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(Traditional- From John Renbourne- Live in America)
A farmers daughter was walkin' alone
Oh but her Robert was easy won
When she heard a Scots prisoner makin' along
Oh and she was the flower of Northumberland
An' it's all if a lassie would listen to me
Oh but her Robert was easy won
I would make her a Lady of high degree
If she'd loosen me out of this prison so strong
Then she's hastened away to her father's back stock
Oh but her Robert was easy won
She has taken the keys to many a good lock
And she's loosened him out of his prison so strong
She's hastened away to her father's stable
Oh but her Robert was easy won
She has taken a horse that was both fleet and able
To carry them both to bonny Scotland
As they were a ridin' across the Scots moor
He said Oh but your Robert was easy won
Get down from the horse you're a brazen faced whore
For now you're the flower of Northumberland
For as I have a wife in my own country
Oh but your Robert was easy won
I no have the time for a lassie like thee
Oh now you're the flower of Northumberland
It's a cook in your kitchen I surely will be
Oh but my Robert was easy won
I'd serve your Lady most reverently
For I dare not go back to Northumberland
It's a cook in my kitchen ya canna well be
Oh but your Robert was easy won
For my Lady she would na' have servants like thee
So go get ye back to Northumberland
Oh but loath was he the lassie to leave
Oh but her Robert was easy won
So he's hired a long horse and he's paid in our blood
To carry her back to Northumberland
And when she got in her father did frown
Oh but your Robert was easy won
To be a Scots whore when you're fifteen years old
And you were the flower of Northumberland
But when she got in her father did smile
Oh but your Robert was easy won
And you're not the first lass that the Scots have beguiled
And you still are the flower of Northumberland
And you will not want bread and you will not want wine
Oh though your Robert was easy won
And you will not want silver to buy you a man
And you still are the flower of Northumberland
(similar to Ca' the Yowes.)
Why should I sit and sigh, Pulling bracken, pulling bracken?
Why should I sit and sigh on the hillside dreary?
When I see the plover rising
Or the curlew wheeling,
Then I trow my mortal lover
Back to me is stealing.
Tha mi sgith ' s mi leam fhin buain a rainich, buain a rainich?
Tha mi sgith ' s mi leam fhin buaain a rainich daonnan?
Sul an tomain braigh an tomain
Cul an tomain bhoidhich,
Cul an tomain braigh an tomain
Huile latha m' onar.
Ah! But there is something wanting.
Oh! But I am weary.
Come, my blithe and bonnie lad,
Come over the knoll to cheer me.
Cul an tomain braigh an tomain
Cul an tomain bhoidhich,
Cul an tomain braigh an tomain
Huile latha m' onar.
FAREWELL, JOHNNY
MINER
(Ed Pigford)
- from the singing of Dan Maher copyright Dick Gaughan
http://shorty.mudcat.org/!!-song99.cfm?stuff=fall99+D+4235150
Johnny Miner, you were born
Never to see the rising dawn,
Now it's time that you were gone,
So farewell, Johnny Miner.
CHORUS: Farewell Durham, Yorkshire, too,
Nottingham, the same to you
Scotland, South Wales, bid adieu,
And farewell, Johnny Miner.
You struggled hard with slate and shale,
Lungs turned black and faces pale,
Now your body's up for sale,
And farewell, Johnny Miner.
They promised you the earth some time
To work down in their stinkin' mine,
Now the justice for their crime
Is farewell, Johnny Miner.
(usually omitted by Rhiogan)
Cheer up John, it won't be bad:
Unemployment isn't hard -
They'll treat you well in the knacker's yard,
So farewell, Johnny Miner.
repeat verse 1.
