Lyrics for The Pulse of an Irishman
Irish and Scottish Songs arranged by Beethoven
a recording of The CRS Barn Studio
for orders follow the link at the bottom of this page

1.  The Pulse of an Irishman
The pulse of an Irishman ever beats quicker
when war is the story or love is the theme,
and place him where bullets fly thicker and thicker ,
you’ll find him all cowardice scorning,
and though a ball should strike poor Darby,
light at the heart he rallies on,
“fortune is cruel but Norah my jewel
is kind and with smiling all sorrow beguiling
shall bid from our cabin all care to be gone”
and how they will jig it and tug at the spigot
on Patrick’s Day in the morning!

O blest by the land in the wide western water,
sweet Erin, lov’d Erin the pride of my song,
still brave be the sons and still fair be the daughters
thy meads and thy mountains adorning,
and though the eastern sun seems tardy,
though the pure light of knowledge slow,
light and delusion and darkling confusion
like mists from the river shall vanish forever
and true Irish hearts with warm loyalty glow
and proud exaltation burst forth from the nation,
on Patrick’s Day in the morning!

2.  Morning a cruel turmoiler is
Morning a cruel turmoiler is,
banishing ease and repose;
noonday a roaster and broiler is
how we pant under ‘is nose!
Ev’ning for lover’s soft measures,
sighing and begging a boon;
but the blythe season for pleasures,
laughing lies under the moon.
Och! then you rogue Pat O’Flannaghan,
kegs of the whiskey we’ll tilt,
Murtoch, replenish our can again,
up with your heart cheering lilt!

Myrtles and vines some may prate about,
bawling in heathenish glee,
staff I went bother my pate about,
shamrock and whisky for me!
Faith, but I own I feel tender;
Judy, you jill, how I burn!
If she won’t smile, devil mend her!
Both sides of chops have their turn.

Fill all your cups till they foam again,
bubbles must float on the brim;
he that steals first sneaking home again,
daylight is too good for him!
While we have goblets to handle,
while we have liquor to fill,
mirth and one spare inch of candle,
planets may wink as they will.

3. No more, my Mary, I sigh for splendour
No more, my Mary, I sigh for splendour
and riot’s joys no longer prize:
On thee I muse in visions tender,
or gaze on thy fond eyes
Oh, not the sages with pedant pages,
tis thy soft smiles have made me wise

For life’s delusions of joy had reft me;
with sated heart I turn’d to pine
a faded world I thought was left me,
tho’ all its pleasures mine.
Oh! hours of folly! of melancholy!
how chang’d for bliss, for love like thine.

4.  By the side of the Shannon
By the side of the Shannon was laid a young lover,
“I hate this dull river” he fretfully cried;
“Yon tempest is coming, this willow my cover
how sultry the air, not a zephyr” he sigh’d.
“Go! bee, get along why so idly remaining,
for here are no roses, thou troublesome thing
Peace nightingale! Peace to that ditty complaining
oh can it be thus that these nightingale’s sing?”

But now a lightform with a smile archly playing,
all beaming in beauty, before him appeared
“O Ellen!”, he cried, why thus strangely delaying,
my dearest, my Ellen, what have I not feared.”
And then so majestic the Shannon came flowing,
the bee flew unchided the blossoms among,
the sky was serene, and the zephyrs soft blowing,
and oh! how enchanting the nightingale’s song!

5.  Sweet Power of Song
Sweet Power of Song,
that canst impart to lowland swain or mountaineer,
a gladness thrilling through the heart
a joy so tender and so dear:
Sweet Power that on a foreign strand
canst the rough soldier’s bosom move,
with feelings of his native land,
as gentle as an infant’s love.

Sweet Power that makes youthful heads
with thistle, leek, or shamrock crown’d,
nod proudly as the carol sheds
its spirit through the social round.
Sweet power that cheer’st the daily toil
of cottage maid or beldame poor,
the ploughman on the furrow’d soil,
or herdboy on the lonely moor.

Or he, by bards the shepherd hight,
who mourns his maiden’s broken tye,
‘till the sweet plaint, in woe’s despite,
hath made a bliss of agony.
Sweet Power of Song! thanks flow to thee
from every kind and gentle breast!
Let Erin’s, Cambria’s, minstrels be
with Burns’s tuneful spirit blest!

