Luyện nghe bài hát The Bard of Armagh

Oh list to the lay of a poor harper
And scorn not the strains of his old, withered
But remember his fingers, they once move sharper
To up the memory of his dear native land

At a or a wake, I could twist my shillelagh
Or trip through a jig my brogues bound with straw
And all the pretty colleens around me
Loved bold Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh

Oh, how I to muse on the days of my boyhood
But score and three years have flitted since then
But bring sweet reflections, as every young joy should
For, the merry hearted boys the best of old men

And sergeant death, in his cold arms shall embrace me
And me to sleep with sweet Erin go bragh
By the side of my Kathleen, my wife then place me
Then forget Phelim Brady, the bard of