Irish Songs Lyrics With Guitar Chords By Martin Dardis

Ballads Of Ireland

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Ballads Of Ireland. Here's another batch of songs that were mostly written in America by Irish people who had emigrated there in the late 1900's.

Ballads Of Ireland

When Old Ireland Is Free. Written by Dr. George
Clarkson with music by J.H. Williams.
 
 
On the shores of old Ireland, the dear Emerald Isle,
My love and I parted, I left her in tears.
My heart heaved with sorrow, and sad was my smile,
As I laid her a - dieu for those long weary years,
May heaven look up on thee thou, sat side by side,
And sworn ne'er to part, I'd forget my own land,
ere thou art forgot.

Chorus.
But we're parted by our poverty, by tyranny and foes,
Who drive us from our cabins, our love and sweet
repose,
Old Ireland will be free, God haste the happy day,
When the Green Flag o're our country for ever shal sway

I kissed her sweet lips, and thought they'd ne'er sever
They lingered so tenderly but fate was unkind
I must leave leave thee dear Norah but not love
forever.
For the ship hoists her sails to the cruel east wind,
My eyes glistened with love when on the ship's deck,
As I cast them behind to my heart's choice ashore,
I saw her bowed form fade like a small speck,
But knew not we'd parted, for eye evermore.

To my home in the west, I sent for my girl,
Who vowed to be true to the Emigrant boy,
Alas she was dead, nought left but a curl
Of the bright Golden hair, her pride and my joy,
I'll return to old Ireland, the day she is free,
And plant flowers o'er the grave where Norah now lies,
It's sod wet with tears and trust it may be,
God's will we may meet, once more in the skies.

We Will Set Old Ireland Free, written and sang by James
E. Larkin 1882
 
Now mind, here is my maxim, never take too much on hand ;
Your grave you will be making, life and care is but a
span;
You may rely upon my subject, at our helm we'll steer
our ship;
We will 'cross the sea, set old Ireland free, at
England we'll let rip.
Chorus - you may rely upon my, ets,
Now mark the words I utter, time or money we won't
spare,
Like Adam delve in brave, boys, root all evil to the
roar;
On my word and honor, they have dipped in here too
fast,
We will 'cross the sea, set old Ireland free, we'll let
blast.
Ch.
Our man-o-war is on the water, ammunition and men at
hand,
To embark at any moment, to free poor Paddy's land,
We are united all together, let us cross the ocean
foam,
We will cross the sea, set old Ireland free, and seize
our native land.
Ch.
I heard the olf folks say as they assembled in a flock,
We will do to those pig drivers as we did in Carrick
shock,
We will cross the sea, set old Ireland free, and make
them suffer.
Ch - So cheer up Irish heroes, etc.

As those tyrants make their graves by the singing of
their slurs,
For locking up our heroes, by those English thick head
curs,
'Tis a fact those daylight robbers, they are begging
all along,
We will cross the sea, set old Ireland free, and thus
conclude my.

Ch-'Tis a fact those dayligh robbers, etc.

We Want Freedom In Old Ireland Where Our Shamrock Grows.
Written by Jas. E. Larkin, The Irish American and recorded by Mary Harkins of Brooklin New York.

Ye Irish hearts of Erin, where ever ye may be,
Arouse up your loyal comrades and fight for liberty,
Do not give in or yield an inch, but struggle against your foe,
For your freedom in old Ireland, where your shamrock grows,
Chorus.-Do not give or yield an inch, etc.

Just look at your great orators, Father Sheehy and Parnell,
Also Mr. Davitt who were plunged into a cell,
For expressing their opinion and enlightening us also,
For our freedom in old Ireland, where our Shamrock grows,
Chorus.- For expressing their opinion, etc.

Look back at your ancestors, how they reaped, toiled and sowed,
And look at these infernal hounds, the eruption they have shown,
Depriving those poor creatures but we want ye all to know,
We want freedom in old Ireland, where our Shamrock grows,

Chorus.- We want freedom in old Ireland, where our Shamrock grows,

There is Forster and Gladstone now they haven't got no show,
The landlords are found guilty, our money they can't flow
But ye hearts of Erin, yell out where'er you go,
For your freedom in old Ireland, Where our Shamrock grows.

Now England is falling fast me boys, we struck a deadly blow,
We will pay no rent in Ireland, for the tresury is running low,
But our delegates are working hard, in our nation to and fro,
For the freedom of old Ireland where the Shamrock grows.

 

Old Folks From Tyrone, popular songs from The Dockstaders. Published by J.W. Pepper in America.  Price 35 cents.
 
We are an Irish couple and we come here from Tyrone
It's many's a year since we came here, in a ship across the foam.
It's fourty years ago kind friend since we landed on your shore,
We left behind friends good and kind, and them we'll see no more.

The ups and downs we've seen, the dark days and the bright,
With poverty we struggled hard, at last our hearts grew light.
Dame fortune smiled upon us, and gave us a helping hand,
God blessed the day we sailed away from poor old Ireland

Ode To Ireland by Henry S. Culver
 
When ye rose from the sea, oh Erin,
A gift from God's own hand,
To be the crowning glory
Of all created land;
And ye met the first day's dawning,
With thy gorgeous hills aglow,
There was ecstasy in Heaven,
O're the new world here below

And that ye, supreme creation,
Might be forever be earth's queen
Ye were decked in Purple heather,
And crowned with Shamrock Green
Till the beauty of the mountains
Thy vales and glens among,
Are the themes of rarest sweetness
In the earth's posey and song.

While to guard thy sacred portals,
And stay time's ruteless hand,
Ye were given sturdy waders
To inherit thy fair land;
Men exalted, honoring ever
On the earth thy cherished name,
Adding glory to thy beauty,
Adding luster to thy fame.

 

Queenstown Cork - Poem By Henry S. Culver
Fair city by the Lee,
Thy terraced houses gracefully,
Adorn with vari-coloured hues,
The granite hills thou'rt built upon
And when at early morn the sun,
Doth touch thy tints with burning gold,
The Oriental splendor is supreme
Thy whitening ways bedged in by walls
Of ivy green that winding crawl,
From quay to lofted summit,
But blind thy many sundered hills
In common mass of pleasing beauty.
The stranger at thy gate looks in,
With admiration on thy charms,
The sun and air and sky temper,
Their moods to gratify thy pride
While lured by shady grove and park,
And gardens in perpetual bloom;
Cathedral tower and battlements
Of stone that face thy boldest cliffs
The sea the mighty amorous sea
Leaps boldy through thy harbours mouth,
To kiss thy guarded waiting shore

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