KLEINER ANHANG

Im folgenden sind die englischen Texte der Gedichte und Lieder in ihrer Reihenfolge im Buch wiedergegeben.

 

 

1

Who threw the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder?
Nobody spoke so he said it all the lowder:
It’s a dirty Irish trick and I can lick the Mick
Who threw the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder.

 

 

2 3

Love her as in childhood
Though feeble, old and grey.
For you’ll never miss a mother’s love
Till she’s buried beneath the clay.

 

 

4, 5

auch: 6

Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss’
It had to be and the reason is this:
Could it be true
Someone like you
Could love me, love me?

 

 

7

A group of young soldiers one night in a camp
Were talking of sweethearts they had.
All seemed so merry except one young lad,
And he was downhearted and sad.
Come and join us, said one of the boys,
Surely there’s someone for you.
But Ned shook his head and proudly he said,
I am in love with two: Each like a mother to me,
From neither of them shall I part.
For one is my mother, God bless her and love her,
The other is my sweetheart.

 

 

8

Deep in Canadian woods we met
From one bright island flown.
Great is the land we tread, but yet
Our hearts are with our own.

 

 

9

Up the narrow street he stepped
Smiling and proud and young,
About the hemp-rope on his neck
The golden ringlets clung,
There’s never a tear in the blue eyes,
Both glad and bright are they,
As Roddy McCorley goes to die
On the bridge of Toome today.

 

 

10

Clap hands, clap hands,
Till Daddy comes home,
With buns in his pocket
For Maisie alone.
Clap hands, clap hands,
Till Daddy comes home,
For Daddy has money
And Mammy has none.

 

 

11

In a shady nook one moonlit night
A leprechaun I spied.
With scarlet cap and coat of green
A cruiskeen by his side.
’Twas tick tock tick his hammer went
Upon a tiny shoe.
Oh, I laugh to think he was caught at last,
But the fairy was laughing, too.

 

 

12, 13

On Mountjoy one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.
Just a lad of eighteen summers
– Sure there’s no one can deny –
As he marched to death that morning
How he held his head on high.

 

 

14

Because he loved the motherland,
Because he loved the green
He goes to meet a martyr’s fate
With proud and joyous mien;
True to the last, oh! true to the last
He treads the upward way;
Young Roddy McCorley goes to die
On the bridge at Toome today.

 

 

15

When all around a vigil keep,
The West’s asleep, the West’s asleep!
Alas! and well may Erin weep
When Connaught lies in slumber deep.
There lake and plane smile fair and free,
’Mid rocks their guardian chivalry.
Sing, oh, let man learn liberty
From crashing wind and lashing sea.

 

 

16

Christmas is coming
And the goose ist getting fat,
Please put a penny
In the old man’s hat.
If you haven’t a penny
A ha’penny will do
And if you haven’t a ha’penny
God bless you.
May your mother have an accident
Abroad in the loo.

 

 

17

And if, when all a vigil keep,
The West’s asleep, the West’s asleep!
Alas! and may well Erin weep,
That Connaught lies in slumber deep,
But hark! a voice like thunder spake
The West’s awake! The West’s awake!
Sing, oh, hurrah, let England quake,
We’ll watch till death for Erin’s sake!

 

 

18

See who comes over the red-blossomed heather,
Their green banners kissing the pure mountain air,
Heads erect, eyes to front, stepping proudly together;
Sure freedom sits throned on each proud spirit there.

 

 

19

He came from the North so his words were few
But his voice was kind and his heart was true.
And I knew by his eyes that no guile had he.
So I married my man from the North Country.

 

Oh, Garryowen may be more gay
Than this quiet man from beside Lough Neagh.
And I know that the sun shines softly down
On the river that runs through my native town.

 

But there’s not – and I say it with joy and with pride ···
A better man in all Munster wide
And Limerick town has no happier hearth
Than mine has been with my man from the North.

 

I wish that in Limerick they only knew
The kind kind neighbours I came unto.
Small hate or scorn would there ever be
Between the South and the North Country.

 

 

20

Oh, the nights of the Kerry dancing, oh, the ring of the piper’s tune,

Oh, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas, like our youth too soon.

When the boys began to gather in the glen of a summer night,

And the Kerry piper’s tuning made us long with wild delight.

Oh, to think of it, oh, to dream of it, fills my heart with tears.

Oh, the nights of the Kerry dancing, oh, the ring of the piper’s tune,

Oh, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas, like our youth too soon.

 

 

21

Proddy Woddy ring the bell
Not for heaven but for hell.

 

 

22

Oh, oh, stop your ticklin’, Jock,
Stop your ticklin’, Jock.
Stop your ticklin’,
Ickle ickle icklin
Stop your ticklin’, Jock.

 

 

23

’Tis alone my concern if the grandest surprise
Would be shining at me out of somebody’s eyes.
’Tis my private affair what my feelings would be
While the Green Glens of Antrim were welcoming me.

 

 

24, 25

Cardinal Wolsey: Be patient yet.

Queen Katharine:

I will, when you are humble; nay, before,

Or God will punish me. I do believe,

Induc’d by potent circumstances, that

You are mine enemy; and make my challenge

You shall not be my judge; for it is you

Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me.

Which God’s dew quench! Therefore I say again,

I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul

Refuse you for my judge, whom, yet once more,

I hold my most malicious foe, and think not

At all a friend to truth.

William Shakespeare, The Famous History of the Life of

King Henry the Eighth, Act II, Scene IV

 

 

26., 27

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

And the highwayman came riding – Riding – riding –

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,

A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin,

They fitted with never a wrinkle, his boots were up to the thigh,

And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle,

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

 

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!

Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!

Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,

Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight’

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him – with her death.

Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,

When they shot him down on the highway,

Down like a dog on the highway,

And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

 

Alfred Noyes (1880–1938), The Highwayman

 

 

28

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

 

 

29

They went forth to battle, but they always fell,
Their eyes were fixed above the sullen shields.
Nobly they fought and bravely, but not well,’
And sank heart-wounded by a subtle spell.

 

 

30

Yip aye aidy aye ay aye oh
Yip aye aidy aye ay,
We don’t care about England or France,
All we want ist the German advance.

 

 

31

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat.

They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

The Owl looked up to the Stars abovE And sang to a small guitar,

Oh lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are.

Pussy said to the Owl, You elegant fowl! How charmingly sweet you sing!

O let us be married! too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?

They sailed away for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-tree grows,

And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose.

 

Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring? Said the Piggy I will.

They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon;

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon.

Edward Lear The Owl and the Pussy-Cat, 1871

 

 

32

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule The village
master taught his little school.
A man severe he was and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew.
Full well the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day’s disaster in his morning face.
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes for many a joke had he.
Full well the busy whisper circling round
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore for learning was in fault.
The village all declared how much he knew.
’Twas certain he could write, and cipher too.
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And even the story ran that he could gauge.
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill,
For, even though vanquished, he could argue still,
While words of learned length and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around.
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.