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(Traditional- From John Renbourne: Live in America)
Oh, farewell, lovely Nancy, for now I must leave you
To the south bonny seas I am bound for to go
And though we are parted, my love be true hearted
For I will return in the spring as you know
And she says, like a sea boy, I will dress and go with you
In the midst of all your dangers, your friend I'll remain
And in the cold stormy weather, when the winds they are a'
blowin'
I'll always be ready for to beef your top sail
Oh you delicate fingers, they can't handle our tackle
Your delicate feet to our top mast cannot go
And your lovely behind love, it would freeze in the whiling gale
I'd have you on shore when the winds they do blow
So farewell lovely Nancy, for now I must leave you
To the south bonny seas my course I do steer
But though we are parted, my love be true hearted
For I will return in the spring of the year
(Traditional- From Silly Wizard, Caledonias Hardy Sons)
How often haunting the highest hilltop
I scan the ocean, a sail to see
Will it come tonight, love, will it come tomorrow
Will it ever come, love, to comfort me
Fear-a-uata, no horoway-la
Fear-a-uata, no horoway-la
Fear-a-uata, no horoway-la
O fare thee well, love, where 'er thee be
They call thee fickle, they call thee false one
And seek to change me but all in vain
For Thou art my dream yet through the dark night
And every morning I watch the main
There's not a hamlet, too well I know it,
Where you go wandering or stay awhile
But all its old folk you win with talking
And charm its maidens with song and smile
Dost thou remember the promise made me,
The Tartan Plaid, a silken gown
That ring of gold with thy hair and portrait
That gown and ring I will never own
(Non-Traditional)
(to the tune of Norwegian Wood by The Beatles)
I once had a sword
Or should I say, it once had me
I just picked it up
Oh what a sword
It was plus three
Its ego was twelve
A fact of which I wasn't aware
I tried to leave
And I found that the sword didn't care
Oh, oh, oh
I walked through the halls
Wasting my time
Nothing to find
Then I turned around
And then I said
"Oh no, undead"
The thirty two knights saw me coming
And started to laugh
I closed my eyes
As my sword started hewing a path
Oh, oh, oh
And when I awoke
I was alone
That sword had flown
Now I use a club
Isn't it good
No-Ego wood
(Traditional)
Tim Finnegan lived on Walker Street
A gentleman, Irish, mighty odd;
He had a brogue both rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
Now Tim had a sort of the tipplin' way
With a love of the whiskey he was born
And to help him on with his work each day
He'd a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn.
Chorus:
Whack fol the darn O, dance to your partner
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake!
One mornin' Tim was feelin' full
His head was heavy which made him shake;
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull
And they carried him home his corpse to wake.
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed,
With a gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head.
Chorus:
His friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
First they brought in tea and cake
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brien began to bawl
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see?
"Aye Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?"
"Arragh, hold your gob" said Paddy McGee!
Chorus:
Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job
"O Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawlin' on the floor.
And then the war did soon engage
'Twas woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and eruption soon began.
Chorus:
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him,
It missed, and fallin' on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim!
The corpse revives! See how he raises!
Timothy rising from the bed,
ays, "Whirl your whiskey around like blazes
Thanum an Dhul! Did you think I'm dead?"
Chorus:
www.acronet.net/~robokopp
-Traditional (From Two Gentlemen Folk: Benjamin
Luxon, Bill Crofut, and Friends)
recorded by Hickerson on Dull Care II and MacColl & Lloyd
Songs & Ballads of Scottish Wars
MIDI: http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=FLWRSFOR&tt=FLWRSFOR
I heard them lilting, at the morning milking
The lassies a-lilting before the dawn of day
Now they are mourning, their men not returning
The flowers of the forest are stolen away
Faith in our order sent our lads to the border
The English for once by deceit won the day
The flowers of the forest, the bravest, the foremost
The pride of our country, lie cold in the clay
There'll be no more lilting at the evening milking
No laughter, no lightness the long summer day
But weeping and mourning, for lovers not returning
The flowers of the forest are vanished away
http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=FINEFLW2
http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=FINEFLW2
recorded by Finbar & Eddie Furey
There was a woman, oh but she was a widow
Fair as the flowers in the valley
With a daughter as fair as a fray sunny meadow
The red and the green and the yellow
No harp, no lute, nor pipe nor flute nor cymbal
As sweet grows the treble violin
This maiden so fair and the flower so rare
Together they grew in the valley
Oh, then came this knight all dressed in red
Fair as the flowers in the valley
"Thou art my bride ?I'll say? thou as thee said"
The red and the green and the yellow
"Oh no" said she "Oh thou'st never win me"
As fair as the flowers in the valley
Oh, then came this knight all dressed in green
Fair as the flowers in the valley
"Thou must be, I see thou as my queen"
The red and the green and the yellow
"Oh no" said she "Oh thou'st never win me"
As fair as the flowers in the valley
Oh, then came this knight all dressed in yellow
Fair as the flowers in the valley
"Thou art my love and my bride" said he
The red and the green and the yellow
"I'll come" said she "I'll go with thee"
Farewell to the flowers in the valley
I
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When armed lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell
Rang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of war.
