The Bard of Armagh is an Irish

Ireland

Ireland is an island to the northwest of continental Europe. It is the third-largest island in Europe and the twentieth-largest island on Earth...

 ballad. It is often attributed to Patrick Donnelly. He was made Bishop of Dromore

Bishop of Dromore

The Bishop of Dromore is an episcopal title which takes its name after the market town of Dromore in County Down, Northern Ireland. In the Roman Catholic Church the title still continues as a separate bishopric, but in the Church of Ireland it has been united with other bishoprics.-History:The...

 in 1697, the same year as the enactment of the Bishops Banishment Act

Banishment Act

The Banishment Act was an Act of the Parliament of Ireland , one of a series of penal laws passed in 1697 that banished all bishops of the Roman Catholic Church from Ireland to protect the official state church, the Church of Ireland...

. Donnelly is believed to have taken the name of the travelling harper Phelim Brady.

According to the Catholic Encyclopedia

Catholic Encyclopedia

The Catholic Encyclopedia, also referred to as the Old Catholic Encyclopedia and the Original Catholic Encyclopedia, is an English-language encyclopedia published in the United States. The first volume appeared in March 1907 and the last three volumes appeared in 1912, followed by a master index...

, however, Donnelly is listed in the government's register of "popish" clergy, dated 1704, as a priest in Newry

Newry

Newry is a city in Northern Ireland. The River Clanrye, which runs through the city, formed the historic border between County Armagh and County Down. It is from Belfast and from Dublin. Newry had a population of 27,433 at the 2001 Census, while Newry and Mourne Council Area had a population...

, Co. Armagh.

The song itself, like many heroic, rebel outlaw ballads, dates from the mid 19th century. The same melody is used in the songs "The Sailor Cut Down in his Prime" and "The Streets of Laredo".

Lyrics

Oh list' to the lay of a poor Irish harper,
And scorn not the strings in his old withered hands,
But remember those fingers, they once could move sharper,
To raise up the strains of his dear native land.

It was long before the shamrock, dear Isle's lovely emblem,
Was crushed in its beauty by the Saxon's lion paw,
And all the pretty colleens around me would gather,
Called me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

How I love to muse on the days of my boyhood,
Though four score and three years have fled by since then.
Still it gives sweet reflection, as every young joys should,
For the merry-hearted boys make the best of old men.

At a fair or a wake I would twist my shillelagh,
And trip through a dance with my brogues tied with straw.
There all the pretty maidens around me would gather,
Called me their bold Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.

In truth I have wandered this wide world over,
Yet Ireland's my home and a dwelling for me.
And, oh, let the turf that my old bones shall cover
Be cut from the land that is trod by the free.

And when Sergeant Death in his cold arms doth embrace me,
And lulls me to sleep with old 'Erin-go-Bragh',
By the side of my Kathleen, my dear pride, oh, place me,
Then forget Phelim Brady, the Bard of Armagh.