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Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.
Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.
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The banks of my own lovely Lee
Oh how oft do my thoughts in their fancy take flight
In the Irish folk-song The banks of my own lovely Lee a man fondly reflects on his childhood and the beauty of his native land. The River Lee flows through Cork and the song is known as the anthem of the 'Rebel County' of Cork. Though this nickname originated in the 15th century, it is most often associated with the prominent role which County Cork played in the Irish War of Independence (1919-1921). Dr Geoffrey Webber arranged this folk-song to be performed by the Caius Choir at College Feasts, following in the tradition of his three predecessors—Charles Wood, Patrick Hadley and Peter Tranchell.
Oh how oft do my thoughts in their fancy take flight to the home of my childhood away, to the days when each patriot’s vision seem’d bright ere I dreamed that those joys should decay. When my heart was as light as the wild winds that blow down the Mardyke through each elm tree, where I sported and play’d ‘neath each green leafy shade on the banks of my own lovely Lee.
And then in the springtime of laughter and song can I ever forget the sweet hours? With the friends of my youth as we rambled along ‘mongst the green mossy banks and wild flowers. Then too, when the evening sun’s sinking to rest shed its golden light over the sea the maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed on the banks of my own lovely Lee.
‘Tis a beautiful land this dear isle of song its gems shed their light to the world, and ye faithful sons bore thro’ ages of wrong, the standard St. Patrick unfurled. Oh! Would I were there with the friends I love best and my fond bosom’s partner with me we’d roam thy banks over, and when weary we’d rest by thy waters, my own lovely Lee.
Oh! What joys should be mine ere this life should decline to seek shells on thy sea-girdled shore. While the steel-feathered eagle, oft splashing the brine brings longing for freedom once more. Oh! All that on earth I wish for or crave that my last crimson drop be for thee, to moisten the grass on my forefathers’ grave, on the banks of my own lovely Lee.