Author: karasheaobrien

Kara O’Brien was born and raised Colorado, USA. In 2016 she graduated from the University of Colorado at Denver with a double-major in Vocal Performance & Music Business and a minor in English. She then moved to Limerick Ireland to pursue her M.A. in Irish Traditional Music Performance at the Irish World Academy (IWA). Upon completion of her M.A., she returned to the IWA where she is currently undertaking a Ph.D. studying folk belief and figurative language in Irish traditional hunting songs. In her spare time, she sings, reads, and drinks enormous quantities of tea.

The Hare’s Lament

Another beautiful hare hunting song. This one appeared in Sam Henry’s Songs of the People, and comes from Ulster.

On the 20th of January and in the 70th year,

The morning being beautiful, charming, bright and clear,

I being disturbed by dreams as I lay in my den,

I dreamed of heathery mountain, high rock and low glen.

Chorus (repeated after each verse):

To my hark, tallyho! Hark over yon brow.

“She’s over,” cries the huntsman, “See, yonder she’ll go.”

As I sat in my form for to view the plains round

I being trembling and shaking for fear of the hounds

And seeing no danger appearing to me

I quickly walked out to the top of the slee.

Chorus

They hunted me up and they hunted me down;

At the loop of the burn they did me surround.

When up come the huntsman to end all the strife,

He says, “Leave the hare down and give her play for her life.”

Chorus

Bad luck to all sportsmen, to Bowman and Ringwood,

They sprinkled the plain with my innocent blood.

They let Reynard go free, that cunning old fox,

That ate up all the chickens, fat hens and game cocks.

Chorus

It’s now I’m for dying, but I know not the crime;

To the value of sixpence I ne’er robbed mankind.

I never was given to rob or to steal,

All the harm that ever I done was crop the heads of green kale.

January 29, 2018 0

Milkhares

There are many superstitions and stories surrounding hares in Ireland. Indeed, hares have been held sacred in many cultures around the world. There is one story, in particular however, that turns up over and over: that of the milkhare. This story appears in many cultures around the world, but the Irish version typically involves a farmer whose cows are suddenly not giving as much milk as normal and discovers a hare (usually a white hare) who is stealing the milk. The farmer then attempts to kill the hare, usually by shooting at it. In most versions of the story, the hare escapes with only a minor wound, generally on a leg or flank, and the farmer tracks the animal to the house of a neighbour, where he finds the old lady of the house with an identical injury.

There are, of course, many variations of the story, but the basic form is always the same.

Éilís Ní Dhuibhne tells us that the story has likely been in Ireland at least since the Middle Ages and is based on the belief that “certain women were in the habit of turning themselves into hares for the purpose of stealing milk or butter” (Duibhne 1993 p.78).

The story also occurs in the Nordic tradition, with the difference that the milkhare is sometimes an actual woman who transfers, and sometimes a magical creature constructed of “heddles and bits of wood or, in parts if the area, from bits of besoms and scrubbing brooms” (Nildin-Wall & Wall 1993 p.2)

On Yonder Hill There Sits a Hare

This is another gorgeous hunting song from Tyrone. It was popularised by the great Geordie Hanna.

On yonder hill there sits a hare

Full of worry, grief and care

And o’er her lodgings it was bare

singing oh, brave boys, hi-ho

And o’er lodgings it was bare,

singing oh, brave boys, hi-ho

Now there came a huntsman riding by

And on this poor hare he cast his eye

And o’re the bogs hallooed his dogs

singing ho, brave boys, hi-ho

And o’er the bogs hallooed his dogs

singing ho, brave boys, hi-ho

Now she’s gone from hill to hill

All for the best dog to try his skill

and kill the poor hare that never done ill

singing ho, brave boys, hi-ho

And kill the poor hare that never done ill

singing ho, brave-boys, hi-ho

And now she’s turned and turned again

Merrily as she trips the plane

And may she live to run again

singing ho, brave boys, hi-ho

And may she live to run again,

singing ho, brave boys, hi-ho

January 22, 2018 0

Seán Ó Duibhir a Ghleanna

A Beautiful song, one of several (both in English and Irish) which shares this tune. More information coming soon.

How oft at sunny morning

Sunlight all adorning

I hear the horn give warning

‘Mid the birds mellow call.

Badgers flee before us

Woodcocks startle o’er us

And guns give ringing chorus

‘Mid the echoes all.

The fox runs higher and higher

Huntsmen shouting nigh her

A maiden lying by her fowl

Left wounded in his gore.

Now they fell the wildwood

Farewell home of childhood

Sean O Duibhir an Gleanna

Your day it is o’er.

