1. |
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2. |
The Wandering Bard
03:41
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Chill the wintry winds were blowing,
Foul the murky night was snowing,
Through the storm the minstrel, bowing,
Sought the inn on yonder moor.
All within was warm and cheery,
All without was cold and dreary,
There the wand'rer, old and weary,
Thought to pass the night secure.
Softly rose his mournful ditty,
Suiting to his tale of pity;
But the master, scoffing, witty,
Check'd Inns strain with scornful jeer:
"Hoary vagrant, frequent comer,
Canst thou guide thy gains of summer?—
No, thou old intruding thrummer,
Thou canst have no lodging here."
Slow the bard departed, sighing;
Wounded worth forbade replying;
One last feeble effort trying,
Faint he sunk no more to rise.
Through his harp the breeze sharp ringing,
Wild his dying dirge was singing,
While his soul, from insult springing,
Sought its mansion in the skies.
Now, though wintry winds be blowing,
Night be foul, with raining, snowing,
Still the trav'ller, that way going,
Shuns the inn upon the moor
Though within 'tis warm and cheery,
Though without 'tis cold and dreary,
Still he minds the minstrel weary,
Spurn'd from that unfriendly door.
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3. |
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Theàlaich òig a’ chualain chiataich
Thug mi gaol dhut ‘s cha ghaol bliadhna;
Gaol nach tugainn do dhiùc no dh’ iarla –
B’ fheàrr leam fhìn nach fhaca mi riamh thu.
Sèist:
Hillirinn hò ro, hò bha hò
‘S na hillirinn hò ro, hò bha hì;
Na hillirinn hò ro, hò bha hò
Mo lionn-dubh mòr on chaidh thu dhìom.
Shiùbhlainn moch leat, shiùbhlainn anmoch,
Air feadh choilltean, chreagan ‘s gharbhlach;
O, gur h-e mo rùn an sealgair,
‘s tum o roghainn de shluagh na h-Alba.
Fhleasgaich ud am beul a’ ghlinne,
Led fhalt dualach sìos mud shlinnean,
B’ annsa leam na chuach bu bhinne
Nuair dhèanadh tu rium do chòmhradh milis.
Bha do phòg mar fhìon na Frainge,
Bha do ghruaidh mar bhraoileag shamhraidh;
Sùil currach ghorm fod mhala ghreannmhor,
Do chùl dualach, ruadh a mheall mi.
Theàrlaich òig, a mhich Rìgh Sheumais,
Chunna mi maoir is tòir an dèidh ort,
Iadsan gu subhach ‘s mise gu deurach,
Uisge mo chinn tighinn dlùth om lèirsinn.
Mharbh iad m’ athair ‘s mo dhà bhràthair,
Mhill iad mo chinneadh is chreach iad mo chàirdean,
Sgrios iad mo dhùthaich is rùisg iad mo mhàthair,
‘s bu lugha mo mhulad nan cinneadh le Teàrlach.
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4. |
Annan Waters
05:27
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Oh Annan Waters wondrous deep,
and my love Anne is wondrous bonny.
I'm loath that she should wet her feet
because I love her best of any.
Go saddle for me the bonny gray mare,
go saddle her and make her ready,
for I must cross the stream tonight
or nevermore I'll see my lady.
He's ridden over field and fen,
o'er moor and moss and many's the mire
but the spurs of steel were sore to bite.
Sparks from the mare's hooves flew like fire.
Oh the mare flew over moor and moss,
and when she reached the Annan Water,
she couldn't have ridden a furlong more
had a thousand whips been laid upon her.
And woe betide you, Annan Waters.
By night you are a gloomy river,
and over you I'll build a bridge,
that you no more true love can sever.
Oh boatman, put off your boat,
put off your boat for gold and money,
for I must cross the stream tonight
or never more I'll see my honey.
Oh the sides are steep, the waters deep,
from bank to bank the water's pouring,
and the bonny gray mare she sweats for fear
for she hears the water kelpie roaring.
