[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
A New War Song By Sir Peter Parker

My lords with your leave
An account I will give
That deserves to be written in metre
For the rebels and I
Have been pretty nigh
Faith, almost too nigh for Sir Peter.

With much labor and toil,
Unto Sullivan's Isle,
I came firm as Falstaff or Pistol,
But the Yankees, 'od rot 'em,
I could not get at 'em,
Most terribly mauled my poor Bristol.

Bold Clinton by land
Did quietly stand
[While I made a thundering clatter;
But the channel was deep,
So he could only peep,
And not venture over the water.]*

De'il take' em, their shot
Came so swift and so hot
And the cowardly dogs stood so stiff sirs!
That I put ship about
And was glad to get out
Or they would not have left me a skiff sirs!

Now bold as a Turk
I proceed to New York,
There with Clinton and Howe you may find me
I've the wind in my tail
And am hoisting my sail,
To leave Sullivan's island behind me.

But my Lords, do not fear,
For before the next year,
Although a small island could fret us,
The Continent whole,
We shall take, by my soul
If the cowardly Yankees will let us.

* for bracketed section, Burl Ives sang:
[While my guns made a terrible rumpus,
But my pride took a fall when a well-aimed ball
propelled me along on my bumpus!]

From the American Revolution Songbook, Rabson

"Note: Sir Peter Parker was not the pride of England. He commanded the British flagship Bristol leading a convoy to assist in Clinton's proposed invasion of Charleston, South Carolina. He attacked the fort on Sullivan's Island, which guarded the entrance to Charleston Harbor, and was beaten off, but not before having his breeches blown off in the encounter. For some reason, the Rebels thought this was funny." ~RG

Battle of Sullivan's Island, June 28, 1776

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Gunrunners

When I was eighteen years of age
In Carson's army I engaged
To fight for Ulster against home rule
A Mauser rifle was my tool
On Covenant day my first parade
When over half a million promised aid
We go to fight the enemy now
So we landed fifty thousand guns at Larne
We go to fight the enemy now
So we landed fifty thousand guns at Larne

That April night I'll never forget
Dispersing guns to face the threat
Throught the length of our beloved land
The die was cast, we made our stand
But another foe was before us now
Home rule was dead beneath the plough
When across to France our divisions sailed
Britain called we would not fail
When across to France our divisions sailed
Britain called we would not fail

We were Gunrunners, Gunrunners

So the story's told and it's understood
Of a charge that morning, Thiepval Wood
When Ulster's flower their lives did give
So that we at home could in freedom live
Well alas I fell on the Somme's great shore
But not alone there were thousands more
From every street, town and dale
A father, son or brother fell
From every street, town or dale
A father, son or brother fell

They were Gunrunners, Gunrunners. Yes Gunrunners

Traditional

The Larne gun-running, April 24-25 1914

The Irish at the Somme

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Sound The Pibroch

Sound the pibroch loud and high
Frae John o' Groats tae Isle o' Skye
Let every clan their slogan cry
Rise and follow Charlie

Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Rise and follow Charlie


See that small devoted band
By dark Loch Shiel they've made their stand
And bravely vowed wi' heart and hand
To rise and Royal Charlie

From every hill and every glen
Are gatherin' fast the loyal men
They grasp their dirks and shout again
Hurrah for Royal Charlie

On dark Culloden's field of gore
Hark they shout Claymore, Claymore
They bravely fight what can they more
Than die for Royal Charlie

Now on the barren heath they lie
Their Funeral Dirge the eagle's cry
Mountain breezes o'er them sigh
Wha' fought and died for Charlie

No more we'll see such deeds again
Deserted is each Highland glen
And lonely cairns are o'er the men
Wha' fought and died for Charlie

Sound the pibroch loud and high
Frae John o' Groats tae Isle o' Skye
Let every clan their slogan cry
Rise and follow Charlie

Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Rise and follow Charlie


Traditional

["Tha tighin fodham" is pronounced HATCHEEN FOAM and means "it comes upon me" or "I have the wish".]

Battle of Culloden, April 16, 1746

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Wearing Of The Green

O Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?
The Shamrock is forbid, by laws, to grow on Irish ground!
No more St. Patrick's day we'll keep; his color can't be seen;
For there's a bloody law agin the Wearing of the Green!

