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Celtic Lyrics Part Two
By Sarah Rooke, Archdruidess
Fhir a’ Bhata (the Boatman)
I’ve often haunted the highest hilltops
I scan the ocean thy sail to see
Will come tonight love, will come tomorrow
Or ever come love, to comfort me?
Chorus:
Fhir a’ bhata, na horo eile
Fhir a’ bhata, na horo eile
Fhir a’ bhata, na horo eile
Oh fare well love, wherever thou be
They call thee fickle, they call thee false one
And seek to change me, but all in vain
No, thou art my dream yet through the dark night
And every morn I watch the main
Chorus
There’s not a hamlet, too well I know it
Where you go wandering or stay awhile
But all its old folk you win with talking
And charm its maidens with song and smile
Chorus
Dost thou remember, the promise made me
The tartan plaidie, the silken gown?
The ring of gold with thy hair and portrait
That gown and ring I will never own
Chrous
Traditional Scottish
Tara by Moya Brennan
I know where to go tomorrow
Where tears will not find me
And I'll give you this song
When autumn rays come down
Ring out the bells on Tara
My destiny in your hands
Chorus:
I'm waiting at the crossroads, waiting for you
With the blossoms around us, promising true
Dreaming on the high wind, dream it for you
And return to our lost ocean blue
I want to believe forever
Sleep softly beside me
And I'll give you this heart
When morning dew falls down
Stood by the hill of Tara
Feel the love in the land
Chorus
Éist fuaim an chláirseach (Listen to the sound of the harp)
Ar bharr Teamhair (On the Hill of Tara)
Seo chugaibh an tArd rà (The High Kings have arrived)
Ar bharr Teamhair (On the Hill of Tara)
Chorus
The Rosebuds In June
Here are the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing
The small birds are singing in every green bough
Here’s the pink and the lily and the daffy down dilly
Chorus:
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June
If it weren’t for the plough, the fat ox would go slow
And the lads and the bonny lasses
To the sheep shearing go
Our shepherds rejoice in their fine heavy fleeces
And frisky young lambs, which their flocks do increase
Each lad takes his lass all on the green grass
Chorus
Our fine milking pails, they are filled with good ale
On the table there’s plenty of cheer to be found
We’ll whistle and sing, we’ll dance in a ring
Chorus
Now the sheep shearing’s over, and harvest draws nigh
We’ll prepare for the fields, our strength for to try
We’ll plough and we’ll mow, we’ll reap and we’ll sow
Chorus
Traditional English
Of This Land by Clannad
How gentle was the breeze that surrounded the way
How loud the sea's roar on the four winds everyday
Sharing love, wounded gifts from ancient long ago
Together they closed in the circles we know
Will we treasure all the secrets with life's changing scenes?
Where our hearts were warm with love, so much love
Will the flowers grow again as I open out my hand?
Precious time, time for healing the beauty of this land
(Repeat)
How soulful those words that confuses the way
How wild the mountains' stare as they guard our every day
Take for granted noble hearts in the golden age that's flown
Between us, recall on a strong road we've known
Will we treasure all the secrets with life's changing scenes?
Where our hearts were warm with love, so much love
Will the flowers grow again as I open out my hand?
Precious time, time for healing the beauty of this land
Down by the SallyGardens
It was down by the SallyGardens, my love and I did meet
She passed by the SallyGardens, with little snow white feet
She bid me to take love easy, as the leaves grow on the trees
But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree
In a field down by the river, my love and I did meet
And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her snow white hand
She bid me to take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears
It was down by the SallyGardens, my love and I did meet
She passed by the SallyGardens, with little snow white feet
She bid me to take love easy, as the leaves grow on the trees
But I being young and foolish, with her did not agree
William Butler Yeats/Traditional Irish
Dulaman
Rising with the morning me boat and I go sailing
May the sea be blessed and her bounty never failing
Chorus:
Seaweed from the yellow cliff
Dulaman from our land
Seaweed from beneath the sea
The best in all in Ireland
Dulaman, Dulaman, Dulaman a gela
Long flowing forests of brown, green and golden
Fresh is the harvest from our Mother ocean
Chorus
Sea dogs a playing among the rolling water
Sea gulls a soaring, what more could really matter
Chorus
I go to market me harvest there to barter
Blessed by the bounty of life from the water
Chorus
Sun setting splashes the clouds full of colour
Time to return to the arms of my lover
Chorus
Christy Martin/Traditional Irish
Hal-An-Tow (The Helston Fury)
Oh, we were up as soon as day
For to fetch the summer home-a
Oh, the summer is a coming on
And winter is a gone-a
With hal-an-tow, sing merry-o
Sing hal-an-tow, sing merry
With hal-an-tow, sing merry-o
Sing hal-an-tow, sing merry
Oh, we’ve been a rambling half the night
And almost all the day-a
And now returning back again
We’ve brought you a branch of May-a
With hal-an-tow, sing merry-o
Sing hal-an-tow, sing merry
With hal-an-tow, sing merry-o
Sing hal-an-tow, sing merry
Oh, Robin Hood and Little John
They’ve both gone to the fair-a
And we will to the merry greenwood
For to hunt the buck and hare-a
With hal-an-tow, sing merry-o
Sing hal-an-tow, sing merry
With hal-an-tow, sing merry-o
Sing hal-an-tow, sing merry
Traditional Cornish.
