Oh list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strains from his poor withered hand
But remember his fingers could once move more sharper
To raise up the strains of his poor native land (1)
When I was a young lad, King Jamie did flourish
And I followed the wars in my brogues bound with straw
And all the fair colleens from Wexford to Durrish
Called me bold Phelim Brady(2) , the Bard of Armagh
How I love for to muse on the days of my childhood
Tho' four score and three years have flitted since then
Still it gives sweet reflection as every young boy(3) should
For lighthearted boys make the best of old men(4)
At pattern or fair I could twist my shillelagh
Or trip through the jig with my brogues bound with straw
Whilst all the fair maidens around me assembled
Loved bold Phelim Brady the Bard of Armagh
Although I have travelled this wide world all over
Yet Erin's my home and a mother to me
Then, oh, let the ground that my old bones shall cover
Be cut from the soil that is trod by the free
And when Sergeant Death in his cold arms shall embrace me
Oh, lull me to sleep with sweet "Erin Go Bragh"
By the side of my wife, my sweet Kathleen oh place me
Then forget Phelim Brady , the Bard of Armagh
And scorn not the strains from his poor withered hand
But remember his fingers could once move more sharper
To raise up the strains of his poor native land (1)
When I was a young lad, King Jamie did flourish
And I followed the wars in my brogues bound with straw
And all the fair colleens from Wexford to Durrish
Called me bold Phelim Brady(2) , the Bard of Armagh
How I love for to muse on the days of my childhood
Tho' four score and three years have flitted since then
Still it gives sweet reflection as every young boy(3) should
For lighthearted boys make the best of old men(4)
At pattern or fair I could twist my shillelagh
Or trip through the jig with my brogues bound with straw
Whilst all the fair maidens around me assembled
Loved bold Phelim Brady the Bard of Armagh
Although I have travelled this wide world all over
Yet Erin's my home and a mother to me
Then, oh, let the ground that my old bones shall cover
Be cut from the soil that is trod by the free
And when Sergeant Death in his cold arms shall embrace me
Oh, lull me to sleep with sweet "Erin Go Bragh"
By the side of my wife, my sweet Kathleen oh place me
Then forget Phelim Brady , the Bard of Armagh
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Long before the shamrock, our green isle's loved emblem,
Was crushed in it's beauty 'neath the Saxon Lion's Paw
I was called by the colleens around me assembled
with the bold Phelim Brady the Bard Of Armagh.
(2) Phelim Brady personaggio non ancora identificato storicamente
(3) anche scritto come "young joy"
(4) merry-hearted o free-hearted. La frase è un proverbio irlandese che dice "It's the merry-hearted boys thath make the best men"