 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
127
JACK, THE JOLLY PLOUGHBOY
As Jack the jolly ploughboy was ploughing through his land,
He turned his share and shouted to bid his horses stand,
Then down beside his team he sat, contented as a king,
And Jack he sang his song so sweet he made the mountains ring
He turned his share and shouted to bid his horses stand,
Then down beside his team he sat, contented as a king,
And Jack he sang his song so sweet he made the mountains ring
With his Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
Sing Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
While the mountains all ringing re-echoed the singing
Of Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
Sing Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
While the mountains all ringing re-echoed the singing
Of Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
'Tis said old England's sailors, when wintry tempests roar,
Will plough the stormy waters, and pray for those on shore;
But through the angry winter the share, the share for me,
To drive a steady furrow, and pray for those at sea.
Will plough the stormy waters, and pray for those on shore;
But through the angry winter the share, the share for me,
To drive a steady furrow, and pray for those at sea.
With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na! &c.
When heaven above is bluest, and earth most green below,
Away from wife and sweetheart the fisherman must go;
But golden seed I'll scatter beside the girl I love,
And smile to hear the cuckoo, and sigh to hear the dove.
Away from wife and sweetheart the fisherman must go;
But golden seed I'll scatter beside the girl I love,
And smile to hear the cuckoo, and sigh to hear the dove.
With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na! &c.
128
'Tis oft the hardy fishers a scanty harvest earn,
And gallant tars from glory on wooden legs return,
But a bursting crop for ever shall dance before my flail;
For I'll live and die a farmer all in the Golden Vale.
And gallant tars from glory on wooden legs return,
But a bursting crop for ever shall dance before my flail;
For I'll live and die a farmer all in the Golden Vale.
With my Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
Sing Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
While the mountains all ringing re-echo the singing
Of my Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
Sing Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
While the mountains all ringing re-echo the singing
Of my Ta-ran-nan nanty na!
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |