In this quiet place I stand alone,
from my homeland far away.
And my empty heart cannot recall,
the forgotten dreams that brought me joy
Had I ways to shed the wasted years,
I would travel to my kin.
and with strength and faith in God above,
there in Ireland I would gladly die.
I am one of seven brothers.
Five of us must leave and start again.
In this land of Saints and Martyrs,
Tears of sadness hide within the rain.
So fare thee well, Remember me...
Sail from the Harbour of Tearss
|
I can hear my father calling 'Godspeed, my son, wherever you may go' He looked so small down on the quayside. A man I guess I'll never really know. |
Goodbye, lad... I'll miss you, though I don't show it. I am a farmer of the land, I'm not a man of words. Forgive me my failing, you never knew me. Godspeed wherever you may go... |
So fare thee well,
Remember me...
Sail from the Harbour of Tears
I work for the Union Pike,
out on the Western Line.
I found Uncle Sean in Denver,
and he and his wife are fine.
They send their best,
and like the rest -
they send home the slates.
It took six months from the Cobh,
another six by land,
but the pay is good,
and as I should
I'll send home the slates.
So fast lads
we must advance,
Work to the Gandy dance.
Six days to double pay,
that's our reward -
But not 'til the line goes down.
I'll not send empty letters,
I know you need the rent.
Dad, you deserve a new pair of boots,
I know it's money well spent.
So kind regards,
I'll work hard -
to send home the slates.
PS. Dear Ma,
I send my picture.
Don't let the family forget me...
Watching the bobbins,
go up and down.
Fine Irish linen
for a ladies gown.
One shirt a penny,
seven in a tag;
ten hours a day
and her heart begins to drag.
This never ending cycle goes on.
But she promised she would never stay...
for long.
Rocking the treadle,
ache in her soul.
She keeps the rhythm
and it takes a toll.
Threading the needle,
strains in her eyes.
Old withered fingers
steal her young girl's pride
She's saving every penny she earns,
because the passion for her freedom
still burns.
Listen now boys,
my grandmother said -
I'll tell you a story and
then off to bed.
There once was a time,
we lived off the land.
Harvest would come,
and we all lent a hand
But winds blew our lives,
and scattered our seeds.
Changing the landscape,
from flowers to weeds.
See in the graveyard
the families gone.
The grandest of tombstones
carry them on...
When you sail from the Harbour,
It's your last eyes of Ireland.
We tended the fire,
and faeries appeased
the flame never died
until we had to leave.
And when we were gone,
the house tumbled down
and covered our footprints,
we'd left on the ground.
When you sail from the Harbour,
It's your last eyes of Ireland.
My eyes are now tired
and no longer see.
But visions of Ireland
linger in me.
So carry your past
in the rooms of your heart
and you'll never he empty
of love when you part
When you sail from the Harbour,
It's your last eyes of Ireland.
Searching for fragments
of old yesterday,
I stand at the edge
of my childhood to find,
I long for the shadows
that danced at the end of the day...