BUNCH OF VIOLETS BLUE, A
(Irish traditional)

as recorded by Ann Breen


It was out in a moonlit garden,
Not far from the ballroom grand,
A young lad and his sweetheart
Went strolling hand in hand.
Tomorrow the war would call him,
He vowed he would be true,
Then from her dress she gave to him
A bunch of violets blue.

They were only a bunch of violets,
A bunch of violets blue,
Fresh and fair and fragrant
Like diamonds on the dew.
Fresh and fair and dainty
As he pressed them to his heart,
He smiled and said, where'er he'd roam,
From them he ne'er would part!

A soldier boy lay dying Upon the cold cold ground.
A bunch of withered violets
Upon his breast was found.
Turning to his comrades,
In a feeble voice he sighed,
"Take them back and tell her that
I wore them till I died!"

They took her withered violets,
Being on her wedding day,
An old man's gold had won her
From a soldier far away!
An old man's gold had won her
From a soldier young and tall,
And this what she said to him
That evening at the ball -

They were only a bunch of violets,
A bunch of violets blue,
Fresh and fair and fragrant
Like diamonds on the dew.
Fresh and fair and dainty
As he pressed them to his heart,
He smiled and said, where'er he'd roam,
From them he ne'er would part!
He smiled and said, where'er he'd roam,
From them he ne'er would part!




(Transcribed by Peter Akers - June 2020)