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Sons & daughters

Johnny Hart

(48) Johnny Hart

            Johnny Hart.

There was a rich farmer's daughter lived near
the town of Ross,
She courted a Highland soldier, his name was
Johnny Hart,
For six long months thəy courted, her parents
they did no know,
He was her darling, dressed up in his high-
land plaid.
Says the mother to her daughter, I'll go dis-
tracted mad,
If you marry that highland soldier dressed in
his highland plaid,
To marry a private soldier for ever you are
undone,
You know your fortune is so great so wed a
farmers son.
Dear mother dont despise my love, and do not
run him down,
Many a private soldier has raised to high
renown
Many a farmers daughter has followed the
fife and drum
I wotld not part my soldier for any squires son
Early next morning her mother went out.
And to the colonels quarters she was going
across
And there she met the colonel, and to him a
courtsey dropt
I Want your honor in private I have a broken
heart,
The colonel being a nobleman he then began
to smile,
So kindly he consented with her to step aside
Bé quick my decent woman, to hear you I'm
inclined
If I consider your claim is fair, I'll see you
justified
I have one only daughter, she's a foolish lass
She is courted by one of your solbiers, nis
name is Johnny Hart,
To wed a private soldier is below my child's
begree
If your honor will send him out of Ross, my
blessing I will give thee,
the bugle sounded for parade, young Hart he
did appear,
The colonel he stepped up to him all in the
barrack square,
If you court this woman's daughter and that I
find it out,
I'll send you on detachment till the regiment
gets the rout,
It's hard enough young Hart replied for cour-
ting rn Irish lass
To send mo on detachment, and leavə my dear
in Ross,
I love this woman's daughter, and for me h s
inclined,
And I'd court your honors daughter if I could
but gain her mind,
Well done my gallant soldier, I like your cour-
age well
And you shall be promoted jor those words
you boldly tell,
I'll put epaulets on your shoulders and then
you'll be a match—
For the foremost farmer's daughter coming
into the town of Ross,
To have this couple married the colonel gave
consent,
Her parents paid her portion down, its now
they are content,
Young Hart became an officer, his dear a cap
tains bride,
He has joined the rich farmers daughter by
Shn y side.

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

A New Song Called Granuaile.

As through the north as I walked to vie
the shamrock plain,
stood awhile where nature smiled to view
the rocks and streams,
Ona matron I fixed my eyes beneath a fer-
tile vale
As she sung her song it was on the wrong
of poor old Granuwail
Her head was bare & her grey hair over he
eyes hung down
Hir waist and neck her hands and feet with
iron chains were bounb
Her pensive strain aur plainti mingled
with the evening gale
And ahe song she sung with mournful air
I an poor old granuail
gown she wore was stained with gore
by a ruffia band
Her lips so sweet that monarchs kissed are
now grown pale and wan
The tears of grief fell faom h a eyes fulls
as large as hail
None could express the deep distress of poor
old granuail
On her harp she leaned and thus exclaimed
my royal Brien is gone
Who in his day he drove away the tyrants
eveey one
On clontarfs plains against the danes his
faction did prepare
Brave Brian boru cut their lines through
and freed old granuail
But now alas I must confess avengers I
have none
There no brave Lord to wave his sword in
my defence—not one
My enemys just whe like with blows the
do assault
The flesh they tore clean of the bones of
poor old grtnuail
These three hundred years the briny tears
has flawed down from my eyes
I may curs the day that henry mads me
proud Albions prise
Fro nhat day down with chains i'm bound
no wonder I look pale
My blood they drained f om every vein of
poor Granuail
There was a Lord came ro he South he
wore a laurel crown
Saying Granua dear be of good cheer no
longer you'l be bound
I am the man they call great Dan who
nevet yet did fail
I here got the bill for to fulfil your wishes
Gran uail
With blood besmeared and bathe
her harp she sweety strung
And an the change her meunful air the
lusty chord she rung
Her voice so clear sounded on my ear at
length my stength failed [You Granuail
ent away and thus did say God help

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