Bright red is the sun o'er the waves of Lough Sheelin A cool gentle breeze o'er the mountains is stealing But fair round the islets the small ripples play But fairer than all is the flower of Finae Her hair is like night and her eyes like grey morning She trips o'er the heather as if its touch scorning But her heart and her lips are as mild as May Day Young Eily McMahon is the flower of Finae Who down the hillside like wild deer runs fleeter? And who on the lakeside is hastening to greet her? Who but Fergus O'Farrell, that fiery young gay The darling and pride of the flower of Finae One kiss and one clasp and one wild look of gladness But why does it change all of a sudden to sadness? He has told his sad fortune; he can no longer stay He must leave his poor Eily all alone in Finae For Fergus O'Farrell was true to his sire-land But the strong hand of tyranny were drove in from Ireland He joins the brigade in the wars far away But he vows he'll return to the flower of Finae Fought at Cremona—she hears of his story He fought at Casano—she's proud of his glory Yet sadly she sings "Siubhail a Rúin" all the day O, come home my darling, come home to Finae Long years have passed till she's nigh broken-hearted Her reel and her rock and her flax she has parted She sails with the wild geese to Flanders away And leaves her poor parents alone in Finae Lord Clare on the field of Ramillies is charging Before him the Sassanach squadrons enlarging Behind him the Cravats, their sections display Beside him rides Fergus and he shouts for Finae On the slopes of La Judoigne the Frenchmen are flying Lord Clare and his squadrons the foe still defying Outnumbered and wounded retreat in array And bleeding rides Fergus and he thinks of Finae In the cloisters of Ypres a banner is swaying And by it a pale weeping maiden is praying That flag's the sole trophy of Ramillies' fray This nun is poor Eily, the flower of Finae
[00:00.14] [00:15.16]Bright red is the sun o'er the waves of Lough Sheelin [00:24.86]A cool gentle breeze o'er the mountains is stealing [00:34.35]But fair round the islets the small ripples play [00:43.81]But fairer than all is the flower of Finae [00:53.70]Her hair is like night and her eyes like grey morning [01:03.40]She trips o'er the heather as if its touch scorning [01:12.25]But her heart and her lips are as mild as May Day [01:21.38]Young Eily McMahon is the flower of Finae [01:31.55]Who down the hillside like wild deer runs fleeter? [01:40.13]And who on the lakeside is hastening to greet her? [01:49.36]Who but Fergus O'Farrell, that fiery young gay [01:58.32]The darling and pride of the flower of Finae [02:12.67]One kiss and one clasp and one wild look of gladness [02:22.18]But why does it change all of a sudden to sadness? [02:31.74]He has told his sad fortune; he can no longer stay [02:39.97]He must leave his poor Eily all alone in Finae [02:48.80]For Fergus O'Farrell was true to his sire-land [02:57.54]But the strong hand of tyranny were drove in from Ireland [03:06.32]He joins the brigade in the wars far away [03:14.98]But he vows he'll return to the flower of Finae [03:36.33]Fought at Cremona—she hears of his story [03:43.84]He fought at Casano—she's proud of his glory [03:52.82]Yet sadly she sings "Siubhail a Rúin" all the day [04:01.44]O, come home my darling, come home to Finae [04:10.49]Long years have passed till she's nigh broken-hearted [04:18.70]Her reel and her rock and her flax she has parted [04:27.13]She sails with the wild geese to Flanders away [04:36.34]And leaves her poor parents alone in Finae [04:44.97]Lord Clare on the field of Ramillies is charging [04:53.29]Before him the Sassanach squadrons enlarging [05:01.75]Behind him the Cravats, their sections display [05:10.67]Beside him rides Fergus and he shouts for Finae [05:19.75]On the slopes of La Judoigne the Frenchmen are flying [05:27.85]Lord Clare and his squadrons the foe still defying [05:36.84]Outnumbered and wounded retreat in array [05:45.35]And bleeding rides Fergus and he thinks of Finae [06:04.29]In the cloisters of Ypres a banner is swaying [06:13.40]And by it a pale weeping maiden is praying [06:22.40]That flag's the sole trophy of Ramillies' fray [06:31.28]This nun is poor Eily, the flower of Finae
