Helen Diamond CD

Helen Diamond

Traditional unaccompanied singing from Ireland

Recorded October, 2017
Produced by Helen Diamond
Recorded, mixed, and mastered by Danny Diamond
Photography: Anna Lethert
Artwork: Susan Hughes
Design: Nick Lethert

“The Ulster singing tradition is in safe hands… impeccable choice and renditions of songs! Most enjoyable! Comhghairdeas a Helen, tá éacht déanta agat!” -Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh

I have had the privilege of being helped, encouraged and taught by many people over the years. Thank you to all those who taught me songs, in particular Vincent Doherty, Antaine Ó Faracháin and Luke Cheevers.

Also to those who gave me recordings of songs and singers, even when I was too young to properly appreciate them, especially to Joe Stewart, Jerry O’Reilly, Cathal McConnell, Gabriel McCardle and my Grandfather Leslie Bingham.

To the committee and regulars of An Góilín singer’s club for their support and encouragement.

To my brother Danny for his work on the recording of this album, Anna Lethert for photography, to Nick Lethert for his graphic design, and Susan Hughes who created the cover art.

To all my musical friends and peers and my parents Tara and Dermy Diamond for exposing us to so much fantastic music from an early age. Finally, I would like to thank The Arts Council / An Chomhairle Ealaíon who made this project possible through their support.

Helen Diamond CD back cover

The Songs

click title for lyrics

This version comes from the fantastic Armagh singer Sarah Anne O’Neill. I learned it from Topic Record’s Voice Of the People: Who’s That at My Bed Window.

Standing in yon flowery garden,
A handsome young man he passed me by,
He passed me by and he seemed to know me,
And he said ‘fair maid, would you fancy I?’

‘Fancy you sir, a man of honour?
For a man of honour you seem to be,
And what am I but a servant girl, sir,
And a servant girl I intend to be’.

‘For it’s seven years since I had a sweetheart,
And six of them since I did him see,
And seven more I will wait upon him,
And if he’s alive he’ll return to me’.

‘Well if it’s seven years since you had a sweetheart,
And six of them since you did him see,
Perhaps this young man is dead or married,
This young man’s face you might never see’.

‘Well if he’s married I wish him happy,
And if he is dead I wish him rest,
And if he’s alive and a single sailor,
Sure he’s the young man I love the best’.

He put his hand into his pocket,
And his lily-white fingers were thin and small,
And out between them brought a guinea-gold ring sir,
And when she saw it she down did fall.

He lifted her up into his arms,
And he gave her kisses most tenderly,
Saying I’m your Willie and your single sailor,
Come home from sea to wed none but you.

‘Well if you’re my Willie and my single sailor,
Your face and features seem strange to me,
But seven years makes an alteration,
With the raging seas between you and me’.

I was immediately drawn to the unusual melody of this version, from Robert Cinnamond. I heard it first in the Irish Traditional Music Archive in Dublin.

Ye hills and dales and flowery vales that lie around the Mourne Shore,
Ye winds that blow o’er Martin’s hills, will I ever hear you more?,
Where the primrose grows and the violet blows, and the speckled trout there plays,
With my line and hook, delight I took, to spend my youthful days.

Last night I went to see my love, to hear what she would say,
Thinking she might pity me, lest I should go away.
She says ‘I love a sailor, he’s the lad that I do adore,
And for seven years I will wait on him, so trouble me no more’.

‘Perhaps your sailor may be lost in crossing o’er the main,
Or otherwise has fixed his mind upon some comely dame’.
‘Well if the sea proves false to me, no other I will enjoy,
For ever since I saw his face I loved my sailor boy’.

So farewell to Lord Edward’s groves, likewise to the bleaching green,
Where the linen webs lie neat and white, clear flows the crystal stream,
Where many’s the happy days I spent, but now, alas, they’re o’er,
Since the girl I love has banished me, far, far from the Mourne shore.

Our ship she lies at Warren’s point, all ready to set sail,
May all goodness now protect her with a smooth and a pleasant gale.
Had I ten thousand pounds in gold or had I ten times more,
I would freely give it to that girl I love, the maid on the Mourne shore.

