Category: Lyrics

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

Out on the Mira on warm afternoons,
Old men go fishin’ with black line and spoons.
And, if they catch nothin’, they never complain;
I wish I was with them again—

As boys in their boats call to girls on the shore,
Teasin’ the ones that they dearly adore.
And, into the ev’ning, the courting begins;
I wish I was with them again.

Chorus:
Can you imagine a piece of the universe
More fit for princes and kings?
I’ll trade you ten of your cities for Marion Bridge
And the pleasure it brings.

Out on the Mira on soft summer nights,
Bon fires blaze to the children’s delight.

They dance ’round the flames, singin’ songs with their friends;
I wish I was with them again.

And over the ashes the stories are told
Of witches and werewolves and Oak Island gold.
Stars on the river-face sparkle and spin;
I wish I was with them again. 

Out on the Mira the people are kind;
They treat you to homebrew and help you unwind.
And, if you come broken, they’ll see that you mend;
I wish I was with them again.

Now I’ll conclude with a wish you go well:
Sweet be your dreams—and your happiness swell.
I’ll leave you here, for my journey begins;
I’m going to be with them again,
I’m going to be with them again.

What wouldn’t it be in love
With bonnie Maggie Lauder?
A piper met her goin’ to Fife
And speaked what people called her
Right scornfully she answered him
“Begone you howlin’ shaker!
Jog on your way, you blatherskate!
My name is Maggie Lauder.”

“Maggie,” call he, “And by my bags
I’m fidgin’ feign to see thee
“Sit down by me, my bonnie bird
And drawn, I wouldn’t austere thee;
“For I’m a piper to my trade:
My name is Rob the Ranter
“The lassies lept as they were daft
When I blow up my chanter.”

“Piper,” call Meg, “have you your bags
For is your drone in order?
“If you be Rob, I’ve heard of you
You live upon the border
“The lassies all, both far and near
Have heard of Rob the Ranter
“I’ll shake my foot with right good will
If you’ll blow up your chanter!”

Then to his bags he flew with speed;
About the drone he twisted
Meg up and walloped o’er the green;
For brawley could she frisk it!
“Well done!” quo he. “Play up!” said she
“Well bobbed!” said Rob the Ranter
“‘Tis worth my while to play, indeed
When I have such a dancer!”

“Well have you played your part,” call Meg
“Your cheeks are like the crimson
“There’s ne’er in Scotland plays so well
Since we lost Habbie Simpson
“I’ve lived in Fife, both maid and wife
This ten years and a quarter
“If you should come to Anster fair
Speak ’ere for Maggie Lauder!”

It’s sad in Dooras when the tide is low, 

And the green fields covered with the frost and snow, 

And the dark nights lonely with the curlew’s cry, 

And I thinking, thinking on the times gone by. 

Chorus! 

the happy summers of the olden days, 

And the brown boats stealing through the golden haze, 

The cuckoo calling from the woods within, 

And my love beside me and the tide full in. 

O was I not foolish when I let him go, 

To seek his fortune where the wild winds blow 

If a fair wind brought him to my aching heart, 

\With my two arms round him we would never part. 

O! the happy summers of the olden days, 

And the brown boats stealing through the golden haze, 

And the cuckoo calling from the woods within, 

And my love beside me and the tide full in. 

O a dear, dear letter on my fond heart lies, 

And its words of promise more than life I prize, 

For it whispers, “Stóirín, soon I’ll fortune win, 

And return to claim you – and the tide full in.” 

Chorus (2)

O! the happy summers will come back once more, 

And the brown boats stealing to the sunset shore, 

And the cuckoo calling from the woods within, 

And my love beside me and the tide full in, 

And my love beside me and the tide full in.

The boys stood on the platform in 1917
Waiting for a train to Salisbury Plain
They were only in their teens.
A lad to his mother said dinnae fret
We’ll be home by Christmas day
And the piper played Scotland the Brave
As they waved the boys away

Chorus

Calling doon the line
Calling doon the line
And they rallied roond to the pipers tune
(That was) Calling doon the line

The Sgt Major pushed them hard
They were trained in only days
For to bear the brunt of the Western front
They would soon be on their way
So off they marched, rifles shoulder high
And all at once they sang
For we’re no awa, tae bide awa
Tae the pipers in the band

The thunder echoed through the trench
As the shells abin them rained
And the generals spent a thousand men
For every inch they gained
And the brave young men faced their battle dawn
So proud to do their jobs
And the piper stood in the line of fire
And played them ower the top

When no man’s land fell silent
And they counted all the dead
The victory claimed would disguise the shame
And nothing more was said
And the fallen brave on a foreign field
They gave their very best
And the piper played a sad lament
As they laid the boys to rest

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