The Rose of Allendale (trad.) I love Mary Black's rendition of this, and wanted to record it. I am 1/32nd Irish (doing the math: My great grandmother was 1/2 Irish) and about half Scottish.


The morn was fair, the skies were clear
No breath came o'er the sea
When Mary left her highland home
And wandered forth with me
Though flowers decked the mountainside
And fragrance filled the vale
By far the sweetest flower there
Was the rose of Allendale

Sweet rose of Allendale, sweet rose of Allendale

By far the sweetest flower there was the rose of Allendale

Where'er I wandered east or west,
Tho' faith began to lour
A solace still she was to me
In sorrow's lonely hour
When tempest lashed our lonely barque
And rent her shivring sail
One maiden form withstood the storm
'Twas the rose of Allendale

And when my fever'd lips were parched
On Afric's burning sands
She whispered hopes of happiness
And tales of distant lands
My life has been a wilderness
Unblessed by fortune's gale
Had faith not linked my lot to hers
The rose of Allendale