And he has tried to swim the stream,
and he's swum on both strong and steady,
but the river was deep and strength did fail,
and nevermore he'll see his lady.
Oh woe betide the willow wand
and woe betide the brush and briar,
for they broke beneath my true love's hands
when strength did fail and limbs did tire.
And woe betide you, Annan Waters.
By night you are a gloomy river,
and over you I'll build a bridge
that you no more true love can sever.
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5. |
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6. |
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Cha tèid mi do Dhùn Èideann,
Bhon dhòirteadh fuil a’ Ghreumich
An leòmhann dìleas, treubhach,
Ga cheusadh air a’ chroich.
B’ e sud am fìor dhuin’ uasal’
Nach robh den chinneadh shuarach,
‘S bu ro mhath rugha gruaidhe
Nam tarraing suas gu trod.
Deud chailc ‘bu ro mhath dlùthadh,
Fo mhala chaoil gun mhùgaich;
Ge tric do dhreach gam dhuagadh
Cha rùisg mi ‘ chàch e ‘n nochd.
‘Mhic Neill o Assain chianail,
Nan giacainn ann am lìon thu,
Bhiodh m’ fhacal air do bhinn
Is cha dìobrainn thu o ‘n chroich.
Thu fein is d’ athair-cèile,
Fear-taigh sin na Leime,
Ged chrochte sibh le cheile,
Cha b’ èirigh air mo lochd.
Chraobh rùisgt’ den abhall bhreugach,
Gun mheas, gun chliù, gun cheutadh,
‘Bha riamh ri mort’ a chèile,
‘Nur fuigheall bheum is chorc.
Mairbhaisg ort, a mhiodhair,
Gum b’ olc a reic thu ‘m fìrean –
Airson na mine Litich
Is da-thrian d’ i goirt.
Cha tèid mi do Dhùn Èideann,
Bhon dhòirteadh fuil a’ Ghreumich
An leòmhann dìleas, treubhach,
Ga cheusadh air a’ chroich.
Translation (by Iain Dove McAfee and Alexander Dove Lempke):
Edinbro I'll not go near to,
for there Graham's blood was shed—
that lion, leal and fearsome
on the high tree gibbeted.
Not base in parts or lineage
was he, but the true knight,
his cheek red-flushed with vigor
when drawn up to the fight;
those chalk-white teeth well closing,
that brow not furled by fear;
in my restless nights I'm frozen
if that face should appear.
Oh son of grievous Assynt,
if I had you in a net,
and your fate was mine to fashion—
what mercy could you get?
Both you and Lemlair's landlord,
your vicious father-in-law,
were you both hanged on a scaffold
the grievance yet would gnaw.
Bare trees of the false orchard!
without fruit, or grace, or worth,
ever gouging after fortune
in the muck of bloodied earth;
get up, too base for scorning!
I'll see you rue that hour
that you sold the righteous warrior
for meal, and two thirds sour!
Edinbro I'll not go near,
for there Graham's blood was shed—
that lion, leal and fierce
on the high tree gibbeted.
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7. |
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8. |
The Lichtbob's Lassie
03:57
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Hum dum dum derry day,
Hum dum dum derry daddy,
Hum dum dum derry day,
for he's a bonny laddie .
First when I came to the town,
they called me young and bonny.
Now they've changed my name,
called me the Licht Bob's honey.
Next when I came to this place,
they called me young and saucy.
Now they've changed my name,
called me the Licht Bob's lassie.
(chorus)
I'll dye my petticoats red,
and face them with the yellow
I'll tell the dyster's lad,
that the Licht Bobs I'm to follow.
Some call my true love black,
and some say he's nay bonny.
But to me he's the flower of them all,
though his father had never sae money.
(chorus)
It's over hills and dales,
and over dykes and ditches
And sae weel's I like the lad
that wears the moleskin britches.
The black horse draws the cart,
and the blue one follows sae bonny.
And sae weel's I like the lad
that drives them on sae canny.
(chorus)
Feather beds are soft,
and painted rooms are bonny
But I would leave them all,
and steal away with Johnny.
