NED OF THE HILL

Oh, dark is the evening
and silent the hour.
Oh, who is that minstrel
by yon shady tow’r?

His harp he’s so tenderly
touching with skill,
Oh, who could it be
but young Ned of the hill.

And he sings Lady love
will you come with me now?
Come and live merrily
under the bow’r.

I’ll pillow your head
where the light fairies tread
if you will but wed
with young Ned of the hill.

Young Ned of the hill
has no castle or hall,
no bowman nor spearman
to come at his call.

But one little archer
of exquisite skill
has loosed a bright shaft
for young Ned of the hill.

It is hard to escape
to this young lady’s bow’r,
for high is the castle
and guarded the tow’r.

But where there’s a will
there’s always a way,
and young Eileen has gone
with young Ned of the hill.

 

MACCRIMMON’S LAMENT
(written on the death of Donald MacCrimmon, piper to the MacLeods, in
the year 1745, by his sister.)

Round Coolin’s peak the mist is sailin’
The Banshee croons her note of wailin’
But my blue e’en with sorrow are streamin’
for him that will never return, MacCrimmon

No more, no more, no more forever
in war or peace shall return MacCrimmon
No more, no more, no more forever
shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon

The beasts on the braes are mournfully moanin’
The brook in the hollow is plaintively mournin’
But my blue e’en with sorrow are streamin’
for him that will never return, MacCrimmon

No more, no more, no more forever
in war or peace shall return MacCrimmon
No more, no more, no more forever
Shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon

 

THE TIREE LOVE SONG

Hurree hurroo, my bonny wee lass,
hurree hurroo, my fair one;
And will you come away, my love,
to be my own, my fair one.

Smiling the land, smiling the sea,
sweet was the smell of the heather.
Would we were yonder, just you and me,
the two of us together.

All the day long, out by the peat,
then by the shore in the gloaming,
tripping it lightly with dancing feet,
then we together roaming.

 

MY LAGAN LOVE
(written by Seasamh MacCathmhaoil)

Where Lagan stream sings lullaby
there grows a lily fair.
The twilight gleam is in her eye,
the night is on her hair.

And like a lovesick lenanshee,
she hath my heart in thrall;
Nor life I owe, nor liberty,
for Love is Lord of all.

And often when the beetle’s horn
hath lulled the eve to sleep,
I steal unto her shieling lorn,
and thro’ the dooring peep.

There on the crickets’ singing stone
she spares the bogwood fire,
and hums in sad, sweet undertone
the song of heart’s desire.

 

BLACKWATERSIDE

One evening fair I took the air
down by Blackwaterside,
and on gazing all around me
’twas the Irish lad I spied.

All for the first part of that night
we two did sport and play.
Then the young man arose and gathered his clothes,
saying “fare thee well today.”

That’s not the promise you made to me
when you lay upon my breast,
for you made me believe with your lying tongue
that the sun rose in the west.

Go home, go home to your father’s house.
Go home and cry your fill.
And think on your misfortune
that you brought with your wanton will.

There’s not a girl in this whole wide world
so easily led as I.
Sure the fishes will fly and the seas will run dry,
sure it’s then that you’ll marry me.