Annotation:Dance Light for My Heart Lies Under Your Feet

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X:1 T:Dance light for my heart lies under your feet M:6/8 L:1/8 R:Air S:Lover - The Lyrics of Ireland (1858) K:Amix g|A>AA d2f|ede d2f|A>AA dde|fdB BAd| A>AA d2f/f/|ede d2 f/f/|agf g2 e/e/|fdB BAA| agf g2 e/e/|fed e2f|agf g2 e/e/|fdB BAA| agf g2 e/e/|fed e2f|A>AA g e/e/|fdB B2A:||

DANCE LIGHT FOR MY HEART LIES UNDER YOUR FEET. AKA and see "Bímíd ag Ól (1)," "Gilibeart Mhac Fhlannchadha", "Jackson's Humours of Panteen," annotation:Humors of Panteen (The)", "Pis ar an iarta," "Whish Cat from Under the Table," "Huish the Cat" ({H}Uis an cat), "Foxy Mary," "Whip the cat from under the Table," "Drive the cat, etc.," "Peas on the Hearth," "Last Night's Fun," "Katty Quin." Irish, Air. The song "Dance Light for My Heart Lies Under Your Feet" was composed by John Francis Waller (1809-1894) set to the tune "Huish the cat from under the table." A version was printed in Samuel Lover's Lyrics of Ireland (Houlston & Wright, London 1858), and begins:

Ah, sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from that wheel?,
Your neat little foot will be weary from spinning;
Come trip down with me to the sycamore tree,
Half the parish is there and the dance is beginning.
The sun has gone down, but the full harvest moon
Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened valley;
While all the air rings with soft loving things
Each little bird sings in the green shaded valley.

One is reminded of the title of this tune in this anecdote, unearthed (as it were) by Seán Donnelly from Edward Sullivan (ed,), Buck Whaley's memoirs, including his trip to Jerusalem ... (London 1906), p. xxviii :

Thomas 'Buck' Whaley (1766-1800), renowned in late eighteenth-century Dublin for his famous trip to Jerusalem - which won him £15000 and the nickname 'Jerusalem' - died in mysterious circumstances on 2 November 1800 at The George Inn, Knutsford, Cheshire, while on his way from Liverpool to London: 'A strange circumstance ... took place just before his funeral. The body had been placed in a leaden coffin and brought into the old assembly rooms, and the workmen had just made up the coffin, when Mr. Robinson, an Irish man, who was also a dancing-master of that day, stepping upon the coffin, danced a hornpipe over the body.'

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