6.  Since Greybeards inform us
Since Greybeards inform us that youth will decay
and pleasures soft transports glide swiftly away,
the song and the dance and the wine and the fair
shall banish all sorrow and shield us from care.
Away with your proverbs, your morals and rules,
your proctors and doctors and pedants and schools,
then seize the bright moments while yet  in our prime
and fast by the forelock catch old Father Time.

Though spring’s lovely blossoms delight us no more,
though summer  forsake us and autumn be o’er,
to cheer us in winter remembrance can bring
the pleasures of autumn, of summer and spring.
So when fleeting seasons bring life’s latest stage,
to speak of youth’s frolics shall gladden our age,
then seize the bright moments while yet  in your prime
and fast by the forelock catch old Father Time.

7.  Come draw we round a cheerful ring
Come draw we round a cheerful ring
and broach the foaming ale
and let the merry maiden sing
the beldame tell her tale,
and let the sightless harper sit
the blazing fire by
and let the jester vent his wit
his tricks the urchin try.

Who shakes the door with angry din
and would admitted be,
no gossip winter snug within
we have no room for thee.
Go scud it o’er Killarney’s lake
and shake the willows bare,
the water elf his sport doth take,
I’ll find our comrade there.

Will’ O the wisp skips in the dell,
the owl hoots on the tree,
they hold their nightly vigil well
and so the while will we.
The strike we up with rousing glee
and pass the beaker ‘round,
while every head right merrily
is moving to the sound.

8.  Farewell Bliss and Farewell Nancy
Farewell bliss and farewell Nancy,
farewell fleeting joys of fancy;
hopes and fears and sighs that languish
now give place to cureless anguish.
Why did I so fondly love thee?
Why to mutual passion move thee?
Why to wearing sorrow bring thee?
Why let causeless slander sting thee?

Gazing on my precious treasure,
lost in reckless dreams of pleasure,
thy unspotted heart possessing,
grasping at the promis’d blessing,
pouring out my soul before thee,
living only to adore thee,
could I see the tempest brewing?
could I dread the blast of ruin?
Had we never lov’d so kindly;
had we never lov’d so blindly;
never met or never parted,
we had ne’er been broken hearted.
Fare thee well thou first and fairest,
fare thee well though best and dearest;
one fond kiss and then we sever,
one farewell, alas forever.

9.  Sad and Luckless was the Season
Sad and Luckless was the season,
when to court fair Ellen flew,
flew from love, and peace, and reason,
worlds to see of promise new.
Back she comes each grace is finer,
ev’ry charm that crowds adore,
all the form divine, diviner,
but the heart is there no more.

Oh! tis gone, the temper even,
Careless nature artless ease!
All that makes retirement heaven
Pleasing, without toil to please.
Hope no more sweet lark to cheer her,
Vain to her these echoing skies
Bloom no more ye violets near her,
Yours are charms she would not prize.

Ellen! go where crowds admire thee,
Chariots rattle, torches blaze;
Here our dull content would tire thee,
Worthless be our village praise.
Go! yet oh, that thought’s soft season
Ellen’s heart might but restore
Hard the task - whate’er the reason-
Hard the task to love no more.

10. The Soldier
Then, soldier! come fill high the wine
for we reek not of tomorrow;
be ours today and we resign
all the rest to the fools of sorrow.
Gay be the hour ‘till we beat to arms
then comrade Death or glory;
‘tis victory in all her charms,
or tis fame in the world’s bright story
‘Tis you - ‘tis I - that may meet the ball;
and me it better pleases
in battle, brave, with the brave to fall,
than to die of dull diseases;
a driveller to be in my fireside chair
with saws and tales unheeded;
a tottering thing of aches and care,
no longer lov’d or needed.

But thou - oh dark is thy flowing hair,
and thine I with fire is streaming,
and o’er thy cheek, thy looks, thine air,
sits health in triumph beaming.
Thou, brother soldier fill the wine,
fill high to love and beauty;
love; friendship, honour all are thine,
thy country and thy duty.