A version of Sweet William’s Ghost (Child 77) I originally learned from a Paddy Tunney recording. Thomas McCarthy has generously made the text of his fantastic version available online. I researched the versions collected by Francis James Child in The English and Scottish Popular Ballads. This is a mixture of all the above.

Oh Margaret, oh lady Margaret,
Sat sewing at the seam
When by her came the pale, pale ghost
With many’s the sigh and moan, moan,
With many’s the sigh and moan.

‘Are you my father the king?’ she says
‘Are you my brother John?
Or are you my own love, sweet William,
From England newly come, come,
From England newly come?’

‘I’m not your father the king’ he says
‘No, no, nor your brother John,
But I am your true love, sweet William,
From England newly come, come,
From England newly come’.

‘Have you brought me any scarlets so red?
Or any silks so pale?
Or have you brought me
any precious thing
That merchants have for sale, for sale,
That merchants have for sale?’

‘I’ve not brought you any scarlets so red,
Nor any silks so pale,
But I have brought you my winding sheet
O’er many’s the rocks and hills, hills,
O’er many’s the rocks and hills’.

‘Oh Margaret, oh Lady Margaret’ he said,
‘For love or charity,
Would you give me back the plighted troth
That once love I gave thee, thee,
That once love I gave thee?’

‘Your plighted troth I’ll not give back,
No, no that will not I,
Until I get a kiss off your ruby lips
In my arms you come lie, lie,
In my arms you come lie’.

‘My lips they are so bitter’ he said,
‘My breath it is so strong,
If you got a kiss off my ruby lips
Your days they would not be long, long,
Your days they would not be long’.

‘Oh the cocks are crowing, Margaret’ he said,
‘The cocks they are crowing again,
And it’s time that the living should depart from the dead.
Oh Margaret, my love, I must be gone, gone,
Oh Margaret, my love, I must be gone’.

She followed him high and she followed him low,
‘Til they came to the churchyard green,
And there the grave did open up
To let young William in, in,
To let young William in.

‘What three things are these sweet William,’ she said,
‘That stand here by your head?’
‘Oh it is three maidens, Margaret’ he said,
‘I promised once to wed, to wed,
I promised once to wed’.

‘What three things are these, sweet William,’ she said
‘That stand here by your side?’
‘Oh it is three babies, Margaret’ he said,
‘That these three maidens had, had,
That these three maidens had’.

‘What three things are these, sweet William,’ she said,
‘That stand here by your feet?’
‘Oh it is three hellhounds, Margaret’ he said,
‘They’re waiting for my soul to keep, to keep,
‘They’re waiting for my soul to keep’.

She took up her lily white hand
And she struck him in the breast,
Saying ‘here is back your plighted troth,
And I pray you’ll find good rest, good rest,
I pray you’ll find good rest’.

I learned this song from Róisín White’s recording, The First of my Rambles. I like that it is one of the few songs I have heard in which the sailor is shown in a positive light!

When first I went a sea apprentice bound,
I sailed the salt seas all round and around,
I scarce had sailed a voyage but one,
When I fell in love with my darling Anne.

I went up to my captain both stout and bold,
And unto him my secret told,
‘I love yon lass as I love my life,
What would I give if she were my wife’.

Well the captain said ‘you’re a foolish boy,
For to court a girl that you’ll ne’er enjoy,
For she’ll have lovers while you’re at the sea,
And she’ll be married ere you be free’.

‘Well I don’t know but I’ll go and try,
For she might fancy an apprentice boy,
And she might alter her mind for me,
And wait on me until I be free’.

Well I bought her ribbons and I bought her gloves,
These things to prove of a heart that loves,
She accepted all and she was not shy,
And she vowed she’d wait for her apprentice boy.

And when my ship is anchored and my work is o’er,
I’ll steer my bark for sweet Erin’s shore,
In my native country my love I’ll enjoy,
And she’ll welcome home her apprentice boy.

So come all you sea apprentices where e’er you be,
Never slight your true love while you’re at the sea,
Just love her as you love your life,
And she’ll consent to become your wife.

