Author: David Gilfillan

Sound the pibroch loud and high
Frae John o’ Groats tae Isle o’ Skye
Let every clan their slogan cry
Rise and follow Charlie

Chorus.

Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham
Rise and follow Charlie.

See that small devoted band
By dark Loch Shiel they’ve made their stand
And bravely vowed wi’ heart and hand
To rise and follow Charlie.

From every hill and every glen
Are gatherin’ fast the loyal men
They grasp their dirks and shout again
Hurrah for Royal Charlie.

On dark Culloden’s field of gore
Hark they shout Claymore, Claymore
They bravely fight what can they more
They die for Royal Charlie.

No more we’ll see such deeds again
Deserted is each Highland glen
And lonely cairns are o’er the men
Wha’ fought and died for Charlie

Coorie doon, coorie doon, coorie doon, my darling
Coorie doon the day
Coorie doon, coorie doon, coorie doon, my darling
Coorie doon the day

Lie down, my dear, and in your ear
To help you close your eye
I’ll sing a song, a slumber song
A miner’s lullaby

Your daddy’s doon the mine, my darling
Doon in the curbly main
Your daddy’s howkin’ coal, my darling
For his ain wee wean

There’s darkness doon the mine my darling
Darkness, dust and damp
But we must have oor heat, oor light
Oor fire and our lamp

Your daddy coories doon, my darling
Doon in a three foot seam
So you can coorie doon my darling
Coorie doon and dream

My heart was ance as blyth and free

As Summer days were lang

But a bonnie westlin weaver lad

Has gart me change my song

Chorus.

Tae the weavers gin ye go fair maid

Tae the weaver’ gin ye go

I rede ye richt, gang ne’er at nicht 

Tae the weavers gin ye go

.

My mither sent me tae the toon

Tae warp a plaiden wab

But the weary weary warpin o’t

Has gart me sigh and sab

.

A bonnie weslin weaver lad

Sat workin at his loom

He took my heart as wi a net

In every knot a thrum

.

I sat beside my warpin-wheel

And ay I ca’d it roun

But every shot and every knock

My heart it gae a stoun.

.

The moon was sinkin in the west

Wi’ visage pale and wan

As my bonnie weslin weaver lad

convoy’d me thro the glen

.

But what was said or what was done

Shame fa’ me gin I tell

But Oh, I fear the kintra soon

Will ken as weel’s mysel.

Oh I niver had but twa richt lads
Aye twa richt lads, twa richt bonnie lads
I niver had but twa richt lads
That dearly courted me

Chorus

Gin I were whaur the gaudie rins
Whaur the gaudie rins, whaur the gaudie rins
Gin I were whaur the gaudie rins
At the back o’ Bennachie

And ane was killed at the laurin’ fair
The laurin’ fair, at the laurin’ fair
Oh ane was killed at the laurin’ fair
The ither was droont in the Dee

And I gave to him the haunin’ fine
The haunin’ fine, the haunin’ fine
Gave to him the haunin’ fine
His mornin’ dressed tae be

Well, he gave to me the linen fine
The linen fine, the linen fine
Gave to me the linen fine
Me windin’ sheet tae be

Well, oh gin I were whaur the gaudie rins
Wi’ the bonny broom an’ the yellow whims
Gin I were whaur the gaudie rins
At the back o’ Bennachie

As I came in by Dunideer an doon by Netherhaw

There were fifty thoosand heilan men a marchin tae Harlaw

For we went on an further on and doon by Balquhain

Oh it’s there I saw Sir James the Rose and wi him John the Graeme

Chorus

Singin diddy ay o an a fal an doe

and a diddy aye o aye ay

And did ye cam frae the heilans man and did ye cam ah the wey

And ye see MacDonalds and his men as they cam doon frae Skye

For a cam frae the heilans man and I cam ah the wey

And I saw MacDonald and his men and they marched dood frae Skye

Wis ye near and near eneuch and did their numbers see

Cam tell tae me ye heilan man what might their numbers be

I was near and near eneuch and I their numbers saw

There were fifty thousand heilan men a marchin tae Harlaw

Gin that be true says James the Rose we’ll no cam muckle speed

we’ll cry upon wir merry men and turn wir horse’s heid

Oh na o na says John the Graeme this can never be

The gallant Greames wis nivver beat we’ll try fit we can dai

Lord Forbes tae his brither did say “noo brither can’t ye see

They’ve beaten us back an ilka side and we’ll be forced tae flee”

“Oh na, o na” says John the Graeme “This thing will nivver be”

“ Ye’ll take yer gid sword in yer hand and ye’ll gang in we me”

Them that was brothers brave went in amongst the thrang

They swathed doon the heilan men wi swords baith sharp and lang

An’ the firstan stroke that the Forbes struck, he gart MacDonald reel

an’ the neistan stroke that Forbes struck , the brave MacDonald fell.

