SCOTLAND WILL FLOURISH



Scotland will flourish by the sweat of labor
The strength of our will and the force of our mind
Forget the old battles, those days are over
Hatred corrupts and friendship refines

Let the Scots be a nation proud of their heritage
With an eye to the future and a heart to forgive
And let us be rid of those bigots and fools
Who will not let Scotland live and let live

Let us govern over country wisely and fairly
Let each man and woman work with a will
And Scotland will flourish secure in the knowledge
That we reap our own harvest and ring our own till

And let us be known for our kind hospitality
A hand that is open proper to friends
A hard working people, proud and unbending
Scotland will thrive and win out in the end

Scotland will flourish by the sweat of labor
The strength of our will and the force of our mind
Forget the old battles, those days are over
Hatred corrupts and friendship refines

So let us be known for our kind hospitality
A hand that is open proper to friends
A hard working people, proud and unbending
Scotland will thrive and win out in the end

A Scottish Holiday



So you think your going tae the North to spend a holiday
Cause your vaguely Scottish on your Mother's side
And you've heard of ancient glories both renowned in song and story
Kilts and Haggis, Andy Stewart and Rock Clyde

Ye go up by Crye and Larrick that's the gateway to North
And the scenery with please your eyes I'm sure
Ye take oot your picnic basket cause your car has blown a gasket
In the middle of a place called Rannoch Moor

So you telephone the garage listed in the tourist guide
That was published for you by the R.A.C.
But by design or by intention or they just forgot to mention
That the garage closes down by half past three

So you're towed behind this tractor to a corrugated shed
That's surrounded by farm implements and carts
And you scratch your head and wonder why you ever bought a Honda
Cause they'll to send to Tokyo for the parts

So you board the train for Obin and get the boat to Mull
Feeling like you've had a night upon the tiles
You paid eighty pence for coffee with a tang of diesel oil
You're experiencing the swindle of the Isles.

But pulse begins to quicken with the thoughts of berry pickin'
So you take a trip to Gorry for a spell
With some Wellies of your mother's the she bought at Ally Brothers
And a Gideon Bible pinched from your hotel

So you're stand pickin' rasps being stung to death by wasps
The midges and the clags are makin' free
And the bairns have ate the berries and contracted dysentery
Cause last week they sprayed the crop with DDT

So you're heading back to Birmingham more water logged than tanned
But no signs of habitation can you see
When you thought you were in Barrick your were actually in Larrick
Cause some vandal change the signpost in Dundee

Bonnie Dundee



1. Tae the lairds i' convention t'was Claverhouse spoke
E'er the Kings crown go down, there'll be crowns to be broke;
Then let each cavalier who loves honour and me
Come follow the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee.

Chorus:
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Saddle my horses and call out my men.
And it's Ho! for the west port and let us gae free,
And we'll follow the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee!

2. Dundee he is mounted, he rides doon the street,
The bells they ring backwards, the drums they are beat,
But the Provost, (douce man!), says ;Just e'en let him be
For the toon is well rid of that de'il o' Dundee.

Chorus:

3. There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth,
Be there lairds i' the south, there are chiefs i' the north!
There are brave Duniewassals, three thousand times three
Will cry "Hoy!" for the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee.

Chorus:

4. Then awa' tae the hills, tae the lea, tae the rocks
E'er I own a usurper, I'll couch wi' the fox!
Then tremble, false Whigs, in the midst o' your glee
Ye hae no seen the last o' my bonnets and me.

Chorus:

Scotland The Brave (humorous)
Roy Williamson



Land o' the purple heather.
Land o' the dirty weather.
Land where the midges gaither, Scotland the Brave.
Land o' the Pakistanis,
Andy Capp and Saturday sannies.
Land where they sell their grannies, Scotland the Brave.

Used to say in faither's day,
You could hear the bagpipes play,
But now you hear the regal tones o' Elton John and The Rolling Stones.
Land that is full o' stinkers,
Wee fat Jews and VP drinkers.
Whisky put a lot o' stinkers, into Scottish graves.