Oh for Saturday night,
I'm sure I'll see my dearie,
He'll come wanderin' in,
while I am tired and weary.
(chorus)
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9. |
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Sèist:
Fill iù o ro hù o
Gur tum o chruinneag bhòidheach
Fill iù o ro hù o
‘S mise tha gu muladach
Air m’uillinn anns an t-seòmar.
‘S bochd an sgeul a fhuair mi ort
Diluain an dèidh Didòmhnaich.
Chuala mi o dh’èirich mi
An sgeula nach do chord rium:
Sgeula nach bu mhath leam
Air mo leannan a bhith pòsta;
Mise muight air cùl no tobhta
‘s ise straight a’ chòrdach;
‘g èisteachd ris na diùcannan
A’ cur do chliù an òrdugh;
‘g èisteachd ris na h-iarlachan
Gad iarraidh gus do phòsadh;
‘g èisteachd ris na tighearnan
Ag iarraidh ceart is còir ort;
‘s chuala mi na ministeirean
A’ bruidhinn air do bhòichead.
Nighean bhàn as àille dreach
Mo chreach mur faigh mi còir ort.
Dheighinn leat an ear ‘s an iar
Gun each, gun srian, gun bhòtainn.
Dheighinn a Dhùn Èideann leat
Gu sràid nan ceuman còmhnard.
Dheighinn leat a dh’ Èirinn,
Gu fèill nam mnathan òga.
Dheighinn leat a dh’ Uibhist
Far am buidheachadh an t-eòrna.
Dheighinn leat a Shlèibhte
Is nam b’ fheudar dhan an Òlaind.
Dheighinn fada, fada leat,
Cho fad’ ‘s a rachadh m’ eòlas.
Dheighinn dhan a’ ghealaich leat
Nan gealladh tu mo phòsadh.
Dheighinn dha na rionnagan
Nam biodh do chuideachd deònach.
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10. |
Tam Lin
06:35
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O I forbid you, maidens all,
That wear gold in your hair,
To come or go by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.
Janet’s tied her kirtle green,
A bit above her knee,
And she's away to Carterhaugh
As fast as go can she.
When she came to Carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she found his waiting steed,
But away was himsel.
When she began to pull the flowers,
She pu’d both red and green;
When then appeared him, young Tam Lin
Says “Lady, let alone.
Oh why you pull the rose, the rose,
Or why climb you the tree?
Or why come you to Carterhaugh
Without the leave of me?”
“O I will pull the flowers,” she said,
“Or I will break the tree,
I'll come and go by Carterhaugh,
And ask no leave at thee.”
He took her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass green sleeve,
And he has laid this lady down
Among the roses green
Out then spoke her father,
And he spoke meek and mild,
"Oh, alas, my Janet,
I think you go with child."
“Father, if I go with child,
Myself must bear the blame,
There's not a lad in all your hall,
Shall give the baby’s name.
If my lord were an earthly knight,
As he's an elfish grey,
I wouldn’t give my own true love
For any lord ye hae'”
Janet’s tied her kirtle green,
A bit above her knee,
And she's away to Carterhaugh
As fast as go can she.
“Oh tell to me, Tam Lin, she says
Why came you here to dwell?”
“The queen of fairies caught me
When from my horse I fell
"And pleasant is the fairy land, but
an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tine to hell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tine to hell,
As I am made of flesh and blood,
I'm fear it be mysel.
“The night it is good Halloween,
And the fairie folk do ride,
And they that would their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they must bide.
For some ride on the black, my love, and
some, they’ll ride on the brown,
But I’ll ride on a milk-white steed,
Pull you his rider down
"First they’ll turn me in your arms,
To an adder and a snake,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I am your earthly mate.
"Next they’ll turn me to a bear,
And then a lion wild,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
And you shall love your child.
And then I’ll grow all in your arms
Like iron in hot fire;
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
You’ll have your desire.”
Janet’s tied her kirtle green,
A bit above her knee,
And she's away to Carterhaugh
As fast as go can she.