Oh! I met with Nabertancly, and he took me by the hand,
And he says: How is Poor Ould Ireland, and does she stand?
She's the most distressful Country that ever I have seen:
For they are hanging men and women for the Wearing of the Green!

And since the color we must wear is England's cruel red,
Ould Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed.
Then take the Shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod:
It will take root, and flourish still, tho' under foot 'tis trod.

When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow
And when the leaves in Summer time their verdure do not show..
Then I will change the color I wear in my cabbeen:
But till that day, plaze God! I'll stick to the Wearing of the Green!

But if, at last, her colors should be torn from Ireland's heart
Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old soil will part;
I've heard whispers of a Country that lies far beyond sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal, in the light of Freedom's day!

O Erin! must we leave you driven by the tyrant's hand!
Must we ask a Mother's blessing, in a strange but happy land,
Where the cruel Cross of England's thralldom never to be seen:
But where, thank God! we'll live and die, still Wearing of the Green!

Traditional

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Fighting 69th

Come all you gallant heroes,
And along with me combined
I'll sing a song, it won't take long,
Of the Fighting Sixty Ninth
They're a band of men brave, stout and bold,
From Ireland they came
And they have a leader to the fold,
And Cocoran was his name

It was in the month of April,
When the boys they sailed away
And they made a sight so glorious,
As they marched along Broadway
They marched right down Broadway, me boys,
Until they reached the shore
And from there they went to Washington,
And straight unto the war

So we gave them a hearty cheer, me boys,
It was greeted with a smile
Singing here's to the boys who feared no noise,
We're the Fighting Sixty Ninth


And when the war is said and done,
May heaven spare our lives
For its only then we can return,
To our loved ones and our wives
We'll take them in our arms, me boys,
For a long night and a day
And we'll hope that war will come no more,
To sweet America

So we gave them a hearty cheer, me boys,
It was greeted with a smile
Singing here's to the boys who feared no noise,
We're the Fighting Sixty Ninth


So farewell unto you dear New York,
Will I e'er see you once more
For it fills my heart with sorrow,
To leave your sylvan shore
But the country now it is calling us,
And we must hasten fore
So here's to the stars and stripes, me boys,
And to Ireland's lovely shore

And here's to Murphy and Devine,
Of honour and renown
Who did escort our heroes,
Unto the battle ground
And said unto our colonel,
We must fight hand to hand
Until we plant the stars and stripes,
Way down in Dixieland

So we gave them a hearty cheer, me boys,
It was greeted with a smile
Singing here's to the boys who feared no noise,
We're the Fighting Sixty Ninth


Traditional

http://youtu.be/eWvdf_51Iq0

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Mighty Navy Wings

When you see a guy with his head held high
Take a look at his Navy wings,
'Neath that coat of blue beats a heart that's true
To the code of those Navy wings,
And as long as he flies above the sea
In our hearts a hope still clings,
May he never cease to fly in peace
On those mighty Navy wings.

Raise your glass on high, stand and shout "Aye-aye!"
In a toast to those Navy wings,
They're the symbol of everything we love
In this land where Freedom springs,
Drink a toast once again to Navy men,
Cheer until the whole world rings,
To the glory of the guys we love
And their mighty Navy wings.

[Posted to the memory of my father, who began Navy flight training in 1945, and who would have been 89 today.]

http://youtu.be/Y_i4k0nlfmY

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Bonny Dundee

To the Lords o' Convention 'twas Claverhouse spoke
E'er the King's crown go down there are crowns to be broke
So each cavalier who loves honour and me
Let him follow the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can
Come saddle my horses and call out my men
Unhook the West Port and let us gae free
For it's up with the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee

Dundee he is mounted and rides up the street
The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat
But the provost douce man says just let it be
For the toon is well rid o' that devil Dundee

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can
Come saddle my horses and call out my men
Unhook the West Port and let us gae free
For it's up with the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee

There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth
Be there lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north
There are brave downie wassles three thousand times three
Cry hey for the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can
Come saddle my horses and call out my men
Unhook the West Port and let us gae free
For it's up with the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee

And awa tae the hills, tae the lee and the rocks
Ere I own a userper I'll couch with the fox
So tremble false whigs in the mid'st o' yer glee
For ye've no seen the last o' my bonnets and me

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can
Come saddle my horses and call out my men
Unhook the West Port and let us gae free
For it's up with the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can
Come saddle my horses and call out my men
Unhook the West Port and let us gae free
For it's up with the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee.