Land that is full o' skivers,
Comic singers, deep sea divers,
Turbans on our bus condrivers, Scotland the Brave.
Land o' the brutal Bobbies,
Councillers wi' part-time jobbies,
Architects wi' paying hobbies, Scotland the Brave.

The tourists come here every year
To see all our historic gear,
But all they see is loads o' navvies, high rise flats wi' concrete lavvies.
Land o' the artic' lorries,
Andy Stewart and ra Corries,
Land where everybody borries, Scotland the Brave.

Land o' the Kilt and Sporran -
Underneath, there's nothin' worn!
How I wish the wind was warm! Scotland the Brave.
I must admit it's pretty gruesome,
Walking about wi' your frozen twosome!
It's all we've got - we musn't lose 'em - Scotland the Brave.

Conservatives try to assure us,
Labour's hard-put to endure us,
The Kirk puts curbs on our enjoyment, Government makes unemployment.
Never mind - the day is near,
When independence will be here!
We'll drink a toast in Younger's beer to Scotland the Brave!

Twa recruiting sergeants came frae the Black Watch
Through markets and fairs, some recruits for to catch.
But all they enlisted was forty and twa
Sae, list my bonnie laddie and come awa with me

Chorus:
And it's over the mountain and over the Main,
Through Gibralter, to France and Spain.
Pit a feather tae your bonnet, and a kilt aboon your knee,
Enlist my bonnie laddie and come awa with me.

Oh laddie ye dinna ken the danger that yer in.
If yer horses was to gleg, or yer owsen was to rin,
That greedy ole farmer, he wouldna pay yer fee.
Sae list my bonnie laddie and come awa with me

Chorus

And its into the barn and out o' the byre,
That greedy ole farmer thinks ye never will tire.
It's a slavery job of low degree.
Sae list my bonnie laddie and come awa with me

Chorus

Yeah well laddie, do you have a sweetheart at home
Ye'll easily get rid of that ill-spun yarn
Twa rattles on the drum, and that'll set ye'free
Sae list my bonnie laddie and come awa

Chorus

DUBLIN O'SHEA


CHORUS: Have another drink, boys. Well, have one with me.
We're home from the sea. Yes, we're back on the shore;
And if you get too drunk, boys, in this company,
You'll roar 'round Cape Horn on the Rory O'Mor.

He lived on the dockside near Liverpool town,
And he always went down to the "Thief and the Vagabond."
Everyone knew him as Dublin O'Shea.
Some say he came from Killarney.

CHORUS

I sing of an Irishman honest and plain,
But what's in a name when you think of the man himself?
He was a sinner and he drank with the same,
And he mastered the fine art of blarney.

CHORUS

He was a lay preacher and a God-fearin' man
With a drink in his hand. What a terrible sinner!
He'd drink with the Devil and spit in his eye,
Then go to confession on Friday.

CHORUS

For ramblin' and rovin' there's none to compare.
If you'd met him you'd swear that the man was a saint;
But if you could just see him in some foreign bar,
You'd swear he was the High King of Ireland.

The Rising of The Moon

Ah then tell me Sean O'Farrell
Tell me why you hurry, so.
Hush my boy now hush and listen
And his eyes were all aglow.

I bear orders from the captain
Get ye ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together
At the rising of the moon.

Ah then tell me Sean O'Farrell
Where the gatherin' is to be
In the old spot by the river
Right well known by you and me.

One word more, a signal token
Whistle of the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder
At the rising of the moon.

There beside the singing river
That dark mass of men were seen
Far above their shining weapons
Hung their own immortal green.

Death to every foe and traitor
Forward strike the marchin' tune
And hurrah my boys, for freedom!
Tis the rising of the moon.

How well they fought for poor old Ireland
And full bitter, was their fate
Oh what glorious pride and sorrow
Fills the name of ninety-eight.

