CELTIC IMMIGRATION TO THE AMERICAN WEST

As the Irish and Scottish immigrated to the American West, they found work on the railroads, as farmers, grocers and merchants and, for those more adventurous souls, as Cowboys. As they ventured West, the Celtic people brought with then their music and stories. The retelling of these stories has remained, for the most part, unchanged for generations. However, their music and songs were frequently adapted to fit their new surroundings.

A good many of our Cowboy songs that we know today are actually adaptations of early long ballads from Ireland and Scotland. Were it not for Bard of Armagh, which itself was an adaptation of the English Long Ballad Unfortunate Rake, we would not have Cowboy's Lament (Street's of Laredo). The Cowboy's lament had further adaptation when it journeyed into the South, becoming the St. James In firmary Blues. Annie Laurie can be traced back to Scotland. The melody was the work of Lady John Scott and was published in 1835. The origin of the lyrics is sketchy having been traced back, in legend, to William Douglas. Wild Rippling Waters is adapted from the old English folksong The Bold Grenadier. Cowboy Jack is an adaptation of a WWII-era song Blackbirds and Thrushes, which is of English origin. Blackbirds and Thrushes has its roots in the song Lord Gregory, circa 1776. The Irish song Connemara Cradle Song was brought over and adapted to Down in the Valley. The Scottish whaling ballad, 'Fareweel tae Tarwathie' , became The Railroad Corral.  In many songs, the only thing remaining of the original songs is the melody. The lyrics were adapted to fit the new lifestyle and location. In others, only a few words have been changed to alter the location and possibly the era. There are songs, such as Gary Owens, itself a drinking song, which were used on both sides of the Atlantic to stir up troops before and during battle. These songs which I have mentioned are a few of my favorites and ones which we sing fairly often in our sets. There are a myriad of other Cowboy songs that harkin back to Celtic roots.

THE UNFORTUNATE RAKE

As I was a-walking down by St. James' Hospital,
I was a-walking down by there one day,
What should I spy but one of my comrades
All wrapped up in flannel though warm was the day.

I asked him what ailed him, I asked him what failed him,
I asked him the cause of all his complaint.
"It's all on account of some handsome young woman,
'Tis she that has caused me to weep and lament.

"And had she but told me before she disordered me,
Had she but told me of it in time,
I might have got pills and salts of white mercury,
But now I'm cut down in the height of my prime.

"Get six young soldiers to carry my coffin,
Six young girls to sing me a song,
And each of them carry a bunch of green laurel
So they don't smell me as they bear me along.

"Don't muffle your drums and play your fifes merrily,
Play a quick march as you carry me along,
And fire your bright muskets all over my coffin,
Saying: There goes an unfortunate lad to his home."

The Bard of Armagh Oh list' to the tune of a poor Irish harper And scorn not the strain of his old withered hands But remember those fingers they once could move sharper To raise up the memories of his dear native land. It was long before the shamrock, dear isle's lovely emblem Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon's lion paw And all the pretty colleens around me would gather Loved their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh. How I love to muse on the days of my boyhood Though four score and three years have fled by since then It's brings sweet reflection as every young joy should For the merry-hearted boys make the best of old men. At a fair or a wake I would twist my shillelah And trip through a dance with my brogues tied with straw And all the pretty maidens from village and valley Call me bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh. In truth I have wandered this wide world over Yet Ireland's my home and a dwelling for me And, oh, let the turf that my old bones shall cover Be cut from the land that is trod by the free. When Sergeant Death in his cold arms embrace me And lull me to sleep with sweet Erin go bragh By the side of my Kathleen, my dear bride, place me And N'er forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

<BGSOUND src="../midimusic/armagh.mid"> The Bard of Armagh is thought to be Patrick Donnelly, a priest in Armagh. Though maintaining his administration of the church at Armagh, he was made Bishop of Dromore in 1697, the same year as the issuance of the Bishops Banishment Act. The Act required many of the Catholic Clergy to leave the Kingdom, and forbid the entry of any clergy. Donnelly became an outlaw and took refuge in Slieve Gullion, Armagh, and assumed the persona of travelling harper Phelim Brady.

According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, however, Donnelly is listed in the government's register of "popish" clergy, dated 1704, as a priest in Newry, Co. Armagh.

The song itself, like many heroic, rebel outlaw ballads, dates from the mid 19th century.

Streets of Laredo (Cowboy's Lament)

As I walked out on the streets of Laredo,
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

"I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy"
These words he did say as I boldly stepped by,
"Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
I was shot in the breast and I know I must die."

"It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing
Once in the saddle I used to go gay,
First down to the dram-house and then to the card house
Got shot in the breast, I am dying today."

THE GRENADIER AND THE LADY
Trad. Dorsetshire

As I was a walking one morning in May,
I spied a young couple a-making of hay,
one was a pretty maid and her beauty shone clear,
And the other was a soldier, a bold grenadier.