When the cry among the heilan men when they saw their leader fa

And when they saw that he wis dead they turned and ran awa.

How often haunting the highest hilltops
I scan the ocean i sail tae sea
Wilt come tonight love wilt come tomorrow
Wilt ever come love to comfort me?

Chorus
Fhear a bhata no horo eil’e
Fhear a bhata no horo eil’e
Fhear a bhata no horo eil’e
Oh fare thee well love where e’er you be

They call thee fickle they call thee false one
And seek tae change me but all in vain
For thou art my dream a through the dark night
And every morning i scan the sea

Fear a bhata no horo eil’e…

There’s not a hamlet too well i know it
Where you go wandering or set a while
But all the old folks you win wi’ talking
And charm it’s maidens with song and smile

Fhear a bhata no horo eil’e…

Do you remember the promise made me
The tartan plaidie the silken gown
The ring of gold with thy hair and portrait
That gown and ring i will never know

My love was born in Aberdeen, 
The bonniest lad that e’er was seen; 
But now he makes our hearts fu’ sad, 
He’s taen the field wi’ his white cockade.

Chorus.
O he’s a rantin, rovin blade, 
He’s a brisk and a bonny lad, 
Betide what may, my heart is glad, 
To see my lad wi his white cockade.

Oh leeze me on the philabeg
The hairy hough and garten’d leg; 
But aye the thing that blinds my ee, 
The white cockade aboun the bree.

I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel, 
My rippling-kame and spinning wheel, 
To buy my lad a tartan plaid, 
A braidsword, dirk, and white cockade.

I’ll sell my rokelay and my tow, 
My good grey mare and hawkit cow, 
That every loyal Buchan lad
May tak the field wi the white cockade.

n days gone by, when the world was much younger

Men harnessed the wind to work for mankind

Seamen built tall ships to sail on the ocean

While landsmen built wheels the corn for to grind

Chorus

And around and around and around went the big sail

Turning the shaft and the great wooden wheel

Creaking and Groaning , the millstones kept turning

Grinding to flour the good corn from the field 

In Flanders and Spain and the lowlands of Holland

And the kingdoms of England Scotland and Wales

Windmills sprang up all along the wild coastline

Ships of the land and their high canvas sails 

In Lancashire, lads work hard at the good earth

Ploughing and sowing as the seasons declare

Waiting to reap all the rich, golden harvest

While the miller is idle, his mill to repair

Windmills of wood all blackened by weather

Windmills of stone, glaring white in the sun

Windmills like giants all ready for tilting

Windmills that died in the gales and the sun.

n days gone by , when the world was much younger

Men harnessed the wind to work for mankind

Seaman built tall ships to sail on the ocean

While landsmend built wheels the corn for to grind

Chorus

And Around and around went the big sail

Turning the shaft and the great wooden wheel

Creaking and groaning, the millstones kept turning 

Grinding to flour the good corn from the field

.

In Flanders and Spain and the lowlands of Holland

And the kingdoms of England and Scotland and Wales

Windmills sprang up all along the wild coastline

Ships of the land with their high canvas sails

.

In Lancashire, lads work hard at the good earth

Ploughing and sowing as the seasons declare

Waiting to reap all the rich, golden harvest

While the miller is idle, his mill to repair

.

Windmills of wood all blackened by weather

Windmills of stone, glaring white in the sun

Windmills like giants all ready for tilting

Windmilla that died in the gales and the sun 

The standard on the Braes o’ Mar is up and streaming rarely
The gathering pipe on Lochnagar is sounding loud and cleary
The Hieland men, frae hill and glen
Wi marchal hue and bonnet blue
We belted plaids and burnished blades
Are coming late and early

Oor Prince has made a noble vow tae free his country fairly
Wha wid be a traitor noo tae ane we loo sae dearly?
We’ll go, we’ll go and seek the foe
On land or sea, where e’er they be
And man tae man and in the van
We’ll win or die wi’ Cherlie

I saw oor Chief come o’er the hill wi’ Drummond and Glengarry
And through the pass came brave Locheil, Panmure and gallant Murray
MacDonald’s men, Clanranald’s men
MacKenzie’s men, MacGilivery’s men
Strathallen’s men, the Lowland’s men
Callander and Airley

Cry Ronald up and lets awa we can no longer Tarry 

Jamies Back is tae the wall the lad we loo sai dearly

Well go and go and meet the foe 

and fling the blade and swing the blade

over dash and hack and slash 

and play the German hardy.

The standard on the Braes o’ Mar is up and streaming rarely
The gathering pipe on Lochnagar is sounding loud and cleary
The Hieland men, frae hill and glen
Wi marchal hue and bonnet blue
We belted plaids and burnished blades
Are coming late and early