Yet thank God while hearts are beating
Each man bears a burning wound
We will follow in their footsteps
At the rising of the moon.

Kishmul's Galley

Kishmul was legendary pirate or "riever" who plied his trade in the 14th century on the north east coast of Scotland, among the Hebrides. In some stories he appears as a sort of sea-faring Robin Hood...stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. The Bennachie is a range of hills northeast of Aberdeen.


High on the Benachie
On that day of days, seaward I gaze
Watching Kishmul's Galley sailing

CHORUS
Ah-hee Ah-hoo-oh
Vall-eee Ah-hoo-oh

Bravely against wind and tide
They have brought us to 'neath Kishmul's walls
Kishmul's castle of ancient glory

CHORUS
Ah-hee Ah-hoo-oh
Vall-eee Ah-hoo-oh

Homeward she bravely battles,
'Gainst the hurtling waves,
Nor hoop nor yards,
Anchor, cable nor tackle has she.

CHORUS
Ah-hee Ah-hoo-oh
Vall-eee Ah-hoo-oh

Here's red wine, a toast to heroes
And harping too, and harping too
Watching Kishmul's galley sailing

CHORUS
Ah-hee Ah-hoo-oh
Vall-eee Ah-hoo-oh

The Mountains Of Mourne
Percy French


Oh Mary, this London's a wonderful sight,
With people here working by day and by night.
They don't sow potatoes nor barley nor wheat
But there's gangs of them diggin' for gold in the street.
At least, when I asked them that's what I was told
So I just took a hand at this diggin' for gold;
But for all that I've found there, I might as well be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I believe that when writin' a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies of London are dressed.
Well if you believe me, when asked to a ball
They don't wear no tops to their dresses at all.
Oh, I've seen them myself and you could not, in thrath
(truth)
Say if they were bound for a ball, or a bath,
Don't be startin' them fashions now, Mary Machree,
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.


I've seen England's king from the top of a bus
And I've never known him, but he means to know us.
And tho' by the Saxon we once were oppressed,
Still I cheered, God forgive me, I cheered with the rest.
And now that he's visited Erin's green shore
We'll be much better friends than we've been heretofore
When we've got all we want, we're as quiet as can be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.


You remember young Peter O'Loughlin of course
Well now he is here at the head of the Force.
I met him today, I was crossing the Strand
And he stopped the whole street with a wave of his hand.
And there we stood talking of days that are gone
While the whole population of London looked on;
But for all these great powers, he's wishful, like me
To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.


There's beautiful girls here --- Oh, never you mind ---
With beautiful shapes nature never designed.
And lovely complexions all roses and cream,
But O'Loughlin remarked with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sip
The colors might all come away on your lip
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waitin' for me
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

All For Me Grog
words and music Traditional


Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin
Far across the western ocean I must wander

Where are me boots, me noggin', noggin' boots?
They're all gone for beer and tobacco
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather

Where is me shirt, my noggin', noggin' shirt?
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn
And the tail is looking out for better weather

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed
Since first I came ashore with me slumber
For I spent all me dough on the lassies movin' slow
Far across the Western Ocean I must wander

Where is me bed, me noggin' noggin bed
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
Well I lent it to a whore and now the sheets are all tore
And the springs are looking out for better whether.

Where is me wench, me noggin' noggin' whence
She's all gone for beer and tobacco
Well her (clap) is all worn out and her (clap) is knocked about
And her (clap) is looking out for better whether.