‘Tis my sorrow sorest

Sad the falling forest

The north wind brings me no rest

And death is in the sky.

My noble hounds tied tightly

Never sporting brightly

Would make a child laugh lightly

With a tear in its eye.

The antlered noble-hearted

Stags are never started

Never chased nor parted

From the furzy field.

If peace comes but a small way

I’ll journey down to Galway

I’ll leave, but not for always

My Erin of ills.

Land of streams and valleys

Has no head nor rallies

In city, camp or palace

They never toast her name.

Where the warrior column

From Clyne to peaks of Collum

All wasted hills and solemn

The wild hare grows tame.

When will come the routing

Shocks of churls and flouting?

I hear no joyful shouting

From the blackbird brave.

Ne’er warlike is the yeoman

Justice comes to no man

And priests must flee the foeman

To the mountain cave.

‘Tis my woe and ruin

Sinless death’s undoing

Came not to the strewing

Of all my bright hopes.

How oft of sunny morning

I watched the sun returning

The autumn maples burning

And dew on the woodland slopes.

But now my lands are plundered

Far my friends are sundered

And I must hide me under

The branch and bramble screen.

If soon I cannot save me

From flights of foes who crave me

Oh death at last I’ll brave thee

My bitter foes between.

For now they fell the wildwood

Farewell home of childhood

Sean O Duibhir an Ghleanna

Your day it is o’er.

January 15, 2018 1

The Chasing of the Hare

This is an odd song, which I came across in the Inishowen Singing Project at ITMA. It comes from the singing of Paddy Collins, and I have yet to find any other recordings. More information coming soon!

It was a pleasant morning in the springtime of the year

The weather it was lovely and the morning calm and clear

There was no one on the premises to keep me in the box

So with my hunting hound and horn I started for the Knox.

You may talk enjoy about enjoyment but if sport you want to see

Just get your hound and walking stick and come along with me

There is coursing, racing, motoring, and towering through the air

But no form of amusement like the chasing of the hare.

I remember it was the day the Cunion boys came there

We had plenty up for Garners cross the Bridge and Killimare

From the Waterside and Fulham and a number from Roslea

And a few of my acquaintances from round Lisnashea

When pussy got up on her props she bid them all goodbye

While the jolly hounds they fairly raised the country with a cry

Oh my heart went up a story while this music filled the air

Was for me a taste of heaven with my bold companions there

We had Dasher, Comer, Trimmer, Timer on the go

With Lightening, Ruben, Charmer, and a dozen more or so

We hunted o’er the mountain side, they valleys and the bogs

While they all kept up the cheering for the Ballindarra dogs

And when the hunt was finished up my courage to renew

I had a little goblet of the real old mountain dew

Oh it made me feel as happy as if sailing with the gale

I was singing ‘God save Ireland and good rest to Barney Whale”

I was strolling down the roadway when a boithrin I did pass

There first I sar my eyes upon my Stanafaley lass

Arrah boys she was a beauty if you saw her you would say,

It was not one bit wonder that she stole my heart away

She was the grandest you could meet from Cunion to Belcoo

Her left eye was a golden brown, the right a navy blue

Her complexion was the colour you might purchase in the shop

She had a long and a longer and a most peculiar hop

True love it ne’er runs smoothly or as smoothly as you would like

A fact I soon discovered when this fair made went on strike

She left me for another, ’twas a grievous sight to see

And to think this other fella was not half as nice as me

January 14, 2018 0

The Creggan White Hare

In the lowlands of Creggan there lives a white hare,
Swift as a swallow as she flies through the air.
You may travel the world but none can compare
To the pride of the Creggan, that bonny white hare.

On fine summer’s morning as you may suppose,
The red golden sun o’re the green mountain rose.
Barney Conway came down and did loudly declare:
“Today I’ll put an end to that Creggan White Hare.”

So he went through the lowlands and down through the glen,
Among the green rushes where the white hare had dens.
Till at last, coming over the bog-back so bare,
From behind the wild thistle out jumped the white hare.

Well he gave a great shout and his dog she slipped too:
Swift as the wind o’re the green mountain flew.
But the dog soon came back, which made poor Barney sigh,
For he knew that the white hare had bid him goodbye.

We have some jolly sportsmen down from the Pomroy,
Cookstown, Dungannon, and likewise the Moy.
With their pedigree greyhounds they came from afar,
Came down to the Creggan in their fine motor car.

’Twas down to the lowlands these huntsmen did go,
To search for the white hare they tried high and low.
Till at last Barney Conway he came on its lair,
And shouted out to the huntsmen, “Here lies the white hare.”

