The Star of the County Down
By Cathal McGarvey     I had always thought this was a traditional, but I saw an author given in a book I found.  It is one of my favorites.

Am                                                 C            G
Near to Bainbridge town In the County Down,
         Am          F     G
On a morning in July
               Am                                   C            G
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen
                  Am                       F     G  Am
And she smiled as she passed me by.
                  C                                   G
Oh she looked so neat from her two white feet
                  Am           F                G
To the sheen of her nut brown hair
                Am                         F           G
Such a coaxing elf, I’d to shake myself
              Am               F   G    Am
To be sure she was really there.

                                 C                          G
Chorus:   Oh from Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay          Quay = kay
                  Am            F            G
And from Galway to Dublin Town
       Am                                    F           G
No maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen
           Am             F   G    Am
That I met in the County Down.

Am                                    C            G
As she onward sped I shook my head
           Am                 F           G
And I gazed with a feeling queer
          Am                       C          G
And I said, says I, to a passer by
                     Am                  F     G     Am
“Who’s the maid with the nut brown hair?”
                C                                  G
Oh, he smiled at me and with pride says he
                    Am              F              G
“She’s the gem of old Ireland’s crown,
             Am                      F           G
Young Rosie McGann from the banks of the Bann
                 Am             F   G    Am
She’s the star of the County Down.”    Chorus

Am                                           C        G
At the harvest fair, she’ll be surely there
              Am               F           G
And I’ll dress in my Sunday clothes
           Am                                      C          G
And I’ll try sheep’s eyes and deludering lies
             Am               F     G     Am
On the heart of the nut brown rose.
       C                               G
No pipe I’ll smoke, no horse I’ll yoke
                      Am              F              G
Though my plough with rust turns brown
          Am                              F         G
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
             Am               F   G    Am
Sits the star of the County Down.      Chorus
 

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