(Trad. arr. Hazel O`Connor)
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Oh father dear I often hear you speak of Erin's Isle
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Her lofty scenes, her valley's green, her mountains rude and wild
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They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell
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Oh why did you abandon it the reason to me tell
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Oh well do I remember that bleak december day
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The landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all away
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He set my roof on fire, when my rent I could not find
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And that's the cruel reason that I left it all behind
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Your mother too, god rest her soul, she fell on snowy ground
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She could not raise her body, seeing desolation around
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She never rose but slipped away from life to mortal dream
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And found a quiet grave my boy in dear old skibbereen
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And you were only two years old and feeble was your frame
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I could not leave you with my friends, you bore your father's name
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I wrapped you in my cottamore, in the dead of night unseen
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I heaved a sigh, and bade goodbye to dear old skibbereen
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Oh father the day may come in answer to the call
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Each irishmen with feeling stern will rally one and all
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I'll be the man to lead the van beneath our flag of green
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And loud and high we'll raise a cry remember skibereen
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Skibbereen
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Hazel O'Connor |