THE SHAMROCK AND THE THISTLE
(Anon / Hamish Henderson)

Come all you true-born Glasgow boys
And listen to my song
I'm going to speak of Hogmanay
It won't detain you long
I've made this little tune for you
I've laid it on my whistle
And I think the name I'll gi'e to it
Is The Shamrock and the Thistle

Aboard the Royal Ulsterman
We had a dram or twa
When daylight broke we all awoke
And saw the Broomielaw
The journey o'er, we went ashore
Our friends all raised a cheer
And soon the word was going round
The Irishmen are here

We were not rash, we wore no sash
We sang no party lay
For we had come to join the fun
A real Scotch Hogmanay
We marched up to Argyle Street
Bought whisky, stout and rum
And the songs we sang were Sweet Strabane
And Britain Here We Come

A welcome rare we soon got there
It was a glorious fair
Bill Thompson cried, Get that inside
I see you're needing fare
So when we'd had a tightener
And feeling in good trim
Bill said, Come on, I'm for the Tron
So we went along wi' him

Many's the hoolie we've been at
At home across the sea
And at New Year wi' stout and beer
We'd go upon the spree
And the Scots they don't just make whoopee (?)
Or drink with Mum and Dad
At the thirty-first of December, boys
They all go ravin' mad

Forgive me, friends, for being rude
I'm not, you will agree
The Irish too are a crazy crew
Just look at Bob and me
For a Scotsman seeing the New Year in
Is a sight for gods and men
And it takes an Irish Paddy, boys
To be equal to him then

For the Scotsmen have their thistle
And the Welshmen have their leek
The English have a rose, my boys
And lots of flamin' cheek
The Irish have their shamrock and
They hold it very dear
But you'll find it wi' the thistle
In auld Glasgow at New Year

The Highwayman
Phil Ochs
(An arrangement of a poem by Alfred Noyes)



The wind was a torrent of darkness
Among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon
Tossed upon cloudy seas
And the road was a ribbon of moonlight
Over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding
Yes, the highwayman came riding
Up to the old inn door

Over the cobbles he clattered
And clashed in the darkened yard
And he tapped with his whip at the window
But all was locked and barred
So he whistled a tune to the window
And who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black eyed daughter
Bess the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love knot
Into her long black hair

One kiss, my bonny sweetheart
For I'm after a prize tonight
But I shall be back with the yellow gold
Before the morning light
Yet if they press me sharply
Harry me through the day
Oh, then look for me by moonlight
Watch for me by moonlight
And I'll come to thee by moonlight
Though Hell should bar the way

He did not come at the dawning
No, he did not come at the noon
And out of the tawny sunset
before the rise of the moon
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon
Looping the purple moor
Oh a redcoat troop came marching, marching, marching
King George's men came marching
Up to the old inn door

And they bound the landlord's daughter
with many a sniggering jest
And they bound the musket beside her
With the barrel beneath her breast
Now keep good watch and they kissed her
She heard the dead man say
"Oh look for me by moonlight
Watch for me by moonlight
And I'll come to thee by moonlight
Though Hell should bar the way"

Look for me by moonlight
Hoof beats ringing clear
Watch for me by moonlight
Were they deaf that they did not hear
For he rode on the gypsy highway
She breathed one final breath
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
Her musket shattered the moonlight
And it shattered her breast in the moonlight
And warned him with her death

Oh he turned; he spurred on to the west
He did not know who stood
Out with her black hair a flowing down
Drenched with her own red blood
Oh not 'til the dawn had he heard it
And his face grew gray to hear
How Bess the landlord's daughter
The landlord's black eyed daughter
Had watched for her love in the moonlight
And died in the darkness there

Back he spurred like a madman
Shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him
And his rapier brandished high
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon
Wine red his velvet coat
When they shot him down on the highway
Down like a dog on the highway
And he lay in his blood on the highway
With a bunch of lace at his throat

And still on a winter's night they say
When the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon
Tossed upon cloudy seas
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight
Over the purple moor
Oh the highwayman comes riding, riding, riding
Yes the highwayman comes riding
Up to the old inn door.

