People have reached out to me looking for the lyrics and chords to not only my original music, but my versions of traditional songs I sing as well. I have posted lyrics here for anyone to use freely. All I ask in return is for these songs is to have them to properly credit me (Mistress of Melody) as the author or arranger respectively.
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Under the Lake
Pride and Joy
Pudding River Reel
Briar and Loam
That Fine City
Song of the Woodcarver's Daughter
Dúlamán - Traditional
Singable English Version
Oh, gentle daughter, here comes a courting Dúlamán
Oh, gentle mother, bring the wheel for me to spin on.
na binne buí, dúlamán Gaelach
Dúlamán na farraige, be'fhearr a bhí in Éirinn
A yellow crown of gold is on the Dúlamán Gaelach
The ears are bear on the head of Dúlamán maorach
Spotted shoes upon the feet Dúlamán Gaelach
beret and trousers to the knee on Dúlamán maorach
I would go to Derry with the Dúlamán Gaelach
"I would buy shoes so fine you see,” said Dúlamán maorach
I told her that I’d go to town and buy a comb for her
The story she told back to me, that she’s already served.
"What brings you here unto me?" asks Dúlamán Gaelach
"I’m courting with your daughter," says the Dúlamán maorach
"You will not take my daughter," says the Dúlamán Gaelach
"Then, I will run away with her," says Dúlamán maorach.
More phonetic Pronunciation and translation:
Doo-luh-mahn nuh bwih-nuh bee, doo-luh-mahn geh-lahch
Seaweed from the yellow cliff, Irish seaweed
Doo-luh-Mahn nuh Fah-rah-guh, buh-ær uh vee in eh-rin
Seaweed from the ocean, the best in all of Ireland
Dúlamán Gaelach ( Geh-lach) = Irish Seaweed
Dúlamán maorach (Mee-rach) = Stately Seaweed
Under the Lake- Cecile Corbel
Rewritten with Additional Verses
I'll go down by the lake
Where the white horses go,
Among the dancing waves
All my love I’ll throw,
bm F#m em
All the promises broken long time ago,
bm F#/D G A bm
All the territories my body knows.
If you come by the lake
Where the white wood has grown,
Tell the white mountain king
I lie with ghosts.
While their shadows are drifting,
Through willows and pines
You'll hear my voice calling where no one can find.
Wander down by the lake
Where the white moonlight glows
On the shoreline so fair
And the rushes there grows
You could rest with my absence
Forgotten In time
And speak with whispers of wind while the mountain they climb
So come down by the lake
Where the white water flows
With memories and leaves
From the white willow.
Here the deep woods speak answers,
“Your troubles, forsake.”
And find my sorrow buried
Under the lake.
em, D/E, em, D/E
C, G, am, em
em D G
Jack, Swift Jack is the fastest hare around.
C D bm D em
Miles he runs as he flies across the ground.
em D G
Through the forest, through the fields of hay
C D bm D em
And the moment that you see him he will scurry off away.
Jack has a taste for the finest on the shelf
He’ll have no less for a rabbit like himself
He’ll shun the clover, sorrel, and the weeds,
And resort to thievery to satisfy his lavish needs.
Jack, will you run? Will you run across the lane?
Jack, will you run? Will you steal the farmer’s gain?
Jack, will you run? Will you run across the field?
To the house and garden to steal the farmer’s yield?
em, D/E, em, D/E
Now to the farmer’s land, Jackie draws nigh
Annoying the geese, the sheep, and the kye,
But he’s not alone here in his stealing game
There is another scoundrel who wants to do the same.
The Fox he prowls looking for a fattened hen
On the ratty outskirts of the poultry pen.
He bumps into Jack and smiles as he says
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Jack runs to the garden and before his eyes
A decadent spread splays out there as his prize.
Each bite he takes, still the next tastes greater
And he saves some special morales to scarf up sometime later.
The farmer’s not feeble the farmer is a menace
And he catches Jack in a patch of butter lettuce.
