7b99778f67
Improve merge_chord_lyric() to snap chord positions to the start
of the word they fall within, instead of splitting words mid-way.
Fixes artifacts like "Liebespaar \chord{C}e" → "\chord{C}Liebespaare".
Co-Authored-By: Claude Opus 4.6 (1M context) <noreply@anthropic.com>
62 lines
2.1 KiB
TeX
62 lines
2.1 KiB
TeX
\begin{song}{
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title = {Star of County Down},
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lyrics = {Cathal McGarvey, eine von der deutschen Fassung abweichende Version (Text und Akkorde) ist hier abgedruckt.},
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cl = 256,
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barde = 224,
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libock = 264,
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}
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\begin{verse}
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Near \chord{e}Banbridge Town in the \chord{G}County \chord{D}Down \\
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one \chord{G}morning \chord{e}last \chord{D}July, \\
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Down a \chord{e}boreen green came a sweet \chord{G}Colleen. \\
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And she \chord{G}smiled as she \chord{C}passed me \chord{D}by. \\
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Oh, she \chord{G}looked so sweet \\
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from her \chord{a}two white feet. \\
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To the \chord{G}sheen of her \chord{e}nut-brown \chord{D}hair. \\
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Such a \chord{e}coaxing elf, I‘d to \chord{G}shake \chord{D}myself. \\
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To make \chord{e}sure I was \chord{D}standing \chord{e}there.
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\end{verse}
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\begin{verse}
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/: From \chord{G}Bantry Bay up to \chord{a}Derry Quay \\
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and from \chord{G}Galway to \chord{e}Dublin \chord{D}town, \\
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No maid \chord{e}I've seen like the \chord{G}fair \chord{D}colleen, \\
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that I \chord{e}met in the \chord{D}County \chord{e}Down. :/
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\end{verse}
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\begin{verse}
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As she onward sped I shook my head \\
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And I gazed with a feeling quare, \\
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And I said‘, says I to a passer-by. \\
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Who’s the maid with the nut-brown hair?‘ \\
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Oh, he smiled at me, and with pride says he, \\
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That’s the gem of Ireland’s crown. \\
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She’s young Rosie McCann, from the banks of the Bann \\
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She’s the star of the County Down.‘
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\end{verse}
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\begin{verse}
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I’ve travelled a bit, but never was hit, \\
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Since my roving career began; \\
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But fair and square I surrendered there \\
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To the charm of young Rose McCann. \\
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With a heart to let and no tenant yet \\
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Did I meet within shawl or gown \\
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But in she went and I asked no rent \\
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From the star of the County Down.
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\end{verse}
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\begin{verse}
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At the harvest fair I’ll be surely there \\
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And I’ll dress in my Sunday clothes, \\
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And I’ll try sheep's eyes and deludhering lies \\
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On the heart of the nut-brown Rose. \\
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No pipe I’ll smoke, no horse I’ll yoke \\
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Though my plough with rust turns brown \\
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Till a smiling bride by my own fireside \\
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Sits the Star of the County Down.
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\end{verse}
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\end{song}
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