NUT-BROWN HAIR?”

HE SMILED AT ME, AND THEN 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 BROWN COLLEEN

THAT I MET IN THE COUNTY DOWN
  
AT THE HARVEST FAIR I’LL SURELY BE THERE

AND I’LL DRESS IN MY SUNDAY CLOTHES

WITH MY SHOES SHONE BRIGHT AND MY HAT UPRIGHT
  
AND A SMILE FROM MY NUT-BROWN ROSE
  
NO PIPE I SMOKE, NO HORSE I’LL YOKE

LET MY PLOUGH WITH RUST TURN BROWN
  
TILL A SMILING BRIDE BY 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 BROWN COLLEEN

THAT I MET IN THE COUNTY DOWN
  
  
  
  
  
  
CARRICKFERGUS    Back to Top
  

I WISH I WAS IN CARRICKFERGUS,

ONLY FOR NIGHTS IN BALLYGRANT

I WOULD SWIM OVER THE DEEPEST OCEAN

ONLY FOR NIGHTS IN BALLYGRANT

BUT THE SEA IS WIDE AND I CANNOT CROSS OVER

AND NEITHER HAVE I THE WINGS TO FLY

I WISH I COULD MEET A HANDSOME BOATSMAN

TO FERRY ME OVER, MY LOVE TO FIND
  
BUT IN KILKENNY, IT IS REPORTED
  
ON MARBLE STONES THERE AS BLACK AS INK
  
WITH GOLD AND SILVER I WOULD SUPPORT HER
  
BUT I’LL SING NO MORE NOW ‘TIL I GET A DRINK

FOR I’M DRUNK TODAY, AND I’M SELDOM SOBER

A HANDSOME ROVER FROM TOWN TO TOWN
  
AH, BUT I’M SICK NOW, MY DAYS ARE NUMBERED
 
COME ALL YOU YOUNG MEN AND LAY ME DOWN.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
THE HILLS OF CONNEMARA    Back to Top

  
GATHER UP THE POTS AND THE OLD TIN CAN

THE MASH, THE CORN, THE BARLEY, AND THE BRAN

RUN LIKE THE DEVIL FROM THE EXCISE MAN

KEEP THE SMOKE FROM RISING, BARNEY
  
KEEP YOUR EYES WELL PEELED TODAY
  
THE EXCISE MAN IS ON HIS WAY
  
SEARCHING FOR THE MOUNTAIN TAY
  
IN THE HILLS OF CONNEMARA
  
A GALLON FOR THE BUTCHER, A QUART FOR TOM
  
A BOTTLE FOR POOR OLD FATHER JOHN
  
TO HELP THE POOR OLD MAN ALONG
  
IN THE HILLS OF CONNEMARA
  
STAND YOUR GROUND, IT IS TOO LATE
  
THE EXCISE MAN IS AT THE GATE
  
GLORY BE TO GOD, HE’S DRINKING IT NATE

IN THE HILLS OF CONNEMARA
 
  
  
  
  
