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I am a wind on the sea,
I am a wave of the ocean,
I am the roar of the tides,
I am a stag of seven tines,
I am a hawk on the cliff,
I am a dewdrop let fall by the sun
I am the most beautiful among flowers
I am a boar enraged,
I am the salmon of wisdom,
I am a lake in a plain,
I am the vigour of man
I am the meaning of poetry,
I am the spirit who fires your mind.
I am both the tree and the lightning strikes it
I am the dark secret of the dolmen not yet hewn
I am the queen of every hive
I am the fire on every hill
I am the shield over every head
I am the spear of battle
I am the ninth wave of eternal return
I am the grave of every vain hope
I invoke the land of Ireland
Much coursed by the fertile sea.
Fertile be the fruit-strewn mountain
Fruit strewn be the showery wood
Showery be the river of waterfalls
Of waterfalls be the lake of deep pools
Deep pooled be the hill-top well
A well of tribes be the assembly
An assembly of the kings is Tara
Tara be the hill of the tribes
The tribes of the sons of Mil
Of Mil of the ships -
Like a lofty ship be Ireland
Lofty Ireland, darkly sung
Dark Eber's incantation
An incantation of great cunning
The great cunning of the wives of Bres
The wives of Bres of Buaigne
But the great lady, Ireland -
Eremon has conquered her.
I, Amairgen, have invoked for her.
I invoke the land of Eire.
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2. |
THE HARPER'S SONG [3:35]
03:34
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Summer eve is gone and past, summer dew is fading fast
I have wandered all the day- do not bid me further stray
Gentle folk of gentle kin; let the wandering harper in
Bid me not in battlefield buckler lift or broad sword wield
All my strength and all my art is to touch the gentle heart
With the wizard notes that ring from the peaceful minstrel string
I have song of war for knight, lay of love for lady bright
Fairy tale to warm the ear, goblin grim the maids to scare
Dark the night and long till day- do not bid me further stray.
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3. |
GIVE ME YOUR HAND [3:05]
03:02
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4. |
O'ROURKE'S FEAST [3:58]
03:56
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O'Rourke's noble feast will ne'er be forgot
By those who were there (or those who were not!)
His revels to keep we sup and we dine
On seven score sheep, fat bullocks, and swine.
Uisquebaugh to our feast in pails was brought up
A hundred at least - and a madder our cup.
Oh, there is the sport. We awake with a fright
In disorderly sort from snoring all night
Oh how I was tricked - my pipe it was broke
My pocket was picked - I lost my new coat!
"I'm rifled", quoth Nell, "of mantle and kertcher!"
Well then, fare them well - and the de'il take the searcher!
Come, harper, strike up! But first, by your favour,
Boy, bring us a cup -- ahh, that has some savor!l
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5. |
BONNY PORTMORE [4:17]
04:14
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Oh Bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand,
And the more I think on you the more I think long
If I had you now as I had you once before
All the Lords in Old England could not purchase Portmore.
Oh Bonny Portmore I am sorry to have seen
Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree
It stood on your banks for many's the long day
Till the long boats of Antrim came and floated it away.
All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep
Saying, "Where will we shelter and where will we sleep?"
For the oak and the ash they are all cutten down
And the green walls of Bonnie Port more are all down to the ground
Oh Bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand,
And the more I think on you the more I think long
If I had you now as I had you once before
All the Lords in Old England could not purchase Portmore.
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I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
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10. |
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When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
As they read in their books of prayer;
But I, I read in my book of songs
That I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come to the end of our time
To Saint Peter all sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate.
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance.
And when all the folk up there spy me,
They will all come unto me,
Saying 'Here is the fiddler of Dooney!'
And dance like a wave of the sea.
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11. |
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Not available due to copyright
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12. |
THE GALWAY SHAWL [5:54]
05:43
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At Orenmore in the County Galway,
One pleasant evening in the month of May,
I spied a damsel, she was young and handsome
Her beauty fairly took my breath away.
She wore no jewels, nor costly diamonds,
No paint or powder, no, none at all.
But she wore a bonnet with a ribbon on it
And round her shoulder was a Galway Shawl.
We kept on walking, we kept on talking,
'Till her father's cottage came into view.
Says she: 'Come in, sir, and meet my father,
And play to please him " The Foggy Dew."
She sat me down there beside the fire
I could see her father, he was six feet tall.
And soon her mother had the kettle singing
All I could think on was the Galway shawl.
I played "The Blackbird" and "The Stack of Barley",
" Rodney's Glory" and "The Foggy Dew",
She sang each note like an Irish linnet.
And the tears stood in her sweet eyes of blue.
'Twas early, early, all in the morning,
When I hit the road for old Donegal.
She said 'Goodby, sir,'she cried and kissed me,
And my heart remained with the Galway shawl
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13. |
MY GENTLE HARP [2:51]
02:50
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My gentle Harp, once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumbering strain;
In tears our last farewell was taken,
And we in tears now meet again.
Yet even then, while Peace was singing
Her halcyon song o'er land and sea,
Though joy and hope to others bringing,
She only brought new tears to thee.
Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure,
My drooping Harp, from chords like thine?
Alas, the lark's gay morning measure
As ill would suit the swan's decline!
But come -- if yet thy frame can borrow
One breath of joy, oh, breathe for me,
And show the world, in chains and sorrow,
How sweet thy music still can be.
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14. |
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We are the music makers
And we are the dreamers of dreams
Wandering by the lone sea-breakers
And sitting by desolate streams
World-losers and world-forsakers
On whom the pale moon gleams
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever it seems
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities
And out of a fabulous story,
We fashion an empire's glory
One man with a dream at pleasure
Shall go forth and conquer a crown
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down
We, in the ages lying,
In the buried past of the earth
Built Ninevah with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth
For each age is a dream that is dying
Or one that is coming to birth...
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15. |
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Castlebay recommends:
Jud is the best Maine songwriter in a generation. This is not naval-gazing stuff, but fresh looks at ordinary things. Bonus: He's a great singer and guitarist as well.
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