He howls for his hounds to put an end to his grief
“Catch the jackrabbit! Catch that little thief!”
Jack scurries out with his evening meal
With the hunting hounds running right on his hurried heels.
He heads for the field running past the poultry pen
Where the foxy has yet to pick out his favorite hen.
The Fox eyes Jack and Jackie eyes the Fox
And Foxy thought twice if he wants the Sussex flocks
And the Foxy thought thrice as the farmer’s gun cocks
Now Jack runs from the farmer’s gun, the hounds, and the fox.
Jackrabbit run! Will you run? Will you run Jackie?
Jackrabbit run! Will you run? Will, you run Jack?
Jackrabbit Run, rabbit run, rabbit run, Jack!
Run Jackrabbit from the fox, the dogs, the gun.
Pride and Joy- Original
Mary Mary won’t carry yourself across the sea?
With your ring on your hand, and your coat on your back, and your stockings to the knee.
I am waiting, contemplating our life here on the sea.
I have money in my sack, I’ve a good fine ship and with you, I’m longing to be.
The ship, Elizabeth, equipt at port right now right here.
She is rigged, she is waiting to rise her sail and voyage off my dear.
If The wind's out roaring the rain is pouring, darling have no fear
she’s the best that money can buy. she’s built to stand and persevere.
If I go, who would stay
On our home, On our land?
If I go, who would stay?
Forget about me, take the governor's daughter's hand.
But Mary love there is no other that here I want to wed.
Not the governer’s daughter, not the young king’s niece. Just you to share my bed.
So what is it that you see fit that would let me have you wed?
Is it money, is it jewels, is it land, is it fame, do you want a good man dead?
Oh, my dear can’t you see here I’m not going out to sea.
I just want to stay at home with my loom, and children on my knee.
And this land my forefathers had many years out here you see,
Through the sweat, and the blood, and the tears, and the work it now belongs to me.
What would happen my captain with a woman out with you?
Nothing but a bad luck spree is awaiting the likes you never knew.
My sailor boy, my pride and joy is not out with your crew
It’s here in the cottage, and my garden fair, so I bid adieu.
Pudding River Reel- Original
Me sister is a shyer one, and she won’t speak out true
G C G am
And my cousin isn’t interested in the likes of you
But any lady whether she be tall or short like me
am em F G am
Has a passion for some dancing whomever she may be
What have you to offer me? What have you to say?
Or are you thinking that just smiling will have me swept away?
Just come and take my hand I am not to hard to steal
If you mentioned we’ll be dancing to the pudding river reel
They say the tune came from man blinded from the light
When they caught him stealing candlesticks in the dead of night
With sound his only friend, earning pennies for craft
He wrote the pudding river reel to trade it for a draft
From the barkeep to the Fletcher from the fletcher to the tailor
Who then shared with his wife who’s brother showed it to a sailor
As the sailor he was singing it was then heard by a bard
Where he played at the king’s Soirée where everybody heard
Now the country’s in a tizzy with lots dancing round
As us people of the land are in love with the blind man’s sound
Dancing till the morning hours--bleeding at your heel
As we find our sense of rhythm in the pudding river reel
Catch me by the petti’s or catch me by the hand
But if you come and catch me let’s hope that you can stand
Me mother and me father and all they will implore
I’ll bet you’ll run when you hear them from outside me door
Let’s run away to England or run away to France
But wherever you might take me, take me somewhere we can dance
Swing me to or swing me fro whatever you might feel
For I want to dance the night out To the Pudding river reel
Briar and Loam- Original
A friend from the long road I met some yesterday
We sat and spoke of minor things then he went on his way
His legs lashed by briars his feet stained from loam
The very same carried him through this land from his home
A working man his father, his mother a saint
And he was no idle man and had no brash complaint
His only wish to court a maid with hair long grown
At her home by the river and fields of loam
His voice was a whisper as he spoke to me
Recalling hardships, troubles, and a loss of victory
Such sadness and longing that I have never known
From the man with legs lashed by briars, and feet stained from loam
If I had to say a cruelty to mar upon his name
I sooner would condemn myself and take away his blame
I wish for the day to come when he is welcome home
With his legs lashed by briars and his feet stained from loam
That Fine City- Original
Down through the glen, and back again,
O’er hillpeaks hailed breadth,
Through staggy mire, and craggled tired—
Men have travelled every depth.