THE TRAVELING PEOPLE    Back to Top
  

I’M A FREEBORN MAN OF THE TRAVELING PEOPLE
                       
GOT NO FIXED ABODE, WITH NOMADS I AM NUMBERED

COUNTRY LANES AND BY-WAYS WERE ALWAYS MY WAYS

I NEVER FANCIED BEING LUMBERED
  
OH WE KNEW THE WOODS AND THE RESTING PLACES
  
AND THE SMALL BIRD SANG WHEN WINTER DAYS WERE OVER
  
THEN WE’D PACK OUR LOAD AND BE ON THE ROAD

THOSE WERE GOOD OLD TIMES FOR A ROVER
  
THERE WAS OPEN GROUND WHERE A MAN COULD LINGER
  
FOR A WEEK OR TWO, FOR TIME WAS NOT OUR MASTER
  
THEN AWAY YOU’D JOG WITH YOUR HORSE AND DOG

NICE AND EASY, NO NEED TO GO FASTER
  
NOW AND THEN YOU’D MEET UP WITH OTHER TRAVELERS
 
HEAR THE NEWS, OR ELSE SWAP FAMILY INFORMATION
  
AT THE COUNTRY FAIRS, YOU’D BE MEETING THERE
 
ALL THE PEOPLE OF THE TRAVELING NATION
  
NOW I’VE KNOWN LIFE HARD AND I’VE KNOWN IT EASY

AND I’VE CURSED THAT LIFE WHEN WINTER DAYS WERE DAWNING

BUT WE’VE LAUGHED AND SUNG THROUGH THE WHOLE NIGHT LONG
 
SEEN THE SUMMER SUN RISE IN THE MORNING
  
ALL YOU FREEBORN MEN OF THE TRAVELING PEOPLE
  
EVERY TINKER, ROLLING STONE AND GYPSY ROVER
  
WINDS OF CHANGE ARE BLOWING, OLD WAYS ARE GOING
  
YOUR TRAVELING DAYS WILL SOON BE OVER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW    Back to Top

LIFT MACCAHIR OG 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 FEACH MACHUGH O’BYRNE

CURSE AND SWEAR LORD KILDARE

FEAGH WILL DO WHAT FEACH 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

FEACH MACHUGH HAD GIVEN THE WORD

FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW
  
SEE THE SWORDS OF GLEN IMAYLE, FLASHING O’ER THE ENGLIGH PALE

SEE ALL THE CHILDREN OF THE GAEL, BENEATH O’BYRNE’S BANNERS   
ROSTER OF THE FIGHTING STOCK, WOULD YOU LET A SAXON COCK
  
CROW OUT UPON AN IRISH ROCK, FLY UP AND TEACH HIM MANNERS
  
FROM TASSAGART TO CLONMORE, THERE FLOWS A STREAM OF SAXON GORE
  
OCH, GREAT IS RORY OGE O’MORE, SENDING THE LOONS TO HADES

WHITE IS SICK AND LANE IS FLED, NOW FOR BLACK FITZWILLIAM’S HEAD

WE’LL SEND IT OVER, DRIPPING RED, TO QUEEN LIZA AND THE LADIES.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
SPANCIL HILL    Back to Top

LAST NIGHT AS I LAY DREAMING OF PLEASANT DAYS GONE BY

ME MIND BEIN’ BENT ON RAMBLING TO IRELAND I DID FLY

I STEPPED ON BOARD A VISION AND FOLLOWED WITH THE WILL

WHEN NEXT I CAME TO ANCHOR AT THE CROSS NEAR SPANCIL HILL
  
DELIGHTED BY THE NOVELTY, ENCHANTED BY THE SCENE
  
WHERE IN MY EARLY BOYHOOD SO OFTEN I HAD BEEN
  
I THOUGHT I HEARD A MURMUR AND I THINK I HEAR IT STILL
  
IT’S THAT LITTLE STREAM OF WATER THAT FLOWS FROM SPANCIL HILL   
BEING ON THE TWENTY-THIRD 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 FULFILL
  
AT THE PARISH CHURCH OF CLOONEY, A MILE FROM SPANCIL HILL
  
I WENT TO SEE MY NEIGHBORS, TO HEAR WHAT THEY MIGHT SAY
  
THE OLD ONES WERE ALL DEAD AND GONE AND THE YOUNG ONES TURNING GRAY
  
I MET THE TAILOR QUIGLEY, HE’S AS BOLD AS EVER STILL

SURE HE USED TO MAKE NY BRITCHES WHEN I LIVED IN SPANCIL HILL
  
I PAID A FLYING VISIT TO MY FIRST AND ONLY LOVE
  
SHE’S AS FAIR AS ANY LILY AND GENTLE AS A DOVE

SHE THREW HER ARMS AROUND ME, SAYING, “JOHNNY I LOVE YOU STILL”

AH, SHE’S NELL, THE FARMER’S DAUGHTER, THE PRIDE OF SPANCIL HILL

I DREAMT I HELD AND 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.





