Tag Archives: Claddagh

Galway Bay

If you ever go across the sea to Ireland,
Then maybe at the closing of your day
You will sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh,
And watch the sun go down on Galway Bay.


Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream,
The women in the meadows making hay,
And to sit beside a turf- fire in the cabin
And I to watch the barefoot Gossoons at their play

For the breezes blowing o’ er the seas from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow
And the women in the uplands diggin’ praties,
Speak a language that the strangers do not know.

For the strangers came and tried to teach us their way
They scorn’d us just for being what we are
But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams
Or light a penny candle from a star

And if there is going to be life hereafter,
And somehow I am sure there’s going to be
I will ask God to let me make my heaven
In that dear land across the Irish sea

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The Claddagh Ring

It being a fine morning, this young man he chose
That he’d make occasion to wear his fine clothes


And it’s down to the glen where the bonnie lassie goes
To give her a token of his love, we suppose

“Mary, oh Mary, if I could be your man
Between you and danger I fearlessly would stand

With this gold claddagh ring on your lily-white hand
Oh, there ne’er was another would dress you so grand.”

There’s no sun in summer there’s no flowers in spring
Her hands hold my heart like the gold claddagh ring.

“Johnny, oh Johnny the ring it is of gold
And it’s hands and fine heart, they are lovely to behold

But if I had the ring for one evening to hold
Then you shall have my answer e’er the week shall be old.”

“Oh why have the weeks gone and not an answer came?
And why is it that women are smarter than men?

Oh the girl’s kept the ring which I shall ne’er see again
Oh, she has many like it in a fine box at hame.”

There’s no sun in summer there’s no flowers in spring
Her hands hold my heart like the gold claddagh ring.

It being a fine morning, this young man he chose
That he’d make occasion to wear his fine clothes

And it’s down to the glen where the bonnie lassie goes
To give her a token of his love, we suppose

There’s no sun in summer there’s no flowers in spring
Her hands hold my heart like the gold claddagh ring.
Oh, her hands hold my heart like the gold claddagh ring.

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