SAINT PATRICK’S DAY – Irish songs and more

Go n-eírí an bóthar leat.
May the road rise with you.

(Irish blessing)

happyPeople all over the world celebrate St Patrick’s Day, Ireland’s patron saint, on March 17th. At EOI Benidorm we have “decorated” the school with information about the Emerald Isle, its history, traditions, cultural heritage, music and humour.

In this post you will find links to other sites with information about the country and its people, and some videos with a sample of its rich musical  and literary history. You are all welcome to learn more about the land of Sinead O’Connor, James Joyce, Jonathan Swift, U2, The Corrs, Mary Robinson, Oscar Wilde, Frank McCourt, Van Morrison and so many others.

Join us on Friday afternoon for a Pub Quiz to show how much (or how little!) you know about Ireland. It’ll sure be fun. We’ll have songs, videos, questions, prizes and some good, good “craic”. You can see the information at the school.

Do you want to know more?

Discover Ireland

St Patrick’s Day at the History Channelmap

St Patrick’s Book of Facts (BBC Ulster)

Irish mythology and folklore

Irish music (traditional and more)

The Legend of Cuchulain (the Hound of Ulster)

Myths and legends (podcasts)

Irish names and their meaning (audio by Frank McCourt) boys’ namesgirls’ names

Hiberno-English (how the Irish speak English)

Some audio samples of spoken Irish accent

And now it’s time for some music…

In Dublin’s fair city,
where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”
“Alive, alive, oh, Alive, alive, oh”,
Crying “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh”.
She was a fishmonger,
And sure ’twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”
(chorus)
She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”
(chorus)

Galway Bay
‘Tis far away I am today from scenes I roamed a boy,
And long ago the hour I know I first saw Illinois;
But time nor tide nor waters wide can wean my heart away,
For ever true it flies to you, my dear old Galway Bay.

My chosen bride is by my side, her brown hair silver-grey,
Her daughter Rose as like her grows as April dawn today.
Our only boy, his mother’s joy, his father’s pride and stay;
With gifts like these I’d live at ease, were I near Galway Bay.

O ! grey and bleak, by shore and creek, the rugged rocks abound,
But sweet and green the grass between, as grows on Irish ground,
So friendship fond, all wealth beyond, and love that lives alway,
Bless each poor home beside your foam, my dear old Galway Bay.

Had I youth’s blood and hopeful mood and heart of fire once more,
For all the gold the world might hold I’d never quit your shore,
I’d live content whate’er God sent with neighbours old and gray,
And lay my bones, ‘neath churchyard stones, beside you, Galway Bay.

The blessing of a poor old man be with you night and day,
The blessing of a lonely man whose heart will soon be clay;
‘Tis all the Heaven I’ll ask of God upon my dying day,
My soul to soar for ever more above you, Galway Bay.

THE STOLEN CHILD (W.B.Yeats)

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

BACK HOME IN DERRY by Christy Moore

In 1803 we sailed out to sea
Out from the sweet town of Derry.
For Australia bound if we didn’t all drown
And the marks of our letters were heavy
In the rusty iron chains we signed for our wanes
Our women we left there in sorrow
As the main sails unfurled, our cares we hurled
At the English and the thoughts of tomorrow

Refrain: oh….oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.
Oh….oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.

At the mouth of the foil, bid farwell to the soil
As down below decks we were lying.
O’Docherty’s scream woke him out of a dream
By a vision of bold Robert dying.
The sun burned cruel and they dished out the gruel
Dan O’Connor was down with the fever
Sixty rebels that day bound for botany bay
How many would reach there this evening?

I cursed them to hell, as our bow fought the swill
Our ship danced like moths on the firelight
Wild horses rode high as the devil passed by
Taking souls into Hades by twilight light
Five weeks out to sea we were now 43
We buried our comrades each morning
And in our own slime, forgotten by time
Endless days without dawning

Van Diemens land is a hell for a man
To live out his life in slavery
Where the climate is raw and the gun makes the law
In the winds of eight care of bravery
Twenty years have gone by and I’ve emptied my bond
My comrades’ ghosts walk beside me
Well a rebel I came and sure I’ll die the same
On a cold winters night you will find me.

2x refrain

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Posted on 02/29/2012, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on SAINT PATRICK’S DAY – Irish songs and more.

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