Dawning Of The Day
unknown



1. Oh Caledonia, we are your sons
Restore us once again
From your dreams awake
And we will pledge to thee


2. We fished stormy waters when fish were a-plenty
We ploughed the wild heathland till it bloomed like a rose
We built the great ships that sailed all the oceans
We toiled underground nature's treasures exposed
We've travelled the world, we've known kings, we've known princes
Discoursed with scholars, reasoned with fools
Oh we've served with distinction all down through the ages
But still in our homeland the foreigner rules


Chorus:
O we'll fight for what is right and the dawning of the day
When we'll rise again to win our claim for Scottish destiny


3. We're fierce as the badger when danger is threat'ning
We've the cunning and the guile that the fox calls his own
We've the reason that guides our great streams in their coursing
We're as stubborn as the headland that stands all alone
We can laugh with the devil, no one can laugh louder
Weep with the willow when our heart's sorely pressed
We're as gently and prickly as our own downy thistle
We can work with the hardest and play with the best


Chorus


4. But our land it is owned by the faceless investor
Our fish and our farming no longer our own
Our industry's ruined, our assets are squandered
Our souls are in hock and our children in pawn
It's no use in thinking it's too late for changing
No use in thinking that it's not up to you
You can teach, you can learn and to change things be willing
For you are your country and your country is you


Chorus


5. Too long we have blamed the foreign oppressor
Too long we have hoped for our hero's return
We've raised all our banners in poem and in legend
We've rested on laurels that turned into thorns
To dwell on past glories at the cost of invention
Is to squander the gifts that our forefathers gave
So take strength from the past but declare your intention
To change this dear land back to Scotland the Brave


Chorus


6. Oh Caledonia, we are your sons
And will again be free

Patriot Game
words and music by Dominic Behan



Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.

My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.

This Ireland of ours has too long been half free.
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the Patriot game.

They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game.

It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
For I read of our heroes, and wanted the same
To play out my part in the patriot game.

I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police
They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace
And yet at deserters I'm never let aim
The rebels who sold out the patriot game

And now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.

Old Dun Cow
words and music traditional



Some friends and I in a public house
Was playing a game of chance one night
When into the pub a fireman ran
His face all a chalky white.
"What's up", says Brown, "Have you seen a ghost,
Or have you seen your Aunt Mariah?"
"Me Aunt Mariah be buggered!", says he,
"The bleedin' pub's on fire!"

And there was Brown upside down
Lappin'' up the whiskey on the floor.
"Booze, booze!" The firemen cried
As they came knockin' on the door (clap clap)
Oh don't let 'em in till it's all drunk up
And somebody shouted MacIntyre! MACINTYRE!
And we all got blue-blind paralytic drunk
When the Old Dun Cow caught fire.

"Oh well," says Brown, "What a bit of luck.
Everybody follow me.
And it's down to the cellar
If the fire's not there
Then we'll have a grand old spree."
So we went on down after good old Brown
The booze we could not miss
And we hadn't been there ten minutes or more
Till we were quite pissed.

Then, Smith walked over to the port wine tub
And gave it just a few hard knocks (clap clap)
Started takin' off his pantaloons
Likewise his shoes and socks.
"Hold on, " says Brown, "that ain't allowed
Ya cannot do that thing here.
Don't go washin' trousers in the port wine tub
When we got Guinness beer."

Then there came from the old back door
The Vicar of the local church.
And when he saw our drunken ways,
He began to scream and curse.
"Ah, you drunken sods! You heathen clods!
You've taken to a drunken spree!
You drank up all the Benedictine wine
And you didn't save a drop for me!"

And then there came a mighty crash
Half the bloody roof caved in.
We were almost drowned in the firemen's hose
But still we were gonna stay.
So we got some tacks and some old wet sacks
And we nailed ourselves inside
And we sat drinking the finest Rum
Till we were bleary-eyed.

Later that night, when the fire was out
We came up from the cellar below.
Our pub was burned. Our booze was drunk.
Our heads was hanging low.
"Oh look", says Brown with a look quite queer.
Seems something raised his ire.
"Now we gotta get down to Murphy's Pub,
It closes on the hour!"

