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Celtic Lyrics Corner > Compilations > Voices Of Celtic Women 1 > The Tinkerman's Daughter
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Lyrics:
The wee birds were lining the bleak autumn branches
Preparing to fly to a far, sunny shore
When the Tinkers made camp at a bend in the river
Coming back from the horse fair in Ballinasloe
Now the harvest being over, the farmer came walking
All along the Foyle River that borders his land
And it was there he first saw her 'twixt firelight and water
The Tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Anne
Next morning he rose from a night without resting
He went straight tae her father and he made his case known
And in a pub in Listowel they worked out a bargain
For the Tinker, a pony; for the daughter, a home
Where the trees cast their shadows along the Foyle River
The Tinker and the farmer inspected the land
And the white, gallant wild pony was the price they agreed on
For the Tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Anne
The wedding soon over, the Tinkers departed
And they were eager tae travel on south down the road
But the crunch of the iron-shod wheels upon gravel
Was as bitter to her as the way she'd been sold
But she tried hard to please him, she did all his bidding
She slept in his bed and she worked on his land
But the walls of that cabin pressed tighter and tighter
On the Tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Anne
For as white as the hands of the priest or the hangman
The snow spread its blanket the next Christmas 'round
And the Tinkerman's daughter slipped out from his bedside
Turned her back on the land and her face to the town
And it's said someone saw her at dusk that same evening
She was making her way out o'er Laoiracrumpan
Aye, and that was the last time the settlefolk saw her
The Tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Anne
Where the North Kerry hills cut the Foyle near Listowel
At a farm on its banks lives a bitter old man
And he swears by the shotgun he keeps at his bedside
That he'll kill any Tinker that camps on his land
Yet whenever he hears iron-shod wheels crunch on gravel
Or a horse in the shafts of a bright caravan
Then his day's work's tormented and his night's sleep's demented
By the Tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Anne
