n\u00edl an taifead seo ar f\u00e1il faoi l\u00e1thair<\/p>\n
view \/ hide recording details [+\/-]<\/span><\/p>\n …Called The Harp Without the Crown – the name of a boat. No, the name of the flag the Irish boat had when she was leaving Ireland. And Thomas O’Brien was the name of the boat, and the flag that she hung from her foremost mast was the Harp Without the Crown.<\/p>\n Oh, Thomas O’Brien it was the ship’s name and she sailed from Dublin town, Singing hurrah, boys, hurrah for the girls of Dublin town, It was the seventeenth of March, being on St Patrick’s Day, Singing hurrah, boys, hurrah for the girls of Dublin town, JH: I wish I knew more of that. That’s all I know of it. Well, they were coming to England to do some damage, but that’s all I know of the song. I believe there’s more of that song, you know.<\/p>\n EM: The Harp Without the Crown?<\/p>\n JH: The Harp Without the Crown – you know, the Crown was the British Crown, but they put up the harp and took down the flag, which was the flag they had in Ireland at the time.<\/p>\n Additional stanzas of this sea-shanty are given in Stan Hugill, Shanties from the Seven Seas: Shipboard Work-Songs and Songs Used as Work-Songs from the Great Days of Sail (London, 1961):<\/p>\n Sometimes we sail for Liverpool Sometimes we’re bound for furrin’ parts Sometimes the weather’s fine and fair Sometimes we work as hard as hell Sometimes we wish we’d never joined And when the voyage is all done This recording was issued on The Road from Conamara (Cl\u00f3 Iar-Chonnachta CICD 143 \/ Topic TSCD 518D).<\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"templates\/template-full-width.php","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-382","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-amhrain","category-amhrain-i-mbearla"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/382","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=382"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/382\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1491,"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/382\/revisions\/1491"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=382"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=382"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.joeheaney.org\/ga\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=382"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
\nCommanded by an Irishman, Tom Russell was his name.
\nCommanded by a Fenian bold and hailing from Dublin town,
\nAnd the flag that she flew from her foremost mast was the Harp Without the Crown.<\/p>\n
\nAnd hurrah for the bonny green flag andtThe Harp Without the Crown.<\/p>\n
\nOur boat sailed out from Dublin town to [unintelligible] they braved the day.
\nThe crew being all young Irishmen and hailing from Dublin town,
\nAnd the flag that they flew from the foremost mast was the Harp Without the Crown.<\/p>\n
\nAnd hurrah for the bonny green flag and The Harp Without the Crown.<\/p>\nNotes<\/h2>\n
\nSometimes we sail for France
\nSometimes we sail for Dublin town
\nTo give the girls a chance.<\/p>\n
\nSometimes we’re bound for home.
\nFor Johhny’s (Paddy’s) always at his best
\nWherever he may roam.<\/p>\n
\nSometimes it’s damn well foul
\nSometimes it blows a Cape ‘Orn gale
\nThat freezes up your soul.<\/p>\n
\nSometimes our grub it stinks
\nEnough to make a soldier curse
\nOr make a bishop blink.<\/p>\n
\nSometimes we’d like to be
\nA-sittin in a pub, me boys
\nA gal sat on each knee.<\/p>\n
\nAnd we are off to shore
\nWe’ll spend our money on the gals
\nand go to sea no more.<\/p>\n