Na Laetha Geal M’Oige by Enya
Ag amharc tre m’oige
Is me bhi samh
Gan erlas marbh
Bhi me og san am
Anois, t’aim buartha
‘S fad ar shuil an la
Ochon ‘s ochon o
Na laetha geal m’oige
Bhi siad lan de dhochas
An bealach mor a bhi Romhan anonn
Bhi se i ndan domh gombeinn, slan, slan
Anois, t’aim buartha
‘S fad ar shuil an la
Ochon ‘s ochon o
Na laetha geal m’oige
Bhi siad lan de dhochas
An bealach mor a bhi Romhan anonn
Bhi se i ndan domh gombeinn, slan, slan
Anois, t’aim buartha
‘S fad ar shuil an la
Ochon ‘s ochon o
Roma Ryan
Medieval Lyrics Part Two
By Sarah Rooke, Archdruidess
Oh Death, Rock Me Asleep
Oh Death, rock me asleep,
Bring me to quiet rest,
Let pass my weary guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Let thy sound my death tell.
Death doth draw nigh;
There is no remedy.
My pains who can express?
Alas, they are so strong;
My dolour will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Let thy sound my death tell.
Death doth draw nigh;
There is no remedy.
Alone in prison strong
I wait my destiny.
Woe worth this cruel hap that I
Should taste this misery!
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Let thy sound my death tell.
Death doth draw nigh;
There is no remedy.
Farewell, my pleasures past,
Welcome, my present pain!
I feel my torments so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now, thou passing bell;
Rung is my doleful knell;
For the sound my death doth tell.
Death doth draw nigh;
There is no remedy.
Poem attributed to Queen Anne Boleyn
Words to the Virgin Queen – Say Its Not So
I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned.
Since from myself another self I turned.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.
Queen Elizabeth I
Edi Beo Thu, Hevene Quene
Edi Beo thu, Hevene Quene
Folkes frovre and engles blis
Moder unwemmed and maiden clene
Swich in world non other nis
On the hit is weleth sene
Of alle wimmen thu havest thet pris
Mi swete levedi, her mi bene
And reu of me yif thi wille is
Thu asteye so the daiy rewe
The deleth from the deorke nicht
Of thee sprong an leomme newe
That all this world havest iliyt
Nis non maide of thine heowe
Swo fair, so sschene so rudi, swo bricht
Mi swete levedi of me thu reowe
And have merci of thin knicht
Tho Godes sune aliyte worlde
On eorthe, al for ure sake
Here teyen he him nolde
Thene that maide to beon his make
Betere ne miyte he thaiy he wolde
Ne swetture thing on eorthe take
Mi levedi, bring us to thine bolde
And sschild us from helle wake
13th Century English
Reis Glorios
Reis Glorios, verais lums e clartatz
Deus poderos, Senher, si a vos platz
Al meu companh siatz fizels ajuda
Qu’eu no lo vi, pos la nochs fo venguda
Et ades sera l’alba!
Bel companho, si dormetz o velhatz
No dormatz plus, suau vos ressidatz
Qu’en orien vei l’estela creguda
C’amena-l jorn, qu’eu l’ai ben conoguda
Et ades sera l’alba!
Bel dos companh, tan soi en ric sojorn
Qu’eu no volgra mais fos alba ni jorn
Car la gensar que anc nasques de maire
Tenc e abras, per qu’eu non prezi gaire
Lo fol gelos ni l’alba
Giraut de Bornelh, 12th Century
Alle Psallite
Alle, psallite cum luya
Alle, concrepando psallite cum luya
Alle, corde voto Deo toto psallite cum luya
Alleluja
Medieval English, 13th Century
Now Is the Month of Maying
Now is the Month of Maying
When merry lads are playing
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
Each with his bonny lass
A-dancing on the grass
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
The spring, clad in all its gladness
Doth laugh at winters sadness
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
And to the bagpipes sound
The nymphs tread out the ground
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
Thomas Morley, 16th Century
Lay of Nimrodel
An elven maid there was of old
A shining star by day
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold
Her shoes of silver grey
A star was bound above her brows
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lorien the fair
Her hair was long, her limbs were white
And fair she was and free
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden tree
Beside the falls of Nimrodel
By water clear and cool
Her voice of failing silver fell
Into the shining pool
Where now she wonders none can tell
In sunlight or in shade
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed
The elven ship in haven grey
Beneath the mountain lee
Awaited her for many a day
Beside the roaring sea
A wind by night in northern lands
Arose and loud it cried
And drove the ship from elven strands
Across the streaming tide
When dawn came dim the land was lost
The mountains sinking grey
Beneath the heaving waves that tossed
Their plumes of blinding spray
Amroth beheld the fading shore
Now low beyond the swell
And cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far from Nimrodel
Amroth was an elven king
A lord of tree and glen
When golden were the boughs in spring
In fair LothLorien
From helm to sea they saw him leap
As arrow from the string
And dive into the water deep
As mew upon the wing
But from the west has come no word
And on the hither shore
No tidings elven folk have heard
Of Armoth ever more
J R R Tolkien, from the Lord of the Rings
Sumer is Icumen In
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu!
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu!
Sumer is icumen In
Llude sing cuccu!
Groweth sed and bloweth med
And springth the wde mu
Sing cuccu!
Awe bleteth after lomb
Lhouth after calve cu
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth
Murie sing cuccu!
Cuccu, cuccu wel singes thu, cuccu
Ne swik thu naver nu
Sumer is icumen in
Llude sing cuccu!
Groweth sed and bloweth med
And springth the wde nu
Sing cuccu nu, sing cuccu
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu nu!
Sumer is icumen in
Llude sing cuccu!
13th Century English
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