Now I’ve seen this world and some beyond
Bb. Gm. Cm
I’ve seen polish, and I’ve seen gritty,
But I have to say of all I’m fond
Fm. Bb Cm
None compares to that fine city.
The shrieking spires—immensely higher
and glorious in a way.
Lined with gold and stories old
They break through cloudy day.
I never thought that I would be
Blessed with a view so pretty;
My mouth is wide at what I see—
Agape at that fine city.
Poets bless in verse the best
With rhythmic thought and rhyme
And artist’s strokes the soul evokes
With color, brush, and time.
“Now who am I,” I contemplate,
“To write without acrity,
To place myself among the greats,
To speak of that fine city?”
A creeping doubt then wracks throughout
With foolery I know,
But sounds so scarce, yet mighty fierce
Say “Lass now you should go.”
When to my ears drifts a familiar song—
The workingman’s short ditty:
“Callused hands with fault are signs of the strong.”
At the heart of that fine city.
It carries me where I can see
this view for miles to come.
And on my breath no tone bereft
Of praise, nor wordless numb.
All in all when day is through
I think it such a pity,
Of all the brave men there was only you
One of few through that fine city.
Now a verse away from morrow’s day.
The moon is lighting high,
But none have heard a single word,
A penance, or a sigh;
For sleep has spread her wings aloft
For both the clumsy and the witty,
In the form of down and blankets soft,
And covers that fine city.
On the window over by the yard
One day there sat a very proud bird.
With a suit that dandy men would revere
And I thought I needn’t her dealings here.
So I chased her away, but soon my mind
Conjured up that superstitious rhyme
I know the taste of sorrow already
I need no more from the likes of she.
It's been a long day without no rest
I’ve spent searching- Searching for the magpie
I may be foolish, Still, I’m possessed
To keep on searching, Searching for the magpie’s nest.
Look on up and here she is again,
“I see you’re stubborn my earthly friend.
‘Tis a shame you’re bound and without flight.”
‘Tis a shame,” I said, “mocking at your height.”
She took to the wing and away she flew
And I ran after her as a fool would do
The fox and cat, know curiosity.
Now add to the list the likes of me.
It’s been two days...
Today there is silver, tomorrow there’s gold
And all goes well as was foretold.
The green loves the forest, the forest loves the hill,
The magpie- the sky, and I- free will
So I say what I know, I ask what I can
Plea when I need a diviner’s hand
Roll your dice, crack your bones
The number you see is all fate owns.
It's been three days...
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret,
Never to be told.
Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for a bird,
You must not miss
Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for a bird,
You must not miss
Pretty Mary- Original
Little pretty Mary quite contrary
Tell me please how your garden grows?
They told me pretty Mary has a knack for
Sprouting every single seed she sews
I am almost out of money
Trying to have a yard like yours
I’ve sold all my dishes, and my hats and
All of the knobs from off my doors
Itty bitty Janey small and plain-y
Why have you done such a thing like that?
I think you would be in dire need of
Every plate and knob and ever hat
Talk to the lady in the market
Towing a wheelbarrow
You can find her there on this next Sunday
Crying alive alive-O
Song of the Woodcarver's Daughter- Original
No lover’s song is sung for me by a young boy sweet
There is no played melody for me upon the strings
Alone I sit in evening hours, my hands slowed with cold
While others rest in the tenderness
Their fingers inter-fold
The man I love sings not above, but in the octave under mine
And with the chords and keys he plays just like a divine.
Now if he were to hold my hands within this dying light
How could I play upon the strings at my favorite time of night?
And if his lips would meet with mine, in moments short of long
How could this miss, in her coyness
Sing to him this love song?