Just twenty years ago today, I grasped my mother's hand,
She kissed and blessed her only son, going to a foreign land;
The neighbours took me from her breast and told her I must go,
Yet I could hear my mother's voice, though her words were faint and low.
Goodbye, Johnny dear, when you're far away,
Don't forget your dear old mother far across the sea;
Write a letter now and then and send her all you can,
And don't forget where e'er you roam that you're an Irishman.
My feet are here on Broadway
This blessed harvest morn,
But oh! the ache that´s in my heart
For the spot where I was born.
My weary hands are blistered
Through work in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe once more
Through a field of Irish wheat.
Had I the chance to wander back,
Or own a king´s abode.
I´d sooner see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road.
Farewell to the town of Galway
Connemara and Oranmore
Goodbye Barna, Rosmuck and Carna
I am bound for a foreign shore
Oh my name it is Patrick Furey
I love my country and liberty
But I fought for the things I love
And so an exile I must be
Oh my Mary, my darlin' girl
Shall I ever see you more
My heart grieves me, for I must leave thee
I am bound for a foreign shore
She kissed and blessed her only son, going to a foreign land;
The neighbours took me from her breast and told her I must go,
Yet I could hear my mother's voice, though her words were faint and low.
Goodbye, Johnny dear, when you're far away,
Don't forget your dear old mother far across the sea;
Write a letter now and then and send her all you can,
And don't forget where e'er you roam that you're an Irishman.
My feet are here on Broadway
This blessed harvest morn,
But oh! the ache that´s in my heart
For the spot where I was born.
My weary hands are blistered
Through work in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe once more
Through a field of Irish wheat.
Had I the chance to wander back,
Or own a king´s abode.
I´d sooner see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road.
Farewell to the town of Galway
Connemara and Oranmore
Goodbye Barna, Rosmuck and Carna
I am bound for a foreign shore
Oh my name it is Patrick Furey
I love my country and liberty
But I fought for the things I love
And so an exile I must be
Oh my Mary, my darlin' girl
Shall I ever see you more
My heart grieves me, for I must leave thee
I am bound for a foreign shore