JOHNNY I HARDLY KNEW YE

JOHNNY  I  HARDLY  KNEW  YE

While going the road to sweet Athy,

Hurroo! hurroo!

While going the road to sweet Athy,

Hurroo! hurroo!

While going the road to sweet Athy,

A stick in my hand and a drop in my eye,

A doleful damsel I heard cry,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns, and guns and drums,

The enemy nearly slew ye,

My darling dear, you look so queer,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

 

Where are your eyes that looked so mild?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are your eyes that looked so mild?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are your eyes that looked so mild,

When my poor heart you first beguiled?

Why did you run from me and the child?

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns, and guns and drums,

The enemy nearly slew ye,

My darling dear, you look so queer,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

 

Where are the legs with which you run?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are thy legs with which you run?

Hurroo! hurroo!

Where are the legs with which you run

When first you went to carry a gun?

Indeed, your dancing days are done!

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns, and guns and drums,

The enemy nearly slew ye,

My darling dear, you look so queer,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

 

It grieved my heart to see you sail,

Hurroo! hurroo!

It grieved my heart to see you sail,

Hurroo! hurroo!

It grieved my heart to see you sail,

Though from my heart you took leg-bail,

Like a cod you’re doubled up head and tail,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns, and guns and drums,

The enemy nearly slew ye,

My darling dear, you look so queer,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

 

You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,

Hurroo! hurroo!

You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,

Hurroo! hurroo!

You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,

You’re an eyeless, noseless, chickenless egg,

You’ll have to be put with a bowl to beg,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns, and guns and drums,

The enemy nearly slew ye,

My darling dear, you look so queer,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

 

I’m happy for to see you home,

Hurroo! hurroo!

I’m happy for to see you home,

Hurroo! hurroo!

I’m happy for to see you home,

All from the Island of Sulloon,

So low in flesh, so high in bone,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns, and guns and drums,

The enemy nearly slew ye,

My darling dear, you look so queer,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

 

But sad it is to see you so,

Hurroo! hurroo!

But sad it is to see you so,

Hurroo! hurroo!

But sad it is to see you so,

And to think of you now as an object of woe,

Your Peggy’ll still keep you on as her beau,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

With drums and guns, and guns and drums,

The enemy nearly slew ye,

My darling dear, you look so queer,

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!

 

                                       Author  Unknown

Note

This street ballad dates from the early 1800's when regiments from the Irish town of Athy, in County Kildare, were raised to fight in Sulloon ( Sri-Lanka ) for the British East India Company.

DEAR LAND

DEAR  LAND

When comes the day all hearts to weigh,

f staunch they be, or vile,

Shall we forget the sacred debt

We owe our mother Isle?

My native heath is brown beneath,

My native waters blue,

But crimson red o'er both shall spread,

Ere I am false to you,

                                  Dear Land -

Ere I am false to you.

 

When I behold your mountains bold -

Your noble lakes and streams -

A mingled tide of grief and pride

Within my bosom teems.

I think of all your long, dark thrall -

Your martyrs brave and true;

And dash apart the tears that start -

We must not weep for you,

                                         Dear Land -

We must not weep for you.

 

My grandsire died his home beside;

They seized and hanged him there;

His only crime, in evil time,

Your hallowed green to wear.

Across the main his brothers twain

Were sent to pine and rue;

And still they turned, with hearts that burned,

In hopeless love to you,

                                      Dear Land -

In hopeless love to you.

 

My boyish ear still clung to hear

Of Erin's pride of yore,

Ere Norman foot had dared pollute

Her independent shore;

Of chiefs, long dead, who rose to head

Some gallant patriot few;

Till all my aim on earth became

To strike one blow for you,

                                        Dear Land -

To strike one blow for you.

 

What path is best your rights to wrest

Let other heads divine;

By work or word, with voice or sword,

To follow them be mine.

The breast that zeal and hatred steel,

No terrors can subdue;

If death should come, that martyrdom

Were sweet, endured for you,

                                              Dear Land -

Were sweet, endured for you.

 

                                  John  O’Hagan

LITTLE BOY BLUE

LITTLE  BOY  BLUE

The little toy dog is covered with dust,

But sturdy and stanch he stands;

And the little toy soldier is red with rust,

And his musket molds in his hands.

Time was when the little toy dog was new,

And the soldier was passing fair;

And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue

Kissed them and put them there.

“Now, don't you go till I come,” he said,

“And don't you make any noise!”

So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,

He dreamt of the pretty toys;

And, as he was dreaming, an angel song

Awakened our Little Boy Blue -

Oh! the years are many, the years are long,

But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,

Each in the same old place -

Awaiting the touch of a little hand,

The smile of a little face;

And they wonder, as waiting the long years through

In the dust of that little chair,

What has become of our Little Boy Blue,

Since he kissed them and put them there.

 

                     Eugene  Fields   1850 - 1895

ROSE OF KNOCKMANY

ROSE  OF  KNOCKMANY

O sure ‘ tis some fairy

Has set me contrary!

No more blithe and airy I sing as I go;

No longer in clover,

A free-hearted rover,

I lilt a light ditty or shake a loose toe.

In Leinster and Ulster,

Through Connaught and Munster,

‘ Twas I made the fun stir wherever I strayed;

And a jovialler fellow,

While sober or mellow,

Ne'er tossed off a jorum or wooed a fair maid.

 

Till once in the May time,

The tuneful and gay time -

(Ah, I fear ‘ twas the fay time) - from eve to the dawn,

I played for a maiden,

With hair simply braiden,

With eyes of soft lustre and grace like the fawn.

Those eyes while she listened,

Through dewy drops glistened,

Or sparkled like gems in the light of the moon;

Some witchcraft was in it!

For since that blessed minute,

I’m like poor young Johnny who played but one tune.

 

For whether I’m strolling

Where billows are rolling,

Or sweet bells are tolling o'er Shannon or Lee;

My wild harp when sweeping,

Where fountains are leaping,

At lone Gougaune Barra or storied Lough Neagh -

To priest or to peasant,

No matter who's present,

In sad hours or pleasant, by mountain or stream,

To the careless or cannie,

To colleen or granny -

Young Rose of Knockmany is ever my theme.

 

                        Charles  Kickham 

                   1828-1882