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Sing An Tir the Bold - James Prescott and Richard Fietz (words)

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Sing An Tir the Bold

Words copyright © 1982 James Prescott and Richard Fietz

Music traditional Cam Ye o'er frae France?



Sing An Tir the bold! Sing and raise your glasses,
Royal black and gold, loyal lads and lasses,
Send a mighty cheer ringing o'er the nation,
Praises of An Tir, in joyful celebration.

Do you know An Tir? Have you heard the glory?
Come and gather near and I'll tell the story.
Summer blossomed forth, birds were in the hedge, and
Atenveldt rode north and vanished into legend.

They came to raid our lands, came to loot and plunder,
Came with burning brands, came with drums a-thunder,
Page and squire and knight, colours bravely snapping,
Rode in splendour bright in hopes to catch us napping.

Fearing no man's hand, grim and fell the war band,
Facing Southern land, bearing high the war brand,
Come the men of war, An Tir's brave and boldest,
Dealing death full sore, of all fates the coldest.

By the height of land, in the forest dreadful,
Died the dwarvish band, and the ravens fed full,
Beaten and bewrayed, bawling and a-bleeding,
Was the way they stayed, at the salmon feeding.

Though they fought us well, An Tir was the stronger,
Bravely there they fell, but they can boast no longer.
Bitter was their doom, bitter was their dying,
Bitterroot the tomb where they now are lying.

Ravens in the sky, flocking and a-flapping,
Hear them croak and cry by the waters lapping,
Atenveldt lies slain, see a kingdom bleeding.
Death is host again for the ravens' feeding.

(Repeat second verse)

(Repeat first verse)

 

 

 

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