The Green Fields of Canada
Source: The Stone Fiddle by Paddy Tunney
Location: New Edition, page 171 / 172
Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and shamrock,
Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round.
May their hearts be as merry as ever I would wish them
When far away on the ocean I’m bound.
My mother is old and my father quite feeble.
To leave their own country, it grieves their hearts sore.
Oh, the tears down their cheeks in great drops they were rolling
To think they must die upon a foreign shore.
But what matter to me where my bones may be buried,
If in peace and contentment I can spend my life.
Oh, the green fields of Canada they daily are blooming.
There I’ll find an end to my misery and strife.
Chorus:
So, it’s pack up your sea stores, consider no longer.
Twelve dollars a week isn’t very bad pay.
With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages,
When you’re on the green fields of Americay.
The lint dams are dry, and the looms lie broken.
The coopers are gone and the winders of creels.
Away o’er the ocean go journeyman tailors,
And fiddlers who flaked out the old mountain reels.
But I mind the time when old Ireland was flourishing
When lots of her tradesmen did work for good pay
But since our manufacturies have crossed the Atlantic
Sure, now we must follow to Americay.
Chorus
Farewell to the dances in homes now deserted
When tips struck the lightning in splanks from the floor.
The paving and crigging of hobnails on flagstones,
The tears of the old folk and shouts of encore.
For the landlords and bailiffs in vile combination
Have forced us from hearthstone and homestead away.
May the crowbar brigade all be doomed to damnation,
When we’re on the green fields of Americay.
Chorus
The time grows thick on the slopes of Columbia
With Douglas in splendour two hundred feet tall.
The salmon and strugeon dam streamlet and river,
And the high Rocky Mountains look down over all.
On the prairie and plain sure the wheat waves all golden.
The maple gives sugar to sweeten your tay.
You won’t want for corn cob way out in Saskatchewan
When you’re on the green fields of Americay.
Chorus
And if you grow weary of pleasure and plenty,
Of fruit in the orchard and fish from the foam,
There’s health and good hunting way back in the forests,
Where caribou. moose, and great buffalo roam.
And it’s now to conclude and to finish my ditty,
If ever friendless Irishman chances my way,
With the best in the house, I will greet him in welcome,
At home on the green fields of Americay.
Chorus