A-walking and a-talking and a-walking together,
O a-walking so far till they couldn't tell whither,
So they sat themselves down by the clear crystal stream
For to see the flowers grow and hear the nightingale sing.

In kisses and compliments he took her round the middle,
And out of his knapsack he drew forth his fiddle,
And he play'd such a fine tune as made the groves ring:
"Hark hark" said the fair maid, "How the nightingale sings."

"O come," said the soldier, "tis time to give o'er."
"O no," said the fair maid, "we will have one tune more,
I do like your music and the tune of your string,
I do like to see the flowers grow and hear the nightingale sing."

"Then come," says the fair maid, "will you marry me?"
"O no!," says the soldier, "O that can never be,
For I've got me a wife in my own counteree,
O so fair a woman that ever you see."

"I've got me a wife there, and child-er-en three,
Two wives in the army ‘s too many for me,
But if I should return, O it will be in the spring,
I will show you how the flowers grow, make the nightingale sing."

THE WILD RIPPLING WATERS

I was out walking an' a-ramblin' one day;
I spied a fair couple a-comin'my way;
One was a lady as fair as could be,
An' the other a cowboy, an' a brave one were he,
An' the other a cowboy, an' a brave one were he.

Says, "Where are you goin', my pretty fair maid?"
"Jest down by the river, jest down by the shade,
Jest down by the river, jest down by the spring,
See the wifd ripplin' water an' hear the nightingale sing,
See the wild ripplin' water an' hear the nightingale sing."

They hadn't been there but an hour or so
Till he drew from his satchel a fiddle and bow;
He tuned his fiddle all on the high string,
An' he played this tune over an' over again,
An' he played this tune over an' over again.
"Now," said the cowboy, "I should have been gone."
"No, no," said the pretty maid, "jest play one more song.
I'd rather hear the fiddle jest played on one string
As to see the water glide by an' hear the nightingale sing
As to see the water glide by an' hear the nightingale sing."

He tuned up hisfiddle and he rosined his bow;
He played her a lecture, he played it all o'er;
He played her a lecture that made the valley ring.
"Hark! Hark!" said the fair maid. "Hear the nightingale sing.
Hark! Hark! " said the fair maid. "Hear the nightingale sing."

She said, "Dear cowboy, will you marry me ? "
He said: "Dear lady, that could never be.
I have a wife in Arizona, an' a lady is she;
One wife on a cow-ranch is a plenty for me,
One wife on a cow-ranch is a plenty for me."

"I'll go to Mexico, I'll stay there one year;
I'll drink sweet wine an' I'll drink lotta beer.
If I ever return here, it will be in the spring,
To see the bright ripplin'water, hear the nightingale sing,
To see the bright ripplin'water, hear the nightingale sing."

Come all you young maidens, take warning from me;
Never place your affections in a cowboy too free;
He'll go away an' leave you like mine did me;
Leave you to rock cradles, sing "Bye-o-babee";
Leave you to rock cradles, sing "Bye-o-babee".

Lord Gregory

I am a kings daughter, straight from Cappoquin

In search of Lord Gregory pray God I'll find him

The rain rings on my yellow hair the dew wets my skin

The babe is cold in my arms love Lord Gregory, let me in,

Lord Gregory is not here, he henceforth can't be seen

For he's gone to bonny Scotland to bring home his new queen

So leave now these windows, and likewise this hall

For it's deep in the sea you will find your downfall

Do you remember Lord Gregory, as we sat at the wine

We exchanged rings and oh the best was mine

Yours was the purest gold, and mine but false tin

Yours cost a guinea love but mine was false within

And do you remember, Lord Gregory, that night in Cappoquin

You stole away my maidenhead and sore against my will

So I'll leave now these windows and likewise this hall

For it's deep in the sea I will find my downfall

Blackbirds and Thrushes

As I was a-walking for my recreation,
A down by the gardens I silently stray'd,
I heard a fair maid making great lamentation,
Crying, Jimmy will be slain in the wars I'm afraid.

The blackbirds and thrushes sang in the green bushes;
The wood doves and larks seem'd to mourn for the maid;
And this song that she sang was concerning her lover;
O Jimmy will be slain in the wars I'm afraid.

Her cheeks blushed like roses, her arms full of posies,
She stray'd in the meadows and, weeping, she said:
My heart it is aching, my poor heart is breaking,
For Jimmy will be slain in the wars I'm afraid.

When Jimmy returned with his heart full of burning,
He found his dear Nancy all dead in her grave
He cried: I'm forsaken, my poor heart is breaking,
O would that I never had left this fair maid!

Blackbirds is sometimes attributed to Irishman Samuel Lover (1797-1865) because it is included in his novel Rory O'More

In November of 2006, whilst attending the Western Music Association's Annual Convention, We were lucky enough to be interviewed by Dakota Livesay of Chronicles of the Old West. As you peruse this page, I hope you will enjoy an excerpt from that interview