Story Behind The Song

A traditional tune learned from Clancy Brothers/Tommy Makem.

Song Description

A Faust-like song-story about a fella who sells his soul for a bottomless jug of poitin.

Lyrics

Cruiscin Lan

Let the farmer praise his grounds,
Let the huntsman praise his hounds,
Let the shepherd praise his dewey scented lawn.
Oh, but I'm more wise that they,
Spend each happy night and day
With my darlin' little cruiscin lan,lan, lan.
My darlin' little cruiscin lan.

O gradh mo chroide mo cruiscin
Slainte geal Mauverneen.
Gradh mo chroide mo cruiscin lan, lan, lan.
O gradh mo chroide mo cruiscin lan.

(Phonetics:
O graw mo kree mo kroosh-keen
Slawn-ta gal Moh-vor-neen.
Graw me kree mo kroosh-keen, lawn, lawn, lawn.
O graw mo kree mo kroosh-keen, lawn, lawn, lawn.)

Immortal and divine, King Bacchus, god of wine.
Create me by adoption your own son.
In hopes that you'll comply
That my glass will ne'er run dry.
Nor my darlin' little cruiscin lan, lan, lan.
My darlin' little cruiscin lan. (chorus).

Oh, when cruel death appears,
In a few, but happy years,
You'll say, "Oh won't you come along with me?"
I'll say, "Begone, you knave,
For King Bacchus gave me lave
To take another cruiscin lan, lan, lan.
To take another cruiscin lan. (chorus).

Then fill your glasses high
Let's not part with lips so dry,
For the lark, he now proclaims it is the dawn.
And since we can't remain.
May we shortly meet again.
To fill another cruiscin lan, lan, lan.
To fill another cruiscin lan. (chorus).