Patrick Sheehan Lyrics

Song	Patrick Sheehan
Artist	Andy M. Stewart
Album	By the Hush
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Traditional
	My name is
	Patrick Sheehan, and my years are thirty-four;
	Tipperary is my native place, not far from
	Galtymore;
	I came of honest parents, but now they're lying low;
	Though' many's the pleasant days we spent in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	My father died;
	I closed his eyes, outside the cabin door;
	For the landlord and the sheriff too, were there the day before,
	And then my lovin' mother, and my sisters three, also,
	Were forced to go with broken hearts, from the
	Glen of Aherlow
	For three long months, in search of work,
	I wandered far and near;
	I then went to the poorhouse to see my mother dear;
	The news I heard near broke my heart, but still in all my woe,
	I blessed the friends who made their graves in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	Bereft of home and kith and kin, with plenty all around,
	I starved within my cabin, and slept upon the ground;
	But cruel as my lot was,
	I never did hardship know,
	Till I joined the
	English army, far away from
	Aherlow. "Rouse up there," cried the corporal, "Ya lazy Irish hound! Why don't you hear the bugle, its call to arms to sound? "
	I found I had been dreaming of the days long, long ago,
	And I woke upon
	Sebastopol, and not in
	Aherlow I tried to find my musket, how dark
	I thought the night!
	O blessed
	God! It wasn't dark, it was the broad daylight!
	And when I found that
	I was blind, my tears began to flow,
	And I longed for even a pauper's grave in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	A poor neglected mendicant,
	I wander Dublin's streets
	My nine months' pension it being out,
	I beg from all
	I meet; As
	I joined my country's tyrants, my face
	I can never show,
	Amongst my dear old neighbors in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	So Irish youths, dear countrymen, take heed in what
	I say; For if you join the
	English ranks, you'll surely rue the day
	And whenever you're tempted, a-soldiering to go.
	Remember poor blind
	Sheehan from the
	Glen of Aherlow.

	zuo ci : Traditional
	My name is
	Patrick Sheehan, and my years are thirtyfour
	Tipperary is my native place, not far from
	Galtymore
	I came of honest parents, but now they' re lying low
	Though' many' s the pleasant days we spent in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	My father died
	I closed his eyes, outside the cabin door
	For the landlord and the sheriff too, were there the day before,
	And then my lovin' mother, and my sisters three, also,
	Were forced to go with broken hearts, from the
	Glen of Aherlow
	For three long months, in search of work,
	I wandered far and near
	I then went to the poorhouse to see my mother dear
	The news I heard near broke my heart, but still in all my woe,
	I blessed the friends who made their graves in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	Bereft of home and kith and kin, with plenty all around,
	I starved within my cabin, and slept upon the ground
	But cruel as my lot was,
	I never did hardship know,
	Till I joined the
	English army, far away from
	Aherlow. " Rouse up there," cried the corporal, " Ya lazy Irish hound! Why don' t you hear the bugle, its call to arms to sound? "
	I found I had been dreaming of the days long, long ago,
	And I woke upon
	Sebastopol, and not in
	Aherlow I tried to find my musket, how dark
	I thought the night!
	O blessed
	God! It wasn' t dark, it was the broad daylight!
	And when I found that
	I was blind, my tears began to flow,
	And I longed for even a pauper' s grave in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	A poor neglected mendicant,
	I wander Dublin' s streets
	My nine months' pension it being out,
	I beg from all
	I meet As
	I joined my country' s tyrants, my face
	I can never show,
	Amongst my dear old neighbors in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	So Irish youths, dear countrymen, take heed in what
	I say For if you join the
	English ranks, you' ll surely rue the day
	And whenever you' re tempted, asoldiering to go.
	Remember poor blind
	Sheehan from the
	Glen of Aherlow.

	zuò cí : Traditional
	My name is
	Patrick Sheehan, and my years are thirtyfour
	Tipperary is my native place, not far from
	Galtymore
	I came of honest parents, but now they' re lying low
	Though' many' s the pleasant days we spent in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	My father died
	I closed his eyes, outside the cabin door
	For the landlord and the sheriff too, were there the day before,
	And then my lovin' mother, and my sisters three, also,
	Were forced to go with broken hearts, from the
	Glen of Aherlow
	For three long months, in search of work,
	I wandered far and near
	I then went to the poorhouse to see my mother dear
	The news I heard near broke my heart, but still in all my woe,
	I blessed the friends who made their graves in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	Bereft of home and kith and kin, with plenty all around,
	I starved within my cabin, and slept upon the ground
	But cruel as my lot was,
	I never did hardship know,
	Till I joined the
	English army, far away from
	Aherlow. " Rouse up there," cried the corporal, " Ya lazy Irish hound! Why don' t you hear the bugle, its call to arms to sound? "
	I found I had been dreaming of the days long, long ago,
	And I woke upon
	Sebastopol, and not in
	Aherlow I tried to find my musket, how dark
	I thought the night!
	O blessed
	God! It wasn' t dark, it was the broad daylight!
	And when I found that
	I was blind, my tears began to flow,
	And I longed for even a pauper' s grave in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	A poor neglected mendicant,
	I wander Dublin' s streets
	My nine months' pension it being out,
	I beg from all
	I meet As
	I joined my country' s tyrants, my face
	I can never show,
	Amongst my dear old neighbors in the
	Glen of Aherlow.
	So Irish youths, dear countrymen, take heed in what
	I say For if you join the
	English ranks, you' ll surely rue the day
	And whenever you' re tempted, asoldiering to go.
	Remember poor blind
	Sheehan from the
	Glen of Aherlow.

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