Wind That Shakes The Barley

Rendition by Warren Gacsi on Glen Burton Mandolin // BACKGROUND: "The Wind That Shakes the Barley" is an Irish ballad written by Robert Dwyer Joyce (1836--1883), a Limerick-born poet and professor of English literature. The song is written from the perspective of a doomed young Wexford rebel who is about to sacrifice his relationship with his loved one and plunge into the cauldron of violence associated with the 1798 rebellion in Ireland.[1] The references to barley in the song derive from the fact that the rebels often carried barley oats in their pockets as provisions for when on the march. This gave rise to the post-rebellion phenomenon of barley growing and marking the "croppy-holes," mass unmarked graves which slain rebels were thrown into, symbolising the regenerative nature of Irish resistance to British rule. ( Source: Wiki)

LYRICS ( done as a ballad, much slower than the fiddle/mando version ) I sat within a valley green I sat me with my true love My sad heart strove to choose between The old love and the new love The old for her, the new that made Me think on Ireland dearly While soft the wind blew down the glade And shook the golden barley Twas hard the woeful words to frame To break the ties that bound us But harder still to bear the shame Of foreign chains around us And so I said, "The mountain glen I'll seek at morning early And join the bold United Men While soft winds shake the barley" While sad I kissed away her tears My fond arms 'round her flinging The foeman's shot burst on our ears From out the wildwood ringing A bullet pierced my true love's side In life's young spring so early And on my breast in blood she died While soft winds shook the barley I bore her to some mountain stream And many's the summer blossom I placed with branches soft and green About her gore-stained bosom I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse Then rushed o'er vale and valley My vengeance on the foe to wreak While soft winds shook the barley But blood for blood without remorse I've taken at Oulart Hollow And laid my true love's clay-cold corpse Where I full soon may follow As 'round her grave I wander drear Noon, night and morning early With breaking heart when e'er I hear The wind that shakes the barley

Category:

Music

Tags:

• Irish Fiddle
• Fiddle tunes
• Celtic

[IamToasted]

I always liked black. . .thanks