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through;
While Brittania's sons and their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
Their lonely graves by Suvla's waves
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
Oh had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Valera true,
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the hills of the foggy dew.
Back to the glen I rode again
Though my heart with grief was torn
For I parted then, with valiant men
I never would see each more
But to and fro in my dreams they go
And kneel and pray for you
When slavery fled over the rebel dead
And you fell in the foggy... dew
Repeat First Verse
The Foggy Dew
II
Melody - Seq. by Lesley Nelson from Black Book of Locksley
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When Ireland's line of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell
Rang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of war.
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through;
While Brittania's sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.
'Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Gathal Bruga,
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the hills of the foggy dew.
The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springing of the year.
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew.
Ah, back through the glen I rode again
And my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men
Whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go
And I'd kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead,
When you fell in the foggy dew.
This is a song about the Easter Uprising of 1916. The British
gave young Irish men who were suspected of any kind of criminal
activity a simple choice: prison or conscription. This left
Ireland with few soldiers with whom to fight the British.
www.acronet.net/~robokopp
III
Oh, a wan cloud was drawn o'er the dim weeping dawn
As to Shannon's side I return'd at last,
And the heart in my breast for the girl I lov'd best
Was beating, ah, beating, how loud end fast!
While the doubts end the fears of the long aching years
Seem'd mingling their voices with the moaning flood:
Till full in my path, like a wild water wraith,
My true love's shadow lamenting stood.
But the sudden sun kiss'd the cold, cruel mist
Into dancing show'rs of diamond dew,
And the dark flowing stream laugh'd back to his beam,
And the lark soared aloft in the blue
While no phantom of night but a form of delight
Ran with arms outspread to her darling boy,
And the girl I love best on my wild throbbing breast
Hid her thousand treasures with cry of joy.
www.acronet.net/~robokopp\
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Oh then follow me down where the milk water flows,
And I' ll show you the dew like the tears of rose,
And so like a rose my petals fell down,
And I left my self open to the thorns and the frowns,
To the thorns and the frowns.
For when I was a maiden he lay long with me,
And the fruit of his loving soon all eyes could see,
And the growing within and the love waiting there,
To feel the warm sun and to breath the sweet air,
And to breath the sweet air.
And when sunset arrived full of hope, full of fear,
To give birth through my pain, through my joy and my fears,
At my breast then he lay, a child of the sun.
Oh many were the whispers, " Oh, what has she done?"
" Oh what has she done?"
For my love he had gone to fight that ancient war,
And I felt a deep sorrow I had not felt before,
When the news of his dying came to my birth bed,
One love lay breathing while the other lay dead,
While the other lay dead.
And often I wonder as I sit all alone,
Why a curse upon those a new life have grown,
Why they cause life to end with their lies and their greed,
Shamelessly proud of their unholy creed,
Of their unholy creed.
Oh then follow me down where the mild water flows,
And I' ll show you the dew like the tears of a rose,
And so like a rose so fragrant and strong,
Children will carry dreams into the dawn,
Into the new dawn.