~Traditional

http://youtu.be/ORcIqTtXxhs

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Come Out And Fight

I was born on a Dublin street where the Royal drums do beat
And the loving English feet they tramped all over us,
And every night when me father'd come home tight
He'd invite the neighbors outside with this chorus:

Oh, come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man
Show your wives how you won medals down in Flanders
Tell them how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes in Killashandra.


Come let me hear you tell
How you slammed the great Pernell,
When you fought them well and truly persecuted,
Where are the smears and jeers
That you bravely let us hear
When our heroes of sixteen were executed.

Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien--
How you bravely called them swine!
Robert Emmett who you hung and drew and quartered!
High upon that scaffold high,
How you murdered Henry Joy!
And our Croppy Boys from Wexford you did slaughter!

The day is coming fast
And the time is here at last,
When each yeoman will be cast aside before us,
And if there be a need
Sure my kids wil sing, "Godspeed!"
With a verse or two of Steven Beehan's chorus.

Oh, come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man
Show your wives how you won medals down in Flanders
Tell them how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes in Killashandra.


Traditional

http://youtu.be/Yx_jsjczz5k

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Dark Night

Dark night, only bullets are whistling in the steppe,
Only the wind is wailing through the telephone wires, stars are faintly flickering...
In the dark night, my love, I know you are not sleeping,
And, near a child's crib, you secretly wipe away a tear.

How I love the depths of your gentle eyes,
How I long to press my lips to them!
This dark night separates us, my love,
And the dark, troubled steppe has come to lie between us.

I have faith in you, in you, my sweetheart.
That faith has shielded me from bullets in this dark night...
I am glad, I am calm in deadly battle:
I know you will meet me with love, no matter what happens.

Death is not terrible, we've met with it more than once in the steppe...
And here it looms over me once again,
You await my return, sitting sleepless near a cradle,
And so I know that nothing will happen to me!

~Traditional Russian song

http://youtu.be/ObzPjTAwvMY

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Rifles of the IRA

In nineteen hundred and sixteen
The forces of the crown
For to take Orange, White, and Green
Bombarded Dublin Town
But in '21, Britannia's sons
Were forced earn their pay, when
The black and tans, like lightning ran
From the Rifles of the IRA!

They burned their way through Munster
Then laid Leinster on the rack
Through Connacht, and through Ulster
Marched the men in brown and black
They shot down wives and children
In their own heroic way, but
The black and tans, like lightning ran
From the Rifles of the IRA!

They hanged young Kevin Barry high
Just a lad of eighteen years
Cork City's flames lit up in the sky
But our brave lads knew no fear
The Cork brigade with hand-grenades
In ambush wait and lay, and
The black and tans, like lightning ran
From the Rifles of the IRA!

The tans were got, taken out and shot
By a brave and valiant few
Sean Treacy, Dinny Lacey
And Tom Barry's gallant crew
Though we're not free yet
We won't forget
Until our dying day, how
The black and tans, like lightning ran
From the Rifles of the IRA!

Traditional

Bloody Sunday, Nov. 21, 1920

http://youtu.be/pRZMo4r2EHE

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
In The Field Tanks Roared

In the field tanks roared,
Soldiers went into their last battle,
And they carried off the young commander
Shot through the head
And they carried off the young commander
Shot through the head

An ingot of iron struck the tank,
Goodbye our crew.
Four bodies by the tank
Add to the morning landscape
Four bodies by the tank
Add to the morning landscape

The machine is embraced by flame,
Just about ripping open the unit,
And the boys so wanted to live
But they don't have the strength to get out
And the boys so wanted to live
But they don't have the strength to get out

They will pull us out from under the scrap metal,
Our carcasses smoke in their arms.
And the volleys of the mainguns
See us off on our final journey
And the volleys of the mainguns
See us off on our final journey

And here telegrams will fly,
Informing relatives and close friends,
That your son will not return
And won't come to visit
That your son will not return
And won't come to visit

In the corner the old mother begins to cry,
The old father brushes away a tear,
And the young girl won't learn,
How the young fellow died
And the young girl won't learn,
How the young fellow died.

