Curled is he and ringleted, and plaited to the knee,
Uileacan dubh O!
Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish Sea;
Uileacan dubh O!
And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,
Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,
And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command,
For the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Large and profitable are the stacks upon the ground;
Uileacan dubh O!
The butter and the cream do wondrously abound,
Uileacan dubh O!
The cresses on the water and the sorrels are at hand,
And the cuckoo’s calling daily his note of music bland,
And the bold thrush sings so bravely his song i’ the forest grand,
On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
ALFRED PERCIVAL GRAVES
Herring is King.
Let all the fish that swim the sea,
Salmon and turbot, cod and ling,
Bow down the head and bend the knee
To herring, their king! to herring, their king!
Sing, Hugamar féin an sowra lin’,
’Tis we have brought the summer in.[15]
The sun sank down so round and red
Upon the bay, upon the bay;
The sails shook idly overhead,
Becalmed we lay, becalmed we lay;
Sing, Hugamar, etc.
Till Shawn the eagle dropped on deck,
The bright-eyed boy, the bright-eyed boy;
’Tis he has spied your silver track,
Herring, our joy, herring, our joy;
Sing, Hugamar, etc.