So they called to their greyhounds from off the green lea,
And Barney and the huntsmen they jumped high with glee,
And on the turf bank they all gathered around.
Seven men and nine dogs did the poor hare surround.

No wonder the poor puss did tremble with fear.
She stood on her hind legs, she rose her big ear.
She ris on her toes and with one gallant spring,
Cleared over the greyhounds and broke through the ring.

Well the chase it went on, ’twas a beautiful view,
Swift as the wind o’er the green mountain flew,
But the pedigree greyhounds they didn’t get far,
They came back and went home in their fine motor car.

There came another man and you’ll know him well:
His name is Pat Devlin and Bonnie Black Nell.
In search of the white hare, he says, “I’ll have fun,
Here’s fifty to one that Black Nell does her turn.”

Five turns the hare got from Bonnie Black Nell
And the sixth one was given around John Haughey’s Well
’Twas there we lost sight of the hare and the dog
And ten minutes later they came o’er the bog.

Well the chase it went on, it was great for to see.
The white hare and the grey hound they roamed light and free.
Till she travelled to Esher where she knew the lands well,
And to Bonnie Black Nell she soon bid farewell.

And now to conclude and to finish my rhyme;
I hope you’ll forgive me for wasting your time.
If there’s any among you at Carrickmore Fair,
Drink a jolly good health to that Creggan White Hare.

I first had this song from Karan Casey. Very often verse 10, 11, & 12 are omitted. The song originates from the Pomroy area of Tyrone.

November 24, 2017 1

Updates!

New songs and more content is on the way. Keep an eye out for more information, and let me know if you have comments, questions, or suggestions in the meantime!

November 23, 2017 0

Bonny Portmore

O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand,
And the more I think on you, the more I think long.
If I had you now as I had once before
All the lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore.

O bonny Portmore, I am sorry to see
Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree.
For it stood on your shore for many’s the long day,
Till the long boats from Antrim came to float it away.

O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand
And the more I think on you the more I think long.
If I had you now as I had once before
All the Lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore.

All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep
Saying, “Where will we shelter or where will we sleep?”
For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down,
And the walls of bonny Portmore are all down to the ground.

O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand
And the more I think on you the more I think long.
If I had you now as I had once before
All the Lords of Old England would not purchase Portmore.

I learned Bonny Portmore originally from Loreena McKennitt’s recording from 1991. The song is of Irish origin, and laments the loss of the great Irish forests of old. In particular, the song laments the loss of the Great Oak of Portmore, which was felled during a windstorm in 1760. According to Sean O’Boyle’s book The Irish Song Tradition, Portmore itself was a castle on what is now called Lough Beg; it was built in 1644 by Lord Conway, but eventually the estate was broken up and sold, and it is to this event that the song refers (O’Boyle 1997).

The song was first published in Edward Bunting’s Ancient Music of Ireland (1840).

November 22, 2017 0

The Parting Glass

Oh all the money that e’re I spent,
I spent it in good company.
And all the harm that e’re I’ve done,
Alas it was to none but me.
And all I’ve done for want of wit
To memory now I can’t recall.
So fill to me the parting glass,
Goodnight and joy be with you all.

If I had money enough to spend
And leisure time to sit awhile,
There is a fair maid in this town
Who surely has my heart beguiled.
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips,
I own she has my heart enthralled.
So fill to me the parting glass,
Goodnight and joy be with you all.

Oh all the comrades that e’re I’ve had
They’re sorry for my going away.
And all the sweethearts that e’re I’ve had
They wish me one more day to stay.
But since it falls unto my lot,
That I should rise and you should not.
I’ll gently rise and softly call
Goodnight and joy be with you all.

I first learned this song as a small child, from a recording by the great Tommy Makem. Noirín Ní Riain tells me that it is one of the few songs collected in Limerick, and that it originally came from a man named John Carr in 1901.

November 22, 2017 0

Welcome to SongLore

SongLore is a work in progress. It probably always will be. It is a collection of traditional songs and related folklore, anecdotes, and information which relate to them. The intention is not only to collect and disseminate songs, but to reconnect them with the cultural contexts in which they were created and provide a glimpse of the fascinating depths contained in folksong.

I am currently a Ph.D. student studying folklore and figurative language at the Irish World Academy in Limerick. This site is a part of my research. If you have any questions, comments, songs, or information, I would love to talk with you! Check out the contact page, and please get in touch. In the meantime, have a look around, and enjoy.

November 20, 2017 0

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