And a picture will gather dust,
On a shelf full of yellowed books,
In a military uniform with shoulderboards
And to her he isn't a groom anymore
In a military uniform with shoulderboards
And to her he isn't a groom anymore.

Traditional Russian song

http://youtu.be/MOi9-_kuvPA

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Blood and Gold

On rides the captain and three hundred soldier lads
Out of the morning mist and through the silent snow
Whistling gaily rides the captain at their head
Behind him soldier boys sadly weeping go

For when you took my gold and swore to follow me
You sold away your lives and your liberty
No more you’ll till the soil, no more you’ll work the land
No more to the dance you’ll go and take girls by the hand

Oh mother weep for your son
He has gone to kill and die

You'll weep, you'll die by the keen edge of the sword
All alone by the muddy Danube shore
He gave the order for the drummers to beat the drums
That mothers all might know the life a soldier lives

Unfurl your ragged banners and raise your pale young face
You’ll all go in the fire, there’ll be no hiding place
Oh mother hear the drumbeat in the village square
Oh mother the drum's for me to go for a soldier there

Mothers, sisters, wives, weep for us
Marked as Cain we die alone

~Traditional Romanian song

http://youtu.be/thSM0CG8rJY

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Heroes of Queenstown

September the thirteenth, at midnight so dark,
Our troops on the River Niagara embark'd;
The standard of Britain resolved to pull down,
And drive the proud foes from the heights of Queenstown.

Traditional (War of 1812)
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
How Stands The Glass Around?

How stands the glass around?
For shame you take no care my boys
How stands the glass around?
Let mirth and wine abound

The trumpets sound
The colors they are flying
To fight, kill, and wound,
May that we be found
Content with our hard fare, my boys, on the cold, cold ground

Why soldiers why?
Should we be melancholy?
Why soldiers why?
Whose business is to die?
What sighing? Fie!
Damn Fear, drink on, be jolly boys!
‘Tis he, you, or I
Cold, hot, wet, or dry
We're always bound to follow and scorn to fly

‘Tis but in vain
I mean not to upbraid you boys
‘Tis but in vain
For soldiers to complain
Should next campaign
Send us to Him who made us
We're free from pain
But should we remain
A bottle and kind landlady
Cures all again!

Traditional

http://youtu.be/ZNeXl-9vepM

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Dying Soldier

The sun was slowly sinking o'er the hilltops far away
The land was endless beauty where the dying soldier lay
Tears were streaming down his face as he slowly raised his head
And these were the dying words he said:

Oh carry me back to old Tennessee
Let this be my last repose
Lay my feet beneath while I lie
Lay my head beneath the rose

Take this message to my mother for I know she's old and gray
At home I know she's waiting for her boy's return some day
Oh my mother I've come through for my country and for you
And I'm dying for the red white and blue<

O'er the hills of Tennessee where the wild wind wanders free
There's a little girl waiting there for me
Tell her that the rose she gave me will be placed upon my grave
In memory of her soldier brave

Traditional

http://youtu.be/OkWGw4qTI9w
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
In Battle You Fell

You have fallen, the casualty of this fateful battle
Of selfless love for your nation.
You gave everything you could for her,
Her life, honor, and freedom.
At times you languished in damp prisons.
The enemy-executioners long ago pronounced
Their merciless condemnation of you,
And you walked, your shackles clanging.
The despot feasts in his luxurious palace,
Drowning his trepidation with wine,
But for a long time the fated hand has been writing
The threatening letters on the wall.
Despotism will fall and the people will arise,
Great, powerful, and free.
Goodbye, dear brothers, you have honestly traversed
Your valiant, noble path.