This song always had a particular appeal as a fiddle player and a fan of John Doherty–his playing of the air is so beautiful. When I came across it in Sam Henry’s Songs of the People I was immediately curious to try the transcribed melody, which is the version I’ve used here.

By the twilight of the morning, as I roved out upon the dew,
With my morning cloak around me, intending all my flocks to view,
There I beheld that fair one, she was a charming beauty bright,
She far exceeds Diana, or the evening star that shines by night.

As I approached this fair maid, said I ‘my joy, and heart’s delight,
My heart it is enamoured with your exceeding beauty bright,
To heal my lovesick passion, if you’ll consent with me to go,
I’ll roll you in my morning cloak, and I’ll take you home to Eastersnow’.

Said I ‘my lovely Peggy, come sit you down a while by me,
Cast your eye around you, and some pastime you may see,
The gentle hares a-hunting, the fields are decorated so,
The valley sounds melodiously, by the sporting plains of Eastersnow’.

Said I ‘my lovely Peggy, come sit you down a while by me,
You’ll see the fox a-hunting, by the best nobility,
The gentlemen well mounted and the huntsmen crying ‘tally ho’,
So glorious we’ll pursue the chase, from sweet Lough Key to Eastersnow’.

She says ‘young man, will you excuse a simple maiden of the moor,
Forbear such splendid eloquence for one who is so poor,
My heart is not my own to give, nor can I it bestow,
It is pledged to one who lives and loves far, far away from Eastersnow’.

Another old favourite, this song manages to be playful, funny and dark at once, in the way of many traditional Irish children’s songs. I learned this version from the Seán Corcoran collection Here is a Health, sung by Annie MacKenzie from County Fermanagh.

There was a frog lived in a well, fa la linkum laddie,
And a mouse who kept a mill, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

One day says frog ‘I’ll go to court’, fa la linkum laddie,
‘With my shoes as black as soot’, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

The horse he rode was a big, black snail, ‘fa la linkum laddie,
Saddle and bridle in under his tail, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy..

Frog rode up to Mousie’s hole, fa la linkum laddie,
Knocked the door, stout and bold,
Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

‘Oh Missie Mousie, are you in?’, fa la linkum laddie, ‘Yes I am, I sit and spin’,
Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

‘Oh Missie Mousie, will you wed?’, fa la linkum laddie,
‘Will you come into my bed?’, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

‘Oh Uncle Rat is not at home’, fa la linkum laddie,
‘Without his leave I’ll marry none’, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

Well Uncle Rat he soon came down, fa la linkum laddie,
In his silk and muslin gown, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

‘Bring in the table ‘til we dine’, fa la linkum laddie,
‘Change a farthing, bring in wine’, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

Just as the talk was getting slack, fa la linkum laddie,
In walked kittling and a cat, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

Cat seized Uncle by the crown, fa la linkum laddie,
Kittling knocked wee Mousie down, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

Horsey Snail rode up the wall, fa la linkum laddie,
He says ‘the Devil’s among ye all’, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

Frog then rode around the room, fa la linkum laddie,
Just like any sporting groom, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

In came a flock of neighbour’s ducks, fa la linkum laddie,
Soon devoured the bachelors up, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

So this whole family went to wrack, fa la linkum laddie,
Between kittlings, ducks and cats, Tidy Anne, Tidy Anne,
Diderum di dum dandy.

The first song I ever learned. Some of my earliest musical memories are of singing Long Lankin as a child and enjoying the shocked reaction of unsuspecting listeners at the gory plot. It comes from a Martin Carthy record that was played often by my parents at home. Martin Carthy subsequently became one of my own favourite singers and I probably wouldn’t be singing now only for that early positive experience.

Says the Lord to the Lady, as he mounted his horse,
‘Beware of Long Lankin who lives in the moors’,
Says the Lord to the Lady as he went on his way,
‘Beware of Long Lankin who lives in the hay’.

‘See the doors are all bolted and the windows all pinned,
And leave not a crack for a mouse to peep in’,
So the doors were all bolted and the windows all pinned,
But at a small peep in the window Long Lankin crept in.