11.  The Golden Robe
A golden robe my love shall wear,
and rubies bind her yellow hair;
a golden robe those limbs enfold,
so far above the worth of gold.
No courtly dame in gaudy praide,
shall e’er outshine my lovely bride;
then say, my charming maiden say,
when shall we name the happy day.

Can golden robes my fancy bind
or ruby chains enslave the mind?
Not all the wealth our mountains own,
Nor orient pearls, nor precious stone,
Can tempt me by their idle shine,
or buy a heart that’s form’d like mine!
My choice it is already made,
I shun the glare and court the shade.

Your scorn,proud girl, I well can bear
There’s many a maid my robes would wear,
And thank me too, so take your way,
but you’ll repent another day.
Go with your robes and gifts of gold
To those whose hearts are to be sold;
For me, I have no other pride
But Evan’s love my choice to guide.

12.  Sion, The son of Evan
Hear the shouts of Evan’s son!
See the gallant chace begun!
Lo the deer affrighted run
up yon mountain side.
Check your speed ye timorous deer
savely rest and cease your fear,
or boldly on your cliffs appear
and bear your antlers high.

From dusky den and thorny brake
The chiding hounds the echoes wake,
The forest’s cowering inmates quake,
and triumph rends the air.
Was ever youth like Evan’s son,
Was ever course so nobly run?
Was ever prize so glorious won,
Tis Winifred the fair!
To hardy deeds and conquering arms,
That save the fold from midnight harms,
The ancient chief decrees her charms
The maid beyond compare!

13.  Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet
For Auld Lang Syne.

We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pa'd the gowans fine.
We've wandered many a weary foot,
Sin' auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll be your pint stoup,
And surely I’ll be mine;
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindess yet
For Auld Lang Syne

14.  Come fill, fill, my good fellow
Come fill, fill, my good fellow!
Fill high, high, my good fellow,
and let’s be merry and mellow
and let us have one bottle more.
When warm the heart is flowing
and bright the fancy glowing
Oh! shame on the dolt would be going,
nor tarry for one bottle more!

My heart let me but lighten
and Life, let me but brighten
and Care, let me but frighten
He’ll fly us with one bottle more.
By day, tho’ he confound me,
when friends at night have found me,
There is paradise around me,
but let me have one bottle more!

So now, here’s to the lasses!
See, see, while the toast passes,
how it lights up beaming glasses!
Encore to the lasses encore.
We’ll toast the welcome  greeting
of hearts in union beating,
and oh, for our next merry meeting,
huzza then for one bottle more!

15.  Music, Love and Wine
Oh  let me music hear, Night and Day!
Let the voice and let the Lyre
dissolve my heart, my spirit’s fire;
Music and I ask no more, Night or Day!
Love, Music, Wine agree, true, true, true!
Round then round the glass, the glee
and Ellen in our toast shall be
Music, Wine, and Love agree, true, true, true.

Hence with this colder world, hence adieu!
Give me but the blissful dream,
that mingles in the goblet’s gleam,
Wine and then I ask no more,what say you?

Hence with this world of care,I say too;
Give me, give me but the while,
The brighter heav’n of Ellen’s smile,
Love and then I ask no more,Oh would you?

Music may gladden wine, what say you?
Tendrils of the laughing vine
Around the Myrtle well may twine
Both may grace the Lyre divine, what say you?

What if we all agree, what say you?
I will list the Lyre with thee
And he shall dream dream of love like me.
Brighter than the wine shall be.What say you?

16.  O swiftly glides the bonnie boat
O swiftly glides the bonnie boat
just parted from the shore,
and to the fisher’s chorus note
soft moves the dipping oar.
His toils are borne with happy cheer
and ever may they speed,
that feeble age and helpmate dear
and tender bairnies feed.
We cast our lines in Largo Bay
our nets are floating wide,
our bonny boat with yielding sway
rocks lightly on the tide.
And happy prove our daily lot
upon the summer sea
and blest on land our kindly cot
where all our treasures be.

