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"The Bard of Armagh" is an Irish ballad. It is often attributed to Patrick Donnelly. He was made Bishop of Dromore in 1697, the same year as the enactment of the 1697 Banishment Act which was intended to clear out all Roman Catholic clergy from Ireland. - Wikipedia
capo 2nd fret, picked
Bard of Armagh
by Patrick Donnelly
[D] [G] [D] [A7]
Oh [D] list’ to the [G] lay of a [D] poor Irish [A7] harper
And [D] scorn not the [A] strains of his [D] withered old [A7] hand
Re- [D] member his [G] fingers they [D] once could move [A7] sharper
To [D] raise up the [Em] memory of [A] his native [D] land
It was long ‘fore the shamrock, dear isle’s lovely emblem
Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon’s lion paw
And all the fair colleens from Wexford to Durrish
Called me Bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh
[D] [G] [D/F#] [Em - A7]
How I love for to muse on the days of my boyhood
Though four score and three years have flitted since then
Still it gives sweet reflections as every young joy should
For the light hearted boys make the best of old men
At pattern or fair I could twist my shillelagh
And trip through a jig with my brogues bound with straw
Whilst all the pretty maidens around me would gather
For Bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh
[D] [G] [D/F#] [Em - A7]
Although I have travelled this wide world all over
Yet Erin’s my home and a parent for me
And, oh, let the turf that my old bones will cover
Be cut from the soil that is trod by the free
And when Sergeant Death in his arms shall embrace me
And lull me to sleep with sweet Erin go bragh
By the side of my young wife, dear Kathleen, oh place me
Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh
[D] [G] [D/F#] [Em - A7] X3
Oh [D] list’ to the [G] lay of a [D] poor Irish [A7] harper
And [D] scorn not the [A] strains of his [D] withered old [A7] hand
Re- [D] member his [G] fingers they [D] once could move [A7] sharper
To [D] raise up the [Em] memory of [A] his native [D] land
It was long ‘fore the shamrock, dear isle’s lovely emblem
Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon’s lion paw
And all the fair colleens from Wexford to Durrish
Called me Bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh
[D] [G] [D/F#] [Em - A7]
How I love for to muse on the days of my boyhood
Though four score and three years have flitted since then
Still it gives sweet reflections as every young joy should
For the light hearted boys make the best of old men
At pattern or fair I could twist my shillelagh
And trip through a jig with my brogues bound with straw
Whilst all the pretty maidens around me would gather
For Bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh
[D] [G] [D/F#] [Em - A7]
Although I have travelled this wide world all over
Yet Erin’s my home and a parent for me
And, oh, let the turf that my old bones will cover
Be cut from the soil that is trod by the free
And when Sergeant Death in his arms shall embrace me
And lull me to sleep with sweet Erin go bragh
By the side of my young wife, dear Kathleen, oh place me
Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh
[D] [G] [D/F#] [Em - A7] X3