Revolutionary burial march (1878)
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Sound The Pibroch

Sound the pibroch loud and high
Frae John o' Groats tae Isle o' Skye
Let every clan their slogan cry
Rise and follow Charlie

Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Rise and follow Charlie


See that small devoted band
By dark Loch Shiel they've made their stand
And bravely vowed wi' heart and hand
To rise and Royal Charlie

From every hill and every glen
Are gatherin' fast the loyal men
They grasp their dirks and shout again
Hurrah for Royal Charlie

On dark Culloden's field of gore
Hark they shout Claymore, Claymore
They bravely fight what can they more
Than die for Royal Charlie

Now on the barren heath they lie
Their Funeral Dirge the eagle's cry
Mountain breezes o'er them sigh
Wha' fought and died for Charlie

No more we'll see such deeds again
Deserted is each Highland glen
And lonely cairns are o'er the men
Wha' fought and died for Charlie

Sound the pibroch loud and high
Frae John o' Groats tae Isle o' Skye
Let every clan their slogan cry
Rise and follow Charlie

Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Rise and follow Charlie


Traditional

http://youtu.be/LuCmZNvnxlI

["Tha tighin fodham" is pronounced HATCHEEN FOAM and means "it comes upon me" or "I have the wish".]

Battle of Culloden, April 16, 1746
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Song of Old Fort Meigs

Oh, lonely is our old green fort,
Where oft, in days of old,
Our gallant soldiers bravely fought
'Gainst savage allies bold;
But with the change of years have passed
That unrelenting foe,
Since we fought here with Harrison,
A long time ago.

Traditional (War of 1812)

The Siege of Fort Meigs, May 5, 1813
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Fighting Sixty Ninth

Come all you gallant heroes,
And along with me combined
I'll sing a song,
it won't take long,
Of the Fighting Sixty Ninth
They're a band of men brave,
stout and bold,
From Ireland they came
And they have a leader to the fold,
And Cocoran was his name

It was in the month of April,
When the boys they sailed away
And they made a sight so glorious,
As they marched along Broadway
They marched right down Broadway,
me boys,
Until they reached the shore
And from there they went to Washington,
And straight unto the war

So we gave them a hearty cheer,
me boys,
It was greeted with a smile
Singing here's to the boys who feared no noise,
We're the Fighting Sixty Ninth


And when the war is said and done,
May heaven spare our lives
For its only then we can return,
To our loved ones and our wives
We'll take them in our arms,
me boys,
For a long night and a day
And we'll hope that war will come no more,
To sweet America

So farewell unto you dear New York,
Will I e'er see you once more
For it fills my heart with sorrow,
To leave your sylvan shore
But the country now it is calling us,
And we must hasten fore
So here's to the stars and stripes,
me boys,
And to Ireland's lovely shore

And here's to Murphy and Devine,
Of honour and renown
Who did escort our heroes,
Unto the battle ground
And said unto our colonel,
We must fight hand to hand
Until we plant the stars and stripes,
Way down in Dixieland

So we gave them a hearty cheer,
me boys,
It was greeted with a smile
Singing here's to the boys who feared no noise,
We're the Fighting Sixty Ninth


Traditional
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Croppy Boy

It was early, early in the spring
The birds did whistle and sweetly sing
Changing their notes from tree to tree
And the song they sang was Old Ireland free.

It was early early in the night,
The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright
The yeoman cavalry was my downfall
And I was taken by Lord Cornwall.

'Twas in the guard-house where I was laid,
And in a parlour where I was tried
My sentence passed and my courage low
When to Dungannon I was forced to go.

As I was passing my father's door
My brother William stood at the door
My aged father stood at the door
And my tender mother her hair she tore.

As I was going up Wexford Street
My own first cousin I chanced to meet;
My own first cousin did me betray
And for one bare guinea swore my life away.

As I was walking up Wexford Hill
Who could blame me to cry my fill?
I looked behind, and I looked before
But my aged mother I shall see no more.

And as I mounted the platform high
My aged father was standing by;
My aged father did me deny
And the name he gave me was the Croppy Boy.

It was in Dungannon this young man died
And in Dungannon his body lies.
And you good people that do pass by
Oh shed a tear for the Croppy Boy.

Traditional

http://youtu.be/83g7aXW_rx0

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