Here’s another of the late 19th, early 20th century classics. Percy French wrote the words, supposedly set to a traditional tune, although I have not found any indication of what that original tune was. Here Cathy Jordan and friends sing Eileen Óg for a LiveTrad webcast.
*Óg = young
*Petravore is a town name made up by Percy French
Eileen Óg an’ that the darlin’s name is
Through the Barony her features they were famous
If we loved her then who was there to blame us
For wasn’t she the Pride of Petravore?
But her beauty made us all so shy
Not a man could look her in the eye
Boys, Oh boys, sure that’s the reason why
We’re in mournin’ for the Pride of Petravore
Eileen Óg me heart is growin’ grey
Ever since the day you wandered far away
Eileen Óg there’s good fish in the say
But there’s none of them like the Pride of Petravore
Luka Bloom is about to begin his first U.S. tour in quite some time. We’ll celebrate with this great video of Luka performing a “modern” folk classic by Chauncey Olcott, written in 1899.
My Wild Irish Rose
If you listen I’ll sing you a sweet little song
Of a flower that’s now droped and dead,
Yet dearer to me, yes than all of its mates,
Though each holds aloft its proud head.
Twas given to me by a girl that I know,
Since we’ve met, faith I’ve known no repose.
She is dearer by far than the world’s brightest star,
And I call her my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows.
You may search everywhere,
but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows,
And some day for my sake,
she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
The Irish Traditional Music Archive has a HUGE collections of videos recorded at Sean-Nós Cois Life festival of singing from 2001-2012. It’s a joy to just let them roll on by one after one, especially when you come across the amazing Ciarán Ó Gealbháin. I’ve loved his singing since his time with Danú.
About the song, John Daly says in the notes of The Irish Language Miscellany (1876):
“The Fair of Windgap, the subject of the above song, is held in a village distant about four miles from Clonmel, then in the County of Waterford. The author was Tomás Ó Móráin, or Tomás an Bhodhráin, so called from his propensities as an expert player on the tambourine, and on that account was present at every social and merry-making meeting in the county, principally May Boys, to which he was particularly attached. His account of the commodities sold at the fair is most humorous, far outdoing the famous Donnybrook of old, with all its devilries….”
Aonach Bhearna na Gaoithe
Bhí diversion aerach ar an aonach, mórchuid aeir is aoibhnis
Ceolta néata, spórt is scléip, feoil á gléasadh chun bídh ann
Bhí whiskey is ale ann, fíon Geneva, branda craorach bríomhar
Plúr na déise, arán sinséar, is cáis ar scales á ndíol ann.
’San rabhdalam raindí, rabhdalam raindí, rabhdalam raindí réidí
Rabhdalam raindí, rabhdalam raindí, is mallaithe an dream tincéirí