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Bantry Bay Lyrics. As I'm sitting all alone in the gloaming, It might have been but yesterday. That we watched the fisher sails all homing. Till the little herring fleet at anchor lay. Then the fisher girls with baskets a swinging, Came running down the old stone way. Every lassie to her sailor lad was singing.
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Till the music floated down the wooden pier. Save you kindly, colleens all, said the piper. Hands across and trip it while I play. And the tender sound of song and merry dancing, Stole softly over Bantry Bay. 3. As I'm sitting all alone in the gloaming, The showdows of the past draw near. And I see the lovely faces round me.
At the harvest fair she'll be surely there. So I'll dress in my Sunday clothes, With my shoes shone bright and my hat cocked right. for a smile of a nut brown rose. No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke. 'Til my plough is rust coloured brown. 'Til a smiling bride, by my own fireside. Sits the star of the County Down.
Ah welcome back to Bantry Bay. 2. Then we heard the pipers sweet note tuning, And all the lassies turned to hear. As they mingled with a soft voice crooning. Till the music floated down the wooden pier. Save you kindly, colleens all, said the piper Hands across and trip it while I play. And the tender sound of song and merry dancing, Stole ...
As I'm sitting alone in the gloaming The shadows of the past draw near. And I see the loving faces round me That used to glad the old brown pier. Some are gone upon their last homing Some are left but they are old and gray, And we're waiting for the tide in the gloaming, To sail upon the Great Highway, To the land of rest unending, All peacefully from Bantry Bay.
Stole softly over Bantry Bay. As I'm sitting alone in the gloaming. The shadows of the past draw near. And I see the loving faces round me. That used to glad the old brown pier. Some are gone upon their last homing. Some are left but they are old and gray, And we're waiting for the tide in the gloaming, To sail upon the Great Highway,
Stole softly over Bantry Bay. As I'm sitting all alone in the gloaming, The shawdows of the past draw near. And I see the lovely faces round me. That used to glad the old front pier. Some have gone upon their last logged homing, Some are left, but they are old and grey. And we're waiting for the tide in the gloaming.