The mermaid on her rock may sing,
the witch may weave her charm,
nor watersprite nor eldrich thing
bonny boat can harm.
It safely bears its scaly store
thro’ many a stormy gale,
while joyful shouts rise from the shore,
its homeward prow to hail.

17.  Oh Sweet were the hours
Oh Sweet were the hours, when in mirth’s frolic throng
I led up the revels with dance and with song;
when brisk from the fountain, and bright as the day,
my spirits o’erflow’d, and ran sparkling away
Wine! Wine! Wine! Come bring me wine to cheer me,
friend of my heart! come pledge me high!
Wine! till the dreams of youth again are near me,
why must they leave me,tell me, why?

Retourn, ye sweet hours! once again let me see
your airly light forms of enchantment and glee;
come give an old friend, while he crowns his gay glass,
a nod as you part and a smile as you pass.

I cannot forget you, I would not resign,
there’s health in my pulse and a spell in my wine;
and sunshine in Autumn, tho’ passing too soon,
is sweeter and dearer than sunshine in June.

18.  Sally in our alley
Of all the girls that are so smart,
there’s none like pretty Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
and she lives in our alley!
There’s not a lady in the land
that’s half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart
and she lives in our alley!

Her father, he makes cabbage nets
and through the streets does cry’ em;
Her mother, she sells laces long
to folks such please as buy them.
How could such folks the parents be
of such a girl as Sally!

Of all the days that’s in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
and that’s the day that comes between
the Saturday and Monday,
for then I’m drest all in my best
to walk abroad with Sally.

19.  Faithfu' Johnie
When will you come again, my faithfu' Johnie, when will you come again?
When the corn is gathered and the leaves are withered
I will come again, my sweet and bonny,
I will come again.

Then winter’s wind will blow, my faithfu' Johnie,
Then winter’s wind will blow.
Though the day be dark with drift,
that I cannot see the lift
I will come again, my sweet and bonny,
I will come again.

Then will you meet me here, my faithfu' Johnie,
Then will you meet me here?
Though the night were hallow we’en
when the fearfu’ sights are seen,
I would meet thee here,
my sweet and bonny, I would meet thee here.

And shall we part again, my faithfu' Johnie,
Shall we then part again?
So lang’s my eye can see, That face so dear to me,
We shall not part again, my sweet and bonny,
We shall not part again.

20.  O Mary, at thy window be
O Mary, at thy window be,
it is the wish’d, the trysted hour;
thou smiles and glances let me see,
that make the miser’s treasure poor:
How blyth’ly would I bide the stoure,
a weary slave from sun to sun;
could I the rich reward secure,
the lovely Mary Morrison!

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
wha for thy sake wou’d gladly die!
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
whose only fault is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
at least be pity to me shown;
a thought ungentle canna be
the thought of Mary Morrison!

21.  The Highland Watch
Old Scotia, wake thy mountain strain
in all its wildest splendours!
And welcome back the lads again,
your honour’s dear defenders!
Be ev’ry harp and viol strung,
‘till all the woodlands quaver:
of many a band your Bards have sung,
but never hail’d a braver.
Then raise the pibroch, Donald Bane,
we’re all in key to cheer it;
and let it be a martial strain,
that warriors bold may hear it.

Ye lovely maids, pitch high your notes,
as virgin voice can sound them,
sing of your brave, your noble Scots,
for glory lindles ‘round them.
Small is the remnant you will see,
lamented be the others!
But such a stem of such a tree,
take to your arms like brothers.
Raise high the pibroch, Donald Bane,
strike all our glen with wonder;
let the chanter yell and drone notes swell,
till music speaks in thunder!

What storm can rend your mountain rock,
what wave your headlands shiver?
Long have they stood the tempest’s shock,
thou knowst they will forever.
Sooner your eye these cliffs shall view
split by the wind and weather,
than foeman’s eye the bonnet blue
behind the nodding feather.

O raise the pibroch, Donald Bane,
our caps to the sky we’ll send them.
Scotland, thy honours who can stain,
thy laurels who can rend them!

Go to: The Pulse of an Irishman, Irish and Scottish Songs arranged by Beethoven

Go to: the CRS Barn Studio Homepage

contact us:

These and all pages copyright CRS Barn Studio 1999 All rights reserved