First she let the black pass by,
And then she let the brown,
But she ran to the milk-white steed,
And pulled the rider down.
"At first he changed all in her arms,
To an adder and a snake,
She held him fast, and feared him not,
He was her earthly mate.
Then he changed all in her arms
Into a lion wild
She held him fast, and feared him not,
The father of her child
And then he changed all in her arms [Bb]
Like iron in hot fire;
She held him fast, and feared him not,
He was her heart's desire.
And then he changed all in her arms
Into a naked man,
She cast her kirtle green o’er him,
To keep him from the rain.
Out then spoke the fairy queen,
And an angry queen was she,
"Woe betide her ill-far'd face,
An ill death may she die,
"O had I known at early morn
Tam Lin would from me gone,
I’d taken out his heart of flesh
Put in a heart of stone.”
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11. |
Dark Lochnagar
04:34
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Away, ye gay landscapes, ye garden of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me the rocks, where the snowflake reposes,
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,
Round their white summits though elements war;
Though cataracts foam ‘stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Lochnagar.
Brave Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains;
I sigh for the valley of dark Lochnagar!
Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered;
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
On chieftains long perished my memory pondered,
As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade;
I sought not my home till the day’s dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star;
For fancy was cheered by traditional story,
Disclosed by the natives of dark Lochnagar
“Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?”
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
And rides on the wind, o’er his own Highland vale.
Round Lochnagar where the stormy mist gathers,
Winter presides in his cold icy car:
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;
They dwell in the tempests of dark Lochnagar.
Years have rolled on, Lochnagar, since I left you,
Years must elapse ere I tread you again:
Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you,
Yet still are you dearer than Albion’s plain.
England! thy beauties are tame and domestic
To one who has roved o’er the mountains afar:
Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic!
The steep frowning glories of the dark Lochnagar
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12. |
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13. |
Sweet William's Ghost
05:52
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As lady Margaret sat in her bowery,
in her bower all alone,
at the very parting of midnight
she heard a mournful moan.
Oh, is it my father, oh is it my mother,
oh is it my brother John?
Or is it sweet William, my own true love,
to Scotland new come home?
It is not your father, it is not your mother,
it is not your brother John,
but it is sweet William, your own true love,
to Scotland new come home.
Oh have you brought me any fine things,
any new thing for to wear,
or have you brought me a braid of lace
to snood up my golden hair?
I've brought you no fine things at all,
nor any new things to wear,
nor have I brought you a braid of lace
to snood up your golden hair.
But Margaret, dear Margaret,
I pray you speak to me,
Oh give me my faith and troth, Margaret,
as dear I gave it thee.
My faith and troth you'll never get,
nor our true love shall never twain,
till you come with me in by bower
and kiss me both cheek and chin.
My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
it has the smell now of the ground,
and if I kiss thy comely mouth,
thy life-days will not be long.
The cocks they are crowing, Margaret, he said,
the cock they are crowing again!
And it's time the dead should part the quick--
Margaret, I must begone.
She followed him high, she followed him low,
till he came to yon churchyard.
There the grave did open up,
and Sweet William he lay down.
Is there any room at your head, William,
is there any room at your feet?
Is there any room at your two sides
where fain, fain would I sleep?
There is no room at my head, Margaret,
there is no room at my feet,
and there's no room at my two sides
for ladies for to sleep.
Cold meal is my covering o'er,
and on my winding sheet,
my bed it is full low I say,
among the hungry worms I sleep.
Cold meal is my covering o'er,
and on my winding sheet,
the dew it falls no further down
than aye it is full wet.
Now Margaret's took her lily-white hand
and laid it on his breast,
saying, "Take your faith and troth, William,
God send your soul good rest,
God send your soul good rest."
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Dorain Minneapolis, Minnesota
Dòrain is a folk quartet based in the Twin Cities, playing both Scottish and Irish traditional music. They perform songs in English, Scots, and Scottish Gaelic (Gàidhlig), frequently incorporating complex vocal harmonies, and mix in a hearty dose of energetic dance tunes. ... more
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