‘Where’s the Lord of the household?’ cried Long Lankin,
‘He’s away off to London’ said the false nurse to him.
‘Where’s the Lady of the household?’ cried Long Lankin,
‘She’s asleep in her chamber’ said the false nurse to him.

‘Where’s the heir of the household?’ cried Long Lankin,
‘He’s asleep in his cradle’ said the false nurse to him.
‘We’ll pinch him and we’ll prick him all over with the pin,
‘And that’ll make the Lady for to come down to him’.

So they pinched him and they pricked him all over with the pin,
And the false nurse held the basin for the blood to drip in.

‘Oh nurse how you slumber, oh nurse how you sleep,
You leave my little son for to cry and to weep’.
‘Oh nurse how you slumber, oh nurse how you snore,
You leave my little baby for to cry and to roar’.

‘I’ve tried him with the milk, I’ve tried him with the pap,
Come down my pretty Lady and rock him in your lap’.
‘I’ve tried him with the rattle, I’ve tried him with the bell,
Come down my pretty Lady and rock him yourself’.

‘How dare I come down, in the dead of the night,
When there’s no candles burning nor no fires alight?’
‘You have three silver gowns, all bright as the sun,
Come down my pretty lady all by the light of one’.

So the Lady came downstairs, she was thinking no harm.
Long Lankin he stood ready for to catch her in his arm.
There’s blood in the kitchen, there’s blood in the hall,
There’s blood in the parlour where the Lady did fall.

Her handmaid stood up at the window so high,
And she saw her Lord and master come a-riding close by.
‘Oh master, oh master, don’t lay no blame on me,
‘twas the false nurse and Lankin who killed your Lady’.

‘Oh master, oh master, don’t lay no blame on me,
‘Twas the false nurse and Lankin who killed your baby’.
‘Long Lankin shall be hanged on the gallows so high,
And the false nurse shall be burned on the fire close by’.

I learned this song from a singing mentor, Vincent Doherty. I sang along with Vincent on some tracks on his CD The High Walls of Derry, and he generously taught me this song at the time. Vincent has had a big influence on my development as a singer and I hope that I can do justice to his version here.

I am a nice wee bouncing girl, my age it is scarce sixteen,
And when I’m dressed all in my best, sure I look like any queen,
Like maidens gay who are on their way, and about to sell their ware,
On the first of May I made my way to Magherafelt May Fair.

My mother cautioned me going out, ‘do not stay long in town,
For if you do your father and I, on you we will frown,
Be sure to shun bad company and all young men beware,
Though nice you be don’t make too free at the Magherafelt May Fair’.

‘Oh mother do not worry and set your mind at rest,
For I must leave the house someday as the wild swan leaves the nest,
I’ve dressed me in my nice blue frock and I’ve combed my bonnie brown hair,
For there’ll be many’s a boy from Toome to Moy at the Magherafelt May Fair’.

Well I bade them both good morning and hoisted up my sail,
Still hoping to return that day with a smooth and pleasant gale,
But oh to my misfortune when I arrived there,
There were maidens ten fornenst the men at the Magherafelt May Fair.

Still I stayed around ‘til evening still hoping to make a sale,
And as the bad came to the worse sure my courage ne’er did fail,
But when night came on all hope had gone and homewards I did repair,
At a wake or a dance to take my chance, and forget the hiring fair.

I initially researched this song out of curiosity at the name - it seemed that any song called Lady Diamond was just asking to be learned and sung by a Diamond. Luckily it turned out to be a good one! The words come from Child’s English and Scottish Popular Ballads (no. 269). The melody I’ve used is from Bertrand Harris Bronson’s Traditional Tunes of the Child Ballads.

There was a King and a very great King, and a King of birth and fame,
He had not a child in the world but one, Lady Diamond was her name.,
He had a very bonnie kitchen boy, and William was his name,
And he never lay out of Lady Diamond’s bower ‘til he brought her body to shame.

When twenty weeks had past and gone she began to grow so great,
Her petticoat grew short before and her stays they would not meet.
When evening bells rung and evening birds sung and all men were bound to rest,
the King came in to Lady Diamond’s bower, he was an unwelcome guest.