FAREWELL TO THE RHONDA    Back to Top
  

WELL ME FATHER WAS A MINER AND HIS FATHER WAS BEFORE

AND THEY ALWAYS HAD BEEN PROUD TO WORK BELOW

BUT SINCE THEY FELL ‘NEATH ROBIN’S AXE,

ALL THE LADS – HAVE GOT THE SACKS

AND AWAY TO WORK IN ENGLAND WE MUST GO

FAREWELL THE COLLIERY WORKER, THE MUFFLER AND THE CAP

FAREWELL YOU RHONDA VALLEY GIRLS, WE NEVER WILL COME BACK

THE MINES THEY ARE A-CLOSING AND THE VALLEYS ALL ARE DOOMED

THERE’S NO WORK IN THE RHONDA, BOYS, THEY’LL BE IN LONDON SOON

NO MORE THE CHAPEL SINGING, FOR THAT LONG AGO HAS LEFT US
  
IN THE PUBLIC HOUSE, NO MORE THE MINERS SONG.
  
FOR THE POPULATION’S DROPPING AS THE PIT-WHEELS ARE A-STOPPING

AND I CAN’T AFFORD TO STAY HERE VERY LONG

TREHERBERT AND TREORCHY, TONY PANDY AND TYNEWYDD
  
YSTRAD RHONDDA, TON PENTRE ALL ADIEU
  
FOR I CAN NO LONGER WAIT, WHILE PARLIAMENT DEBATES
  
SO A FOND FAREWELL I’LL BID TO ALL OF YOU.
  
  
  

FIDDLER’S GREEN    Back to Top

AS I WALKED BY THE DOCKSIDE ONE EVENING SO FAIR

TO VIEW THE STILL WATERS AND TAKE THE SALT AIR

I HEARD AN OLD FISHERMAN SINGING THIS SONG

WON’T YOU TAKE ME AWAY BOYS, MY TIME ISN’T LONG

WRAP ME UP IN MY OILSKINS AND JUMPERS

NO MORE ON THE DOCKS I’LL BE SEEN

JUST TELL ME OLD SHIPMATES I’M TAKING A TRIP, MATES
    
AND I’LL SEE YOU SOME DAY IN FIDDLER’S GREEN

OH FIDDLER’S GREEN IS A PLACE I’VE HEARD TELL
 
WHERE FISHERMEN GO IF THEY DON’T GO TO HELL

WHERE THE WEATHER IS FAIR AND THE DOLPHINS DO PLAY
  
AND THE COLD COAST OF GREENLAND IS FAR, FAR AWAY
  
WHERE THE SKY’S ALWAYS CLEAR AND THERE’S NEVER A GALE

WHERE THE FISH JUMP ON BOARD WITH A SHISH OF THEIR TAILS
  
WHERE YOU LIE AT YOUR LEISURE, THERE’S NO WORK TO DO
  
AND THE SKIPPER’S BELOW MAKING TEA FOR THE CREW

WHEN YOU GET BACK IN DOCK AND THE LONG TRIP IS THROUGH
  
THERE’S PUBS AND THERE’S CLUBS AND THERE’S LASSIES THERE TOO   
WHERE THE GIRLS ARE ALL PRETTY AND THE BEER IS ALL FREE
  
AND THERE’S BOTTLES OF RUM GROWING ON EVERY TREE

NOW I DON’T WANT A HARP NOR A HALO, NOT ME

JUST GIVE ME A BREEZE AND A GOOD ROLLING SEA
  
AND I’LL PLAY ME OLD SQUEEZE-BOX AS WE SAIL ALONG

WITH THE WIND IN THE RIGGING TO SING ME THIS SONG
  

Irish Song Charts are available in pdg format at Spike's Music Collection.

The song playing on this page is
"The Washerwoman" 

<bgsound src="midi2/washerwoman.mid" loop="1">

If the music doesn't automatically play for you, click the song title above and open the midi in your media player. 

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and are believed to be in the public domain.
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