Tag Archives: song

23 Aug

My Emmett’s No More

Despair in her wild eye, a daughter of Erin,
Appeared on the cliffs of the wild, rocky shore,
Loose in the wind flowed her dark, streaming ringlets,
Heedless she gazed on the dread surge’s roar.
Loud rang her harp in wild tones of despairing,
The time passed away with the present comparing,
And in soul-thrilling strains deeper sorrow declaring,
She sang Erin’s woes, for her Emmett’s no more.

Ah, Erin, my country, your glory’s departed,
For tyrants and traitors have stabbed thy heart’s core,
Thy daughters have laid in the streams of affliction,
Thy patriots have fled or lie stretched in their gore.
Ruthless ruffians now prowl through they hamlets forsaken,
From pale, hungry orphans their last morsel have taken,
The screams of thy females no pity awaken
Alas! My poor country, your Emmett’s no more.

Brave was his spirit yet wild as the Brahmin,
His heart bled in anguish at the wrongs of the poor,
To relieve their hard sufferings he braved every danger,
The vengeance of tyrants undauntedly bore.
Before him the proud, titled villains in power,
Were seen though in ermine, in terror to cower
But, alas! He is gone—he’s a fallen young flower,
They have murdered my Emmett—my Emmett’s no more.

Roud no: 34010  

Thanks to the wonders of the archive at newspapers.com, I recently discovered a new source for Minnesota folk songs! On most Sundays between October 1923 and January 1925, the Minneapolis Journal ran a column called “The Old Songs Exchange: Words That Journal Readers Ask For.” Similar to the “Old Songs That Men Have Sung” column in Adventure Magazine I have used in my research before, the Old Songs Exchange was full of fascinating folk and stage song texts submitted by readers of the paper—complete with, in most cases, attribution for who sent in the words.

The Sunday, November 2, 1924 column includes “My Emmett’s No More,” a somewhat rare song commemorating Robert Emmett and the 1798 uprising in Ireland. Unfortunately, the Journal gave no attribution for this one. The four other song texts printed that day were supplied by Newman L. Deusen of Brunswick, Ohio; Mrs. Laura M. Klinefelter of Steele, North Dakota; and Mrs. Lula I. Godwin of Minneapolis so it is possible that the Emmett song came from one of them. The text in the Journal does seem to be from someone’s memory as it is missing a couple lines from what would have appeared in a songster or broadside (many songsters in both Ireland and US did print the song). See below for the text as it appeared in the Minneapolis Journal.

I have married the Minneapolis-printed text to the melody sung by Irish singer (and dancer) Páidí Bán Ó Broin whose rendition appears in the Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann digital archive. Ó Broin was part of the Comhaltas touring group that visited Minnesota in 1976 and stayed with Lucy and Jack Fallon in St. Paul. I also filled in a couple missing lines using a version printed by Terry Moylan in The Age of Revolution in the Irish Song Tradition.

Heading of the “Old Songs Exchange” column in the November 2, 1924 Minneapolis Journal.
“My Emmett’s No More” as printed in the “Old Songs Exchange” column of the November 2, 1924 Minneapolis Journal.
23 Aug

Let No Man Steal Your Time

Come all young maids, so fair and gay,
That glory in your prime, [prime,]
Be wise, beware, keep your gardens clear,
Let no man steal your time, [let no man steal your time.]

For when your time it is all gone,
There’ll no man care for you,
And the very place where my time was,
Is spread all over with rue.

The gardener’s son was standing by,
Three flowers he plucked for me,
The pink, the blue, the violet, too,
And the red rosy three.

I’ll cut off the primrose top,
And plant a willow tree,
So that the whole world may plainly see,
How my love slighted me.

Slighted lovers they must live,
Although they live in pain,
For the grass that grows in yon green moor,
In time will rise again.

Roud No.: 3

We have another traditional song this month that appears in the book Jim’s Western Gems compiled by Irish-Minnesotan singer James J. Somers and published in Minneapolis in 1912. Versions of the “Sprig of Thyme” date at least as far back as the 1760s in England and the song came to be sung widely in the English-speaking world. Above, I have married Somers’ text to the melody sung by Dublin singer Patrick Green in 1951 available through the Lomax Digital Archive website.

Somers titles this song text “The Last Song My Father Sang” which is likely a reference to his Irish-born father Martin Somers.

(Most printed versions highlight the double meaning of thyme/time by spelling it “thyme” but Somers’ book spells the word “time.” Somers’ text doesn’t indicate repeated words at the end of the 2nd or 4th lines but I’ve suggested them here to work with Patrick Green’s melody.)

Martin Somers, father of James Somers, as pictured in Jim’s Western Gems. Martin was born in Ireland around 1831 and settled near Cardwell, Ontario, about 60km from the southern tip of Georgian Bay. Nearby placenames to Cardwell include many Irish references such as: Athlone, Achill, Ballycroy, Kilmanagh, Erin and Sligo.

23 Aug

Just Twenty Years Ago

I wandered to the village, Tom, and sat beneath the tree,
Upon the school house playing ground, that sheltered you and me,
But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to know,
Who played with me upon the green, just twenty years ago.

The grass is just as green, dear Tom; barefooted boys at play,
Were sporting just as we were then, with spirits just as gay,
But the master sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o’er with snow,
Afforded us a sliding place, just twenty years ago.

The river’s running just as still, the willows on its side,
Are larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide
The grape vine swing is ruined now, where once we played the beau,
And swung our sweethearts—pretty girls—just twenty years ago.

The old school house is altered some, the benches are replaced,
By others very like the ones our penknives had defaced,
The same old bricks are in the walls, the bell swings to and fro,
Its music’s just as sweet, dear Tom, as twenty years ago.

The spring that bubbled ‘neath the hill, close by the spreading beach,
Is very high—’twas once so low—that I could scarcely reach,
And stooping down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so!
To see how much that I was changed, since twenty years ago.

Close by this spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name,
Your sweetheart’s just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same,
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, ’tis dying sure, but slow,
Upon the graves of those we loved, just twenty years ago.

My heart was very sad, dear Tom, and tears came in my eyes,
I though[t] of her I loved so well, those early broken ties,
I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strew,
Upon the graves of those we loved, just twenty years ago.

Some now in that churchyard lay, some sleep beneath the sea,
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me,
And when our time shall come, dear Tom, and we are called to go,
I hope they’ll lay us where we played, just twenty years ago.

Roud no: 765    

We return this month to the book Jim’s Western Gems, a collection of songs and poems self-published in Minneapolis in 1913 by James J. Somers, a second-generation Irish-American born in the Georgian Bay region of Ontario. I shared five of Somers’ own compositions last year but the (text-only) book also includes some traditional songs including the above text.

Edward “Sandy” Ives collected the nostalgic “Twenty Years Ago” from John Banks of Prince Edward Island in 1968 and published that version in the book Drive Dull Care Away. Banks used a version of the “Banks of the Nile” melody for the song. “Banks of the Nile” was sung in Minnesota by Michael Dean so, above, I have wed the Somers text with Dean’s melody for a fully Minnesotan version!

The song is likely of American origin and it appears in published song books at least as early as 1859.