The bard of armaugh
John mcdermott
Oh! list to the strains of a poor irish harper
And scorn not the strings from his poor withered hand
Oh remember his fingers could once move more sharper
To raise up the memory of his dear native land.
And scorn not the strings from his poor withered hand
Oh remember his fingers could once move more sharper
To raise up the memory of his dear native land.
At fair or at wake I would twist my shillelagh
Or trip throught he jig in my brogues bound with straw
And all the pretty maids in the village and the valley,
Loved their bold phelim brady, the bard of armagh
And when sergeant daeth in his cold arms shall embrace me
And lull me to sleep with sweet with sweet erin go bragh
By the side of my kathleen, my young young wife, oh then place me,
Then forget phelim brady, the bard of armagh
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Mais ouvidas de John mcdermott
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- The Secret Of Christmas
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- My Ain Folk
- Annie Laurie
- The Green Fields Of France
- Auld Lang Syne
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- The Massacre Of Glencoe
- Daughter Of Mine
- Suo Gan
- Fairwell To Pripchat
- My Bonnie
- My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose
- Natives
- The Cliffs Of Doneen
- No Change In Me