Песня «Hungarian»
исполнителя Spiritual seasons.
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• Skjon Jomfru

  Spiritual seasons

  

  Skjøn jomfru gikk på høyen fjeld, så ned i den dype dal. der så hun et skip kom seilende, kom seilende tre grever var ombord. Den alle yngste greven som der på skipet var, han ville seg trolova, trolova, med meg så ung jeg var. Så tok han frem av fingeren sin en ring av gull så rød. så sagde han, skjøn pike, skjøn pike, den vill jeg giva deg. Da ungersvenden var bortreist kom der en annen igjen. som hennes hjerte behagede, behagede. og de kom så vel overens. Da ungersvenden dette fikk vite stor kummer i hjertet han fikk. han skiftede om sine kleder, sine kleder, og reiste dit bryllupet stod.

  
• Foggy Dew

  Spiritual seasons

  

  As down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I, Their armed lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its loud tattoo But the Angelus' bells o'er the Liffey swells Rang out in the foggy dew. Right proudly high in Dublin town Hung they out a flag of war. It was better to die beneath an Irish sky Then at Suvla or Sud el Bar. And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying through; While Brittania'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. The bravest fell, and the requiem bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Easter-tide In the springing of the year. While the world did gaze with deep amaze At those fearless men but few Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew. And 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 Oh, glorious dead When you fell in the foggy dew.

  
• Haavard Hedde

  Spiritual seasons

  

  ref Eg steve så Eg heitar Håvard Hedde Og er så vein ein kar Nå vil eg bort å gifta meg Og rydja meg en gard Eg bor oppunder fjell Eg svik hå inkje hell Når borna dei vert mange Og skuldi aukar på Så hugg eg ned den eine Den andre ho lyt stå Eg bor oppunder fjell Eg svik ho inkje hell Eg heitar Håvard Hedde Og er så vein ein kar Nå vil eg bort å gifta meg Og rydja meg en gard Eg bor oppunder fjell Eg svik ho inkje hell Han reiste ifre lanjei Og de var jenta fest Men det var med ein annan Det hev han trega mest Eg bor oppunder fjell Eg svik hå inkje hell Eg steve så

  
• O'neil's March / Drowsy Maggie

  Spiritual seasons

  

  MICK MAGUIRE Oh my name is Mick Maguire and I'll quickly tell to you Of a young girl I admired one Katie Donoghue She was fair and fat and forty and believe me when I say Whenever I'd come in at the door you could hear her mother say Johnny get up from the fire get up and give your man a seat Can't you see it's Mick Maguire and he's courtin' your sister Kate You know very well he owns a farm a wee bit out of the town Ah get out of that ya impudent brat and let Mister Maguire sit down Well the first time that I met her was at a dance in Donnahadee I very kindly ask her would she dance a step with me I asked if I could see her home if she'd be going my way But whenever I'd come in at the door you could hear the ould one say Johnny get up from the fire get up and give your man a seat Can't you see it's Mick Maguire and he's courtin' your sister Kate You know very well he owns a farm a wee bit out of the town Ah get out of that ya impudent brat and let Mister Maguire sit down But now that we are married her mammy's changed her mind Just because I spent the money me father left behind Now she hasn't got the decency to me time of the day And whenever I'd come in at the door you could hear her mammy say Johnny come up to the fire come you're sitting in the draft Can't you see it's ould Maguire and he nearly drives me daft Sure I don't know what gets in him and he's always on the tear So sit where you are and never you dare, give ould Maguire the chair

  
• De Droghen Haring

  Spiritual seasons