The water is wide, I cannot get o’er,
And Neither have I the wings to fly.
Give me a boat, that can carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.

I leaned my back up against an oak
I thought it was a trusty tree
but first it swayed and then it broke
And so my false love did unto me.

A ship there is and she sails the sea,
She’s loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I’m in
I know not if I sink or swim.

O love is handsome and love is kind
And love’s a jewel while it is new
but when it is old and groweth cold
And fades away like morning dew

Traditional Lyrics

Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by,
Me mind bein´ bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly,
I stepped on board a vision and followed with the will,
When next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancil Hill.

Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene
Where in my early boyhood so often I had been
I thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it still,
It’s that little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill.

Being on the twenty-third of June, the day before the fair,
When Ireland’s sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold, their duty to fulfill,
At the parish church of Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill.

I went to see my neighbours, to hear what they might say,
The old ones were all dead and gone, and the young ones turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley, he’s as bold as ever still,
Sure he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill.

I paid a flying visit to my first and only love,
She’s as fair as any lily and gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, saying “Johnny, I love you still”
Ah she’s Nell, the farmer’s daughter, the pride of Spancil Hill

I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said “Johnny you’re only joking, as many’s the time before”
The cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill,
I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.

The ballad is laid upon the same O’Carolan melody as The Wearing of the Green. The title of the song has  a double meaning as the Fenian rebellion was to begin with the rising of the moon and thus becomes the Rising of the Moon.

And come tell me Sean O’Farrell tell me why you hurry so
Husha buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow
I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

And come tell me Sean O’Farrell where the gath’rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin’ tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, ’tis the rising of the moon

‘Tis the rising of the moon, ’tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, ’tis the rising of the moon

Oh, the first of me downfall I set out the door
I straight made me way on for Carrick-on-Suir
Going out by Rathronan ’twas late in the night
Going out the West Gate for to view the gaslight
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

I went to the town’s hall to see the big lamp
And who should I meet but a bloody big tramp
I finally stepped over and to him I said:
“Will you kindly direct me to where I’ll get a bed?”
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

‘Twas then he directed me down to Cooks Lane
To where old Buck St John kept an old sleeping cage
From out of the door was a small piece of board
Hung out on two nails with a short piece of cord
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

I looked up and down till I found out the door
And a queerer old household sure I ne’er saw before
Then the Misses came out and these words to me said:
“If you give me three coppers, sure I’ll give you a bed”
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

Well I then stood aside with me back to the wall
And the next thing I saw was an oul cobbler’s stall
And there was the cobbler and he mending his brogues
With his hammers and pinchers all laid in a row
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

Then she brought me upstairs and she put out the light
And in less than five minutes I had to show fight
And in less than five more when the story was best
The fleas came around me and brought me a curse
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

‘Twas all around me body they formed a march
‘Twas all around me body they played the Death march
For the bloody oul major gave me such a pick
That he nearly made away with half of me hip
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

Now I’m going to me study, these lines to pen down
And if any poor traveller should e’er come to town
And if any poor traveller should be nighted like me
Beware of Buck St John and his black cavalry
Radley fal the diddle ay
Radley fal the diddle airo

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe [fife] did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud [dread] tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o’er the Liffey’s swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
‘Twas better to die ‘neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia’s Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

‘Twas England bade our wild geese go, that “small nations might be free”;
Their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves or [the fringe of] the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse’s side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep, ‘neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

Oh the night fell black, and the rifles’ crack made perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o’er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew

Oh [But] the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light might shine through the foggy dew

As [Ah] back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.

What will I do with this website? Share my passion and interest for the genre of Irish Folk Music in all its forms. Ceoil agus Craic!