-Traditional. Variant recorded by Oscar Brand in 1940’s or 50’s
Four and twenty virgins came down from Inverness
And when they went back home again they were four and twenty less
CHORUS:
Singin' balls to your partner
Ass against the wall
If ya canna' get laid on a Saturday night
(In the SCA, At [Name of Event], etc.)
Ya canna' get laid at all
The village Idiot he was there, now what do you think of that?
Amusin' himself while abusin' himself, and catchin' it in his hat
The village whore now she was there, a layin' on the floor
And every time she opened her legs the suction closed the door
The village vicar now he was there, a-gettin' drunk and loud
He was swingin' from the ceiling while pissin' on the crowd
The village baker he was there, so drunk he began to scream
H grabbed the girls like great big tarts and pumped them full of
cream
The village potter he was there he made a dong of clay
He sat little girls upon the wheel and gave them all a lay
The village rabbi he was there, treatin' a knife like a toy
He swung and swished and he took an inch off every man and boy
The village acrobat he was there, a' screwin' on the stair
The bannister broke, he doubled his stroke and finished her off
in midair
The village postman he was there, the poor man had the pox
He couldn't get a piece inside, so he screwed his own mailbox
The village hunter he was there, polishin' his gun with skill
Four girls were all barin' their asses, waitin' for the kill
The village fool now he was there, he had an amazin' lack of wits
For every time a girl would pass, he'd just drool on her tits
The village virgin she was there, the poor girl got a scare
But from under her dress she heard a voice "It's only my
tongue up there!"
The village swordsman he was there, he had a rod like a train
And when he rammed an ass they cried, "My god he impaled my
brain"
The village constable he was there, a-twirlin' his billy stick
Surprised were all the girls to find it was really a twelve inch
prick
The village maiden now she was there, a clingin' to her dress
Bein' chased by a hoard of horny priests, her sins they would
confess
The village nun she was there, great stains upon her habit
That was because she spent the night screwin' like a rabbit
(For a longer[and funnier] version, go look at Ioseph of
Locksley's page!)
-Non-TraditionalChorus:
Four letter words, four letter words
That never say quite what they mean
I'd rather be known for my hypocrite ways
Than as vulgar, impure, and obscene
When dinner is hearty with onions and beans
With garlic, and carrots, and bacon, and greens
Your bowels get busy distilling a gas
That nature insists be permitted to pass
You're very polite, you try to exhale
Without noise or perfume, but you frequently fail
Expecting no noise, you give it a start
When it booms all the boys will agree its a
Chorus
You may speak of a movement, or sit on the seat
Have a passage or stool, or just simply excrete
Or say to the others I'm going out back
And then groan in pure joy in a little wood shack
You may go lay a cable, or do number two
Or sit on the toidy, or make a do-do
But ladies and men who are socially fit
Under no provocation will go take a
Chorus
While strolling around in your best pair of boots
When often you'll tread on these dung colored lumps
Some call them droppings, some say manure
These certain rank objects are found in the sewer
Cows leave meadow muffins, horseflies leave specks
Seagulls oft let go on the backs of your necks
But though euphemisms may seem quite absurd
Whatever you do never call it a
Chorus
Its a cavern of joy you are thinking of now
A warm tender field just awaiting the plow
A quivering pigeon in the palm of your hand
Or the national anthem that makes us all stand
Or perhaps it's a valley, a grot or a well
The hope of the world or a velvety hell
But friends take my warning, beware the affront
Never try Anglo-Saxon and call it a
Chorus
Words and music by Roy MB Williamson 1936-l990
http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/lyrics/flower-of-scotland.html.
O Flower of Scotland
When will we see
Your like again,
That fought and died for
Your wee bit Hill and Glen
And stood against him
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
The Hills are bare now
And Autumn leaves lie thick and still
O'er land that is lost now
Which those so dearly held
That stood against him
Proud Edward's Army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
Those days are past now
And in the past they must remain
But we can still rise now
And be the nation again
That stood against him
Proud Edward's Army
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.
[Optional - repeat first verse]