He drew the curtain round about and there he sat him down,
‘Rise up, rise up, Lady Diamond’ he says, ‘for I fear you grow too round.
Oh was it a Duke or was it a Lord, or a Baron of high degree,
Or was it William my kitchen boy? Tell now the truth to me’.

‘Oh it wasn’t a Duke and it wasn’t a Lord, nor a Baron of high degree,
But it was William, your bonnie kitchen boy, whom I love most tenderly’.
‘Go call to me my merry men all, that I pay meat and fee,
And bid them take out this kitchen boy, and kill him presently’.

He’s taken out her bonnie kitchen boy, and killed him on the plain,
And his hair was like the threads of gold, his eyes like crystal stone.
The King’s taken out this bonnie boy’s heart, put it in a cup of gold,
‘Take that to Lady Diamond he says, for she’s impudent and bold’.

She’s taken out this golden cup, and held it in her hand,
Saying ‘better loved I my bonnie kitchen boy than all my father’s land’.
She’s taken the cup up in her hand, laid it down at her bed head,
And she’s washed it with the tears that ran from her eyes,
Ere midnight she was dead.

I picked up this song when I was very young from my Father singing it around the house. He learned it from a tape made by Len Graham and Joe Holmes: Chaste Muses, Bards and Sages. A beautiful recording and one of my favourites to this day.

Well it happened for to be, on a cold winter’s evening
A fair maid sat waiting alone,
She was thinking of her father, likewise her aging mother,
And also her true lover John.

Now Johnny he was sweet, and he promised for to meet,
But he tarried an hour too long,
He met with sad delay which caused him for to stray,
And she weary waiting all alone.

Now Johnny came at last and he found the door was fast,
So he slowly, slowly tinkled at the pane,
This young maid she arose and hurried on her clothes,
In order to let young Johnny in.

Well he took her in his arms and off to bed they went,
And there they lay talking of their plans,
‘I wish’, this maid said she, ‘this night would prove to be,
As long since the world first began’.

‘Fly up, oh fly up, my pretty little cock,
And don’t crow until it breaks day,
And your cage it shall be made of the very shining gold,
And your wings out of the silvery grey’.

But this pretty little cock, so cruel as he was,
He crowed out an hour to soon,
And he sent my love away, before the break of day,
It being only the light of the moon.

Well this fair maid she arose and quickly follows after,
Saying ‘when will you come to see me?’
‘When the fishes they do fly, and the seas they all run dry,
And seven moons shine brightly o’er yon lea’.

There was once I thought my love was as constant on to me,
As the stones that lie under yon ground,
But now since I do find he has altered his mind,
I would rather live single than be bound’.

This version comes from a recording of Brigid Tunney I heard in the ITMA in Dublin. I loved how she plays with the phrasing and the intonation. She has an incredible voice and style and it is well worth a visit to the archives to hear her original rendition of this song.

With my dog and gun through the blooming heather,
To seek for pastime I took my way,
Where I beheld a lovely fair one,
Her charms invited me a while to stay.
Said I ‘my darling, you will find I love you,
Tell me your dwelling and your name also’,
‘Excuse my name and you’ll find my dwelling near
The mountain streams where the moorcocks crow’.

Said I ‘my darling, if you’ll love a rover
My former raking I will leave aside.
Here is my hand and I’ll pledge my honour,
If you’ll prove constant I’ll make you my bride’.
‘If my parents knew that I loved a rover,
Great affliction I would undergo.
I’ll stop at home for another season near
The mountain streams where the moorcocks crow’.

‘Then farewell darling for another season,
I hope we’ll meet in yon woodland way,
And when we meet we’ll embrace each other,
I’ll pay attention to your lovesick tale.
It’s hand in hand we will join together,
And I’ll escort you to you valley low,
‘Where the linnets sing their sweet notes so pleasing near
The mountain streams where the moorcocks crow’.

Another song my father used to sing at home when I was very small. This was one of the first songs I learned as a child, along with Long Lankin. He heard it from Len Graham who recorded it on the album Wind and Water.