By the Rising of the Moon
words by J.K. Casey, music Turlough O'Carolan


And come tell me Sean O'Farrell tell me why you hurry so
Husha buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow
I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

Are You Sleeping Maggie

words and music by Robert Tannahill



Dark and rainy is the night,
There's no a star in a' the carry;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And the cauld winds drive wi' winter's fury.

O! are ye sleepin', Maggie?
O! are ye sleepin', Maggie?
Let me in, for loud the linn
Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie!

Fearfu' soughs the boortree bank,
The rifted wood roars wild and drearie,
Loud the iron yett does clank,
And the cry o' howlets makes me eerie.

Aboon my breath I daurna speak
For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie;
Cauld's the blast upon my cheek, -
Arise, arise, my bonnie lady!

She op'd the door, she let him in;
He coost aside his dreepin' plaidie;
Blaw your warst, ye rain and win',
Since, Maggie, now I'm in aside ye.

Now since ye're waukin', Maggie,
Now since ye're waukin', Maggie,
What care I for howlet's cry,
For boortree bank, or warlock craigie?

The Bridge (A Lover's Apology)
words and music by Marc Gunn

Was it something I said that made you angry with me.
Made you dig a deep river to keep you from me.
Oh, the water is rushing, come to sweep me away
'Less I die of sorrow, I will cross it today.

I would build me a bridge a hundred meters long
To see the other side of what I did wrong
Well you say you don't hate me, but I guess that I'm scared
That with a river between us, you'll no longer care.

I would build a boat, and paddle agaist all sorrow.
And if I sail down the river, then I'll be back again tomorrow.
I would face cold death, run and leap to your side.
And if I fall in the river, I'll be warmed by your sight.

I would beg your forgiveness for the pain I've fed
And I'd find the source of the river you've bled.
Then I'd close the gates of the dam I built there.
And never again will you have anything to fear.

Well I never knew that your tears ran so deep.
But when I'ved dammed those tears, I will kiss your sweet cheek.
I will hold you close 'till your tears finally cease.
And I'll sing you a lullaby to bring you peace.

Scotland the Brave
(this is the actual National anthem of Scotland. "Flower of Scotland" is the "unofficial National anthem of Scotland")



Hark when the night is falling
Hear the pipes are calling .
Loudly and proudly calling
Down thro’ the glen
There where the hills are sleeping
Now feel the blood a-leaping
High as the spirits of the old highland men

Towering in gallant frame
Scotland my mountain hame
High may your proud standards glouriously wave
Land of my high endeavour
Land ofthe shining river
Land of my heart forever
Scotland the brave

High on the misty Highlands
Out by the purple islands
Brave are the hearts that beat
Beneath Scottish skies
Wild are the winds that meet you
Staunch are the friends that greet you
Kind as the love that shines from fair maidens eyes

Towering in gallant frame etc.
Far off in sunlit places
Sad are the Scottish faces
Yearning to feel the kiss
Of sweet Scottish rain
Where tropic skies are beaming
Love sets the heart a-dreaming
Longing and dreaming for the homeland again.

The Darlin' Girl From Clare
Percy French




We were sitting on the wall upon a Sunday
To watch the girls go by
And thinkin' we'd be marrit to one one day,
When Kate Flynn caught our eye.
Oh, man, she had the makin's of a fairy
And it made each boy'o swear!
There's not one girl in the wide wide world
Like the girl from County Clare.

And every man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now - barrin' me now.
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agree now - you'll see now.
All night they'd fight as to which o' them was right
In the colour of her eyes and hair;
But not a word from me was ever heard
About the Darling Girl from Clare.

I never said a single word about her
But I met the girl that day,
I told her I could never live without her,
An' what had she to say?
She said that I should go and see her father,
I met him then and there,
An' in less than an hour we were fightin' for the dower
Of the Darling Girl from Clare!

So every man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now - barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say
That she'll agree now - you'll see now.
But late last night when the moon was bright,
I axed her if she'd share
Me joy an' me sorra' an' begorra! On tomorra'
I'll be married to the Girl from Clare!