Tag: hunting songs

The Granemore Hare

 

 

Last Saturday morning the horns they did blow

To the green fields round Tassagh the huntsmen did go

To meet the bold sportsmen from around Keady town

For none loved the sport better than the boys of Maydown

 

And when we arrived they were all standing there

So we took to the green fields to search for the hare

We had not gone far when someone gave a cheer

Over high hills and valleys the wee puss did steer

 

With our dogs all abreast and that big mountain hare

And the sweet singing music it rang through the air

Straight for the black bank for to try them once more

And it was her last sight round the hills of Granemore

 

And as we trailed on to where the wee puss did lie

She sprang to her feet for to bid us goodbye

Our music it ceased and her cry we could hear

Saying “Cursed be the ones brought you Maydown dogs here”

 

“Last night as I lay content in the glen

It was little I thought about dogs or of men

But when going homewards at the clear light of day

I could hear the long horn that young Toner did play”

 

“And it being so early I stopped for a while

It was little I thought they were going to meet Coyle

If I had known that I’d had have lain near the town

Or tried to get clear of those dogs from Maydown”

 

“And now I am dying the sport is all done

No more through the green fields round Keady I’ll run

Nor feed in the glen on a cold winter’s night

Or go home to my den when it’s breaking daylight”

 

“I blame old McMahon for bringing Coyle here

He’s been at his old capers these many’s the year

From Friday to Sunday he’ll never give o’er

With a pack of strange dogs round the hills of Granemore”

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The Pursuit of Farmer Michael Hayes

A fascinating and rather dark depiction of a man being hunted like a fox. An interesting example of a political song borrowing the form and content of a hunting song.

 

I am a bold and undaunted fox that never was before in tramp.
My rent, rates and taxes I was willing for to pay;
I lived as happy as King Saul and loved my neighbours great and small,
I had no animosity for either friend or foe.

I made my den in prime good land between Tipp’rary and Knocklong,
Where my forefathers lived for three hundred years or more.
But now of late I was betrayed by one that was a fool and knave,
He told me I should quit the place and show my face no more.

But as soon as he ejected me I thought ‘twas time that I should flee,
I stole away his ducks and geese and murdered all his drakes.
I knew I could no longer stand because he had the hounds at hand;
I tightened up my garters and then I was away.

But soon there was a great look-out by land and sea to find me out,
From Dublin Quay to Belfast Town, along the raging sea.
By telegraph they did insert this great reward for my arrest,
My figure, size and form, and my name without a doubt.

They wore their brogues, a thousand pair, this great reward for to obtain,
But still there was no tidings of me or my retreat.
They searched Tipp’rary o’er and o’er, the corn fields round Galtymore,
Then they went on to Wexford but there did not delay.

Through Ballyhale and Stranmore they searched the woods as they went on,
Until they got very hungry at the approach of day.
Now search the world far and near, the likes before you did not hear,
A fox to get away so clear as I did from the hounds.

They searched the rocks, the gulfs, the bays, the ships and liners at the quays,
The ferry-boats and steamers as they were going to sea.
Around the coast they took a steer from Poolbeg lighthouse to Cape Clear,
Killarney Town and sweet Tralee, and then crossed into Clare.

And when they landed on the shore they searched Kilrush from top to toe,
The bathing baths in Miltown, called otherwise Malbay.
And Galway being a place of fame they though it there I would remain,
But still their journey was in vain for I gave them leg-bail.

They searched the train in Oranmore as she was leaving for Athlone,
And every wagon, coach and cart that went along the road.
And Connemara being remote they thought it there I would resort,
They when they got weary they resolved to try Mayo.

In Ballinrobe they had to rest until the hounds were quite refreshed,
From thence they went to Westport and searched it high and low.
Through Castlebar they took a trot, they heard I was in Castlerock,
But still they were deluded, there I lodged the night before.

At Swinford’s town as I sat down I heard a dreadful cry of hounds,
I took another notion to retaliate the chase.
And I being weary from the road, I took a glass at half past four,
Then I was renovated while the hounds were getting weak.

The night being dark in Castlebar I knew not how to make my way,
I had neither den nor manger for to shield me from the cold.
But when the moon began to shine I said I’d make for a foreign clime,
I am in the Land of Liberty, and three cheers for Michael Hayes!

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The Fox/Tally Ho

One of my early favourites, this must have one of the oddest endings of any hunting song. I don’t have a lot of information on it at the moment, but Ewan MacColl recorded it, as did Martin Carthy.

 

On the first day of March in the year 93

The first recreation that was in this country

The King’s country Gentlemen o’er hills dales and rocks

They all set out most joyfully in search of the fox

 

Tally Ho, hounds away, Tally Ho, hounds away,

Tally Ho, hounds away me boys. Away hounds, away!

 

When Reynard was started he faced Tullamore,

Then Arklow and Wicklow along the sea shore

We kept his brush in view every step of the way

Until he made his course through the streets of Rossleigh

 

But Reynard, sly Reynard he hid from us that night

Ans we swore that we would wait for him until the daylight

And next morning early the hills did resound

With the sweet smell of horses, and the soft cry of hounds

 

When Reynard restarted he faced to the hollow

Where none but the footmen and hounds they could follow

The gentlemen cried, “Watch him, watch him, what shall we do?”

“If the rocks they don’t stop him he’ll cross Killdaloo.”

 

When Reynard was captured his wishes to fulfil

We called for ink and paper and a pen to write his will

And what he made mention of we thought it no prank

For he wrote us out a cheque on the national bank

 

To you Mister Casey, I leave my whole estate

And to you young O’Brian me money and my plate

And to you Sir Francis, me whip, spurs, and cap

For you jumped the walls and ditches, never looking for a gap

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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.

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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

 

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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.

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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

 

 

 

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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.

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