My Willie sailed on board a tender,
And where he’s bound I do not know.
For seven long years I have constantly waited
Since he crossed the bay of Biscay-O.

One night as Mary lay a-sleeping,
A voice she heard at her bedroom door,
Saying ‘arise, arise my own dear Mary,
‘til you catch one glimpse of your Willie-O’.

So Mary rose, drew on her clothes
And from her bedroom she did go,
It was there she spied her Willie standing
And his two cheeks as white as the snow.

‘Oh Willie dear, where are your blushes?
The ones you had long years ago?’
‘Oh Mary dear, the salt seas have claimed them,
I’m only the ghost of your Willie-O’.

‘And now my dear I must be going,
For I fear the cock is about to crow’.
And when she saw him disappearing
Down her cheeks the tears did flow.

‘Oh had I all the gold and money,
And all the silver in Mexico,
I would grant it all to some bold sea captain,
To bring me back my Willie-O’.

The melody I’ve used for this song comes from another recording of Robert Cinnamond, held in the ITMA. When researching the lyrics of the song I stumbled across an article by Jürgen Kloss on justanothertune.com. Within the article are texts and reproductions of several versions of the song. The words I have used here come from An Album of Street Literature, from the Bodleian Library’s online collection (Broadside Ballads Online).

Oh it’s of a brisk young highway man a story I will tell,
His name was Willie Brennan and in Ireland he did dwell,
It was on the Limerick mountain he commenced his wild career,
And many’s the wealthy nobleman before him shook with fear.

A brace of loaded pistols he carried night and day,
He never robbed a poor man upon the King’s highway,
But when he had taken from the rich, like Turpin and Black Bess,
He always did divide it with a widow in distress.

Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor,
Bold and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor.

One day he robbed a pack man, his name was the Pedlar Brown,
They walked along together ‘til the day began to dawn,
The pedlar seeing his money gone, likewise his watch and chain,
He at one encountered Brennan and he robbed him back again.

Now Brennan seeing the pedlar was as good a man as he,
He took him on the highway, his companion for to be.
The pedlar threw away his pack without any delay,
And proved a loyal comrade until his dying day.

Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor,
Bold and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor.

One day upon the highway as Willie he sat down,
He met the Mayor of Cashel one mile outside the town,
The Mayor knew his features, ‘I think young man’ says he,
‘Your name is Willie Brennan, you must come along with me’.

Now Brennan’s wife had gone to town, provisions for to buy,
And when she saw her Willie she began to weep and cry,
He said ‘give me that tenpenny’, and just as Willie spoke,
She handed him the blunderbuss from underneath her cloak.

Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor,
Bold and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor.

Now it’s with this loaded blunderbuss the truth I will unfold,
He made the Mayor to tremble and he robbed him of his gold,
One hundred pounds was offered for his apprehension there,
And with his horse and saddle to the mountain did repair.

Now Brennan being an outlaw upon the mountain high,
With cavalry and infantry to take him they did try,
He laughed at them with scorn until at length ‘tis said,
By a false hearted young man, he was falsely betrayed.

Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor,
Bold and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor.

In the county of Tipperary in a place they call Clonmore,
Willie Brennan and his comrade, they did suffer sore,
He lay amongst the fern which lay thick upon the field,
Nine wounds he did receive before that he did yield.

Now Brennan and his comrade knowing that they were betrayed,
They with the mounted cavalry a noble battle made,
He lost his foremost finger, it was shot off by a ball,
And Brennan and his comrade they were taken after all.

Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor,
Bold and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor.

So they were taken prisoner in strong irons they were bound,
And conveyed to Clonmel jail, strong walls did them surround,
They were tried and found guilty and the judge made this reply,
‘For robbing on the King’s highway you are both condemned to die’.

Farewell unto my wife and unto my children three,
Likewise my aging father, he may shed tears for me,
And to my loving mother, who tore her grey locks and cried,
Saying ‘I wish, Willie Brennan, in your cradle you had died’.

Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor,
Bold and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor.

Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor,
Bold and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor.