The Old Polina

 There's a noble fleet of Whalers, a sailing from Dundee
 Manned by British sailors, to take them o'er the sea
 On a western ocean passage, we started on the trip
 And we flew along, just like a song in our gallant whaling ship.

 Chorus:
 For the wind was on her quarter, and the engines working free
 There's not another whaler, that sails the Arctic Sea
 Can beat the Old Polina, you need not try me sons
 For we challenged all, both great and small, from Dundee to St. John's.

 'Twas the second Sunday morning, just after leaving port
 We met a heavy Sou'West gale that washed away our boat
 It washed away our quarter deck, our stanchions just as well
 And so we set the whole she-bang a-floating in the gale

 Art Jackson set his canvas, Fairweather got up steam
 And Captain Guy, the darling bye, came plunging through the stream
 And Mullins in the "Husky" tried to beat the blooming lot
 But to beat The Old Polina was something he could not

 There's the noble "Terra Nova", a model without doubt
 The "Arctic" and "Aurora" they talk so much about
 Art Jackman's model mail boat -- the terror of the sea
 Tried to beat the "Old Polina" on a passage from Dundee

 And now we're back in old St. John's, where rum is very cheap
 So we'll drink a health to Captain Guy who brought us o'er the deep
 A health to all our sweethearts and to our wives so fair
 Not another ship could make the trip with the "Polina" I declare.

Ballad of Thunder Road


Let me tell the story, I can tell it all;
About the mountain boy who ran illegal alcohol.
His daddy made the whiskey, the son he drove the load;
And when his engine roared they called the highway "Thunder Road".

Sometimes into Ashville, sometimes Memphis town.
The Revenuers chased him but they couldn't run him down.
Each time they thought they had him his engine would explode.
He'd go by like they were standing still on "Thunder Road".

Chorus:
And there was thunder, thunder over "Thunder Road",
Thunder was his engine and white lightening was his load.
And there was moonshine, moonshine to quench the devil's thirst.
The law they ( swore they'd get him but) the devil got him first.
last chorus: (never got him 'cause)

It was on the first of April, Nineteen-Fifty-Four
The Federal man sent word he'd better make his run no more.
He said "200 agents were covering the state;
Which ever road he tried to take they'd get him sure as fate.

'Son' his daddy told him, 'make this run your last.
The tank is filled with 100 proof; you're all tuned-up and gassed.
Now don't take any chances, if you can't get through.
I'd rather have you back again than all that Mountain Dew.'

Roaring out of Harlan; revving up his mill.
He shot the Gap at Cumberland and streamed by Maynardville.
With G men on his tail light; road block up ahead,
The mountain boy took roads that even angels feared to tread.

Blazing right through Knoxville, out on Kingston Pike,
Then right outside of Bearden, they made the fatal strike.
He left the road at 90; that's all there is to say.
The devil got the moonshine and the mountain boy that day.


Robert Mitchum & Don Raye

The Ballad of the Alamo


In the southern part of Texas, in the town of San Antone
There's a fortress all in ruins that the weeds have overgrown
You may look in vain for crosses and you'll never see a one
But sometimes between the setting and the rising of the sun ...
You can hear a ghostly bugle as the men go marching by
You can hear them as they answer to that roll call in the sky
Colonel Travis, Davy Crockett and a hundred eighty more
Captain Dickenson, Jim Bowie present and accounted for;

Back in eighteen thirty-six - Houston said to Travis
"Get some volunteers and go - fortify the Alamo"
Well, the men came from Texas and from old Tennessee
And they joined up with Travis - just to fight for the right to be free ...
Indian scouts with squirrel guns, men with muzzle loaders
Stood together heel and toe to defend the Alamo
"You may ne'er see your loved ones" Travis told them that day
"Those that want to can leave now, those that fight to the death let 'em stay."

In the sand he drew a line with his Army sabre
Out of a hundred eighty five not a soldier crossed the line
With his banners a-dancin' in the dawn's golden light
Santa Anna came prancin' on a horse that was black as the night ...
Sent an officer to tell - Travis to surrender
Travis answered with a shout and a rousin' rebel yell
Santa Anna turned scarlet, "Play the Deguello", he roared
"I will show them no quarter, everyone will be put to the sword";

One hundred and eighty five holdin' back five thousand
Five days, six days, eight days - ten; Travis held and held again
Then he sent for replacements for his wounded and lame
But the troops that were comin' never came, never came, never came ...
Twice he charged them to recall - on the fatal third time
Santa Anna breached the wall and he killed them one and all
Now the bugles are silent and there's rust on each sword
And the small band of soldiers ... lie asleep in the arms of the Lord ...

In the southern part of Texas, near the town of San Antone
Like a statue on his Pinto rides a cowboy all alone
And he sees the cattle grazin' where a century before
Santa Anna's guns were blazin' and the cannons used to roar
And his eyes turn sorta misty and his heart begins to glow
And he takes his hat off slowly - to the Men of Alamo
To the thirteen days of glory at the seige of Alamo.


Dimitri Tiompkin and P. F. Webster

Eternal Father, Strong to Save

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm does bind the restless wave,
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Savior, whose almighty word
The winds and waves submissive heard,
Who walked upon the foaming deep,
And calm amid the rage did sleep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Holy Spirit, who did brood
Upon the waters dark and rude,
And bid their angry tumult cease,
And give for wild confusion peace;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Trinity of love and pow'r,
Your children shiled in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, firs, and foe,
Protect them wheresoe'er they go;
Thus, evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

John Bacchus Dykes, William Whiting

England Has Taken Me


I followed my Duke ere I was a lover
To take from England fief and fee
But now this game is the other way over
But now England hath taken me

I had my horse, my shield and banner
And a boy's heart so whole and free
But now I sing in another manner
But now England hath taken me

As for my Father in his tower
Asking news of my ship at sea
He will remember his own hour
Tell him England hath taken me
As for my Mother in her bower
That rules my Father so cunningly
She will remember a maiden's power
Tell her England hath taken me

As for my Brother in Rouen City
A nimble and naughty page is he
But he will come to suffer and pity
Tell him England hath taken me

As for my little Sister waiting
In the pleasant orchards of Normandie
Tell her youth is the time for mating
Tell her England hath taken me

As for my Comrades in camp and highway
That lift their eyebrows scornfully
Tell them their way is not my way
Tell them England hath taken me
Kings and Princes and Barons famed
Knights and Captains in your degree
Hear me a little before I am blamed
Seeing England hath taken me

Howso great man's strength be reckoned
There are two things he cannot flee
Love is the first and Death is the second
And Love, in England, hath taken me

Rudyard Kipling

Napoleon's Defeat

You ancient sons of glory are all great men, they say,
Whilst we in future story may join as well as they.
Our noble fathers' ancient sons have conquered many's the foe.
As long as fame their names proclaim who fought on Waterloo.

It was on June the eighteenth day, eighteen hundred and fifteen.
With horse and foot we did advance most glorious to be seen.
With horse and foot we did advance while the bugles loud they blew.
We showed the French at Waterloo what Britain's sons could do.

Our cavalry advancing with a bold and a gallant heart,
Our infantry, artillery so nobly played their part,
Our small guns they did rattle, our great guns they did roar,
All on the plains of Waterloo where the murdering cannons roar.

Here is to Sir William Ponceby I am sorry for to say.
In leading his Enniskillen dragoons he met his fate that day.
At the head of his brigade I saw him fall, that grieved my heart full sore.
I saw him lie as we passed by with many thousands more.

Napoleon like a Bantam cock sat a-mounted on his spurs.
And hard he tried to represent grim as the god of war.
On his high platform where he did stand and there so loud he crew,
He drooped his wings and turned his head and fled from Waterloo.

When Napoleon found the battle lost, he cries, “I am undone.”
He wrung his hands and tore his hair, crying, “Oh, my darling son,
Straightway to Paris I will go and king I will crown you
Before they hear of my defeat on the plains of Waterloo.”

The Eighteenth Day of June
 
On the eighteenth day of June, my boys, eighteen hundred and fifteen,
Both horse and foot they did advance; most glorious to be seen,
Both horse and foot they did advance and the bugle-horn did blow
Where the sons of France we made to dance on the plains of Waterloo.

Our cavalry advanced with true and valiant heart
Our infantry and artillery did nobly play their part
While the small arms they did rattle and the great guns they did roar
All on the plains of Waterloo where the thundering cannons roar.

The French dogs made a bold attack in front of Mount Saint John,
Threw on their best battalions for the village for to gain.
Our infantry first charged them and made them face about;
Sir William with his heavy brigade soon put them to the rout.

Napoleon, like a bantam cock, sat mounted on a bar
He much did wish to represent brave Mars the god of war.
On a high platform there he did stand and loudly he did crow,
He drooped his wings and turned his tail to us at Waterloo.

The valiant Duke of Brunswick fell in the field that day,
And many a gallant officer fell in the awful fray.
And many a British soldier lay wounded in their gore,
Upon the plains of Waterloo where the thundering cannons roar.

Lady Keith's Lament

I may sit in my wee croo hoose,
wi' my rock and my reel tae toil, fu' dreary,
And I may think on the day that's gane,
and will sigh and sab till I amweary,
I ne'er could brook, I ne'er could brook,
a foreign loon tae own or flatter,
But I will sing a rantin' sang,
that day oor King comes o'er the water.

Oh I hae seen the guid auld day,
the day o' pride and chieftain's glory,
When Royal Stuart bare the sway,
and we ne'er heard tell o' Whig or Tory,
Tho' lyart be my locks and gray,
auld age has crook't me doon, what matter,
I'll dance and sing ae ither day,
that day oor King comes o'er the water.

Oh gin I live tae see the day,
that I hae begged and begged frae heaven,
I'll fling my rock and reel away,
and I'll dance and sing frae morn till even,
For there is ane I widnae name,
wha comes the beengin' byke tae scatter,
And I will put on my bridal goon,
that day oor King comes o'er the water.

A curse on dull and drawlin' Whig,
the whinin' rantin' low deceiver,
Wi' heart sae black and look sae big,
and cantin' tongue o' clishmaclaver,
My faither was a guid Lord's son,
my mither was and Earl's daughter,
And I will be Lady Keith again,
that day oor King comes O'er the water.

Lament for the Last of the Seaforths

In vain the bright course of thy talents to wrong
Fate deadn'd thine ear and imprison'd thy tongue,
For bright o'er all her obstructions arose
The glow of genius they cold not oppose;
And who, in the land of the Saxon, or Gael,
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail?

Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love.
All a father could hope, all a friend could approve;
What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell?
In the springtime of youth and promise they fell!
Of the line of MacKenneth remains not a male,
To bear the proud name of the Chief of Kintail.

And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear, to thy grief,
For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief,
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left,
Of thy husband and father and brethren bereft;
To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail
That salutes thee -the heir of the line of Kintail!

Na 'm biodh an t'earball na bu ruighne bhïodh mo sgialachd na b' fhaïde.


Sir Walter Scott

The Land God Gave to Cain


Long before the white man came
To haul the shining cod
When the wild and stately caribou
Traversed the snow-clad sod
The native man he walked these hills
And he fished the silvery lakes
Content with what the land would yield
Not one bit more would take

But soon the word it was put out
To every country
For to find a northern passage from
The sea to the shining sea
And the first to come were trappers
Then the men of God who preached
That they would return in hundredfold
An equal share to each

For years the men of Newfoundland
Those fishermen so poor
Sent down each year in springtime for
To fish on the Labrador
But soon the fish they were all gone
With the fur it was the same
And the native suffered silently
In the land God gave to Cain

The years went by, and as time passed
The companies moved in
For ore, and wood, and the hydro power
The struggle it did begin
And the working men on both sides
Tried to live their lives the same
And the native suffered silently
In the land God gave to Cain

But now it's for the future
Both sides do shed a tear
For the old ways they are passing like
The caribou and hare
And now they all are wondering
If it was all in vain
And the native suffers silently
In the land God gave to Cain

The Last Saskatchewan Pirate

 I used to be a farmer and I made a living fine
 I had a little stretch of land along the C.P. line
 But though I tried and tried the money wasn't there
 And bankers came and took my land and told me fair was fair
 I looked for any kind of job, the answer always no
 "Hire you now?" they'd always laugh "We just let 20 go"
 The government they promised me a measly little sum
 But I've got too much pride to end up just another bum
 Then I thought who gives damn if the jobs are all gone
 I'm going to be a pirate on the river Saskatchewan

 And it's a heave ho, high ho, coming down the plains
 Stealing wheat and barley and all the other grains
 And it's a ho hey, high hey, farmers bar your doors
 When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina's mighty shores

 Well you'd think the local farmers would know that I'm at large
 But just the other day I saw an unprotected barge
 I snuck up right behind them and they were none the wiser
 I rammed their ship and sank it and I stole their fertilizer
 A bridge outside of Moose Jaw spans a mighty river
 Farmers cross in so much fear their stomachs are a-quiver
 Because they know that Tractor Jack is waiting in the bay
 I'll jump the bridge and knock them cold and sail off with their hay

 Well, Mountie Bob he chased me he was always at my throat
 He'd follow on the shoreline cause he didn't own a boat
 But cutbacks were a-coming and the Mountie lost his job
 And now he's sailing with me and we call him Salty Bob
 A swinging sword, a skull and bones, and pleasant company
 I never pay my income tax and screw the GST
 Prince Albert down to Saskatoon, the terror of the sea
 If you want to reach the co-op, boy, you gotta get by me

 Well, pirate life's appealing but you just don't find it here
 I heard that in Alberta there's a band of buccaneers
 They roam the Athabasca from Smith to Fort Mackay
 And you're bound to lose your stetson if you
 Winter is a-coming and a chill is in the breeze
 My pirate days are over once the river starts to freeze
 I'll be back in springtime but now I have to go
 I hear there's lots of plundering down in New Mexico

Gary Owen

chorus:
Gary Owen, Gary Owen, Gary Owen
     In the valley of Montana all alone
     There are better days to be
     In the seventh cavalry
     When we charge again For dear old Gary Owen.

I can hear those Sioux bucks singing, Sgt. Flynn
I can hear those tom-toms ringing, Sgt. Flynn
I can hear those Sioux bucks singing,
I can here those tom-toms ringing,
But they don't yet know the tune to Gary Owen.

It's first call I hear it sounding, Sgt. Flynn
And it sounds like taps a-rounding, Sgt. Flynn
Oh me lads, here's something fancy
Take a break, it's Private Clancy
And you'll feel better when he strikes up Gary Owen

For it's Boots and Saddles sounding, Sgt. Flynn
Along the line the men are bounding, Sgt. Flynn
So let' saddle-up and fall in
For the trumpets are callin'
And the band is tuning up for Gary Owen.

For it's forward we're advancing, Sgt. Flynn
And the breeze guides are a-lancing, Sgt. Flynn
Walk, trot, gallop, charge by thunder,
We will ride those cut throats under.
Drive your sabers to the hilt for Gary Owen.

We are ambushed and surrounded, Sgt. Flynn
Yet recall has not been sounded, Sgt. Flynn
Gather round me and we'll rally
Make one last stand in the valley
For the Seventh Regiment and Gary Owen.

You are cut, and scalped, and battered, Sgt. Flynn
All your men are dead and scattered, Sgt. Flynn
I will make your bed tomorrow
With my head bowed down in sorrow.
O'er your grave, I'll whistle Taps And Gary Owen.

The Cowboy's Faith (No Horses in Heaven)

What's that, sir, no horses in heaven you say
Hold on, Mr. Preacher, don't talk that way
Don't call it a country of pleasures and rest
For us sun-dried punchers out here in the west
Unless there's some horses across the Divide
That we can lasso and pal with and ride

We don't want no wings, or a harp, don't you see
We want to live on in a land that is free
Where mesquite ain't thick and the fences are few
And all honest cowboys have something to do

We want just a blanket out under the sky
Where we can count stars and the clouds floating by
We want the night song of the cricket and owl
We want to get lonesome when coyotes howl

I'll pine there in Heaven, if Pinto ain't there
To leave him behind, sir, to me won't look square
Us two have been pardners for seven long years
A ridin' on circle and trailin' the steers

So when I checks in and lay down my rope
I ain't got much gospel, but this is my hope
I'll step through the darkness along trails that's strange
And find Pinto waiting up there on the range.

The Great White Sheep

Oh Sutherland is a bonnie land,
Beyond the Moray Firth.
And Rosshire smiles at the Western Isles,
The land of Gaeldom's birth.
From Scrabster Bay to Mingulay,
The mighty mountains weep;
For each sad glen has been cleared of men
To make way for the great white sheep.

Kildonan's ablaze and Langdale's braes
Are burnin' tae the skies.
The Factor's men who raze the glen
Heed not the infant's cries.
The landlord's might denies the right
Of the crofter's crops tae grow.
A laird must keep his great white sheep
So his flesh and blood must go.

A Sutherland maid, her clan betrayed
And wed tae an English lord.
She's driven her men from the neighbor's glen
Wi' musket, ball and sword.
Her land she's sold for English gold
While her clansmen throng the shore;
And the great white sheep walk the mountains steep,
Her men will walk no more.

From every glen the silent men
Have a prayer upon their lips;
As they crouch by the sea in poverty
And wait for the white sailed ships.
The Atlantic roar on the rocky shore
Will lull the bairns tae sleep.
No more they'll stand on their faether's land -
It has gone for the great white sheep.

The Knight's Ghost


'There is a fashion in this land
And even come to this country
That every lady should meet her lord
When he is newly come frae sea.
 
'Some wi hawks, and some wi hounds
And other some wi gay meenie;
But I will gae myself alone
And set his young son on his knee.'
 
She's taen her young son in her arms
And nimbly walkd by yon sea-strand,
And there she spy'd her father's ship
As she was sailing to dry land.
 
'Where hae ye put my ain gude lord
This day he stays sae far frae me?'
"If ye be wanting your ain gude lord
A sight o him ye'll never see.'

'Was he brunt? or was he shot?
Or was he drowned in the sea?
Or what's become o my ain gude lord,
That he will neer appear to me? '
 
'He wasna brunt, nor was he shot,
Nor was he drowned in the sea;
He was slain in Dumfermling,
A fatal day to you and me.'
 
'Come in, come in, my merry young men,
Come in and drink the wine wi me;
And a' the better ye shall fare
For this gude news ye tell to me.'
 
She's brought them down to yon cellar,
She brought them fifty steps and three;
She birled wi them the beer and wine,
Till they were as drunk as drunk could be.
 
Then she has lockd her cellar-door,
For there were fifty steps and three:
'Lie there, wi my sad malison,
For this bad news ye've tauld to me.'
 
She's taen the keys intill her hand
And threw them deep, deep in the sea:
'Lie there, wi my sad malison,
Till my gude lord return to me.'
 
Then she sat down in her own room,
And sorrow lulld her fast asleep,
And up it starts her own gude lord,
And even at that lady's feet.
 
'Take here the keys, Janet,' he says, '
That ye threw deep, deep in the sea;
And ye'll relieve my merry young men,
For they've nane o the swick o me.
 
'They shot the shot, and drew the stroke,
And wad in red bluid to the knee ;
Nae sailors mair for their lord coud do
Nor my young men they did for me.'
 
'I hae a question at you to ask,
Before that ye depart frae me;
You'll tell to me what day I'lldie,
And what day will my burial bel'
 
'I hae nae mair o God's power
Than he has granted unto me;
But come to heaven when ye will,
There porter to you I will be.
 
'But ye'll be wed to a finer knight
Than ever was in my degree;
Unto him ye'll hae children nine,
And six o them will be ladies free.
'The other three will be bold young men,
To fight for king and countrie;
The ane a duke, the second a knight,
And third a laird o lands sae free.'



Trad.

Kelley's Irish Brigade

Come all you that hold communion
With southern Confederates bold,
While I tell you of some men who for the Union
In the northern ranks were enrolled;
Who came to Missouri in their "glory,"
And thought by their power we'd be dismayed;
But we soon made them tell a different story
When they met Relley's Irish Brigade.

chorus:
 Three cheers for the Irish Brigade,
 Three cheers for the Irish Brigade;
 And all true-hearted Hibernians
 In the ranks of Kelley's Irish Brigade!

You call us rebels and traitors,
But you have thrown off the name of late.
Yon were called it by the English invaders
At home in seventeen and ninety-eight
The name to us is not a new one,
It's one that we never will degrade.
And all true-hearted Hibernians
In the ranks of Kelley's Irish Brigade.

You dare not call us invaders,
'Tis but state rights and liberties we ask;
And Missouri, we will ever defend her,
No matter how hard be the task.
Then let the Irishmen assemble,
Let the voice of Missouri be obeyed;
And northern fanatics may tremble
When they meet Kelley's Irish Brigade.

King of Rome


In the West End of Derby lives a working man
He says "I can't fly but me pigeons can
And when I set them free
It's just like part of me
Gets lifted up on shining wings"

Charlie Edson's pigeon loft was down the yard
Of a rented house in Brook Street where life was hard
But Charlie had a dream
And in nineteenthirteen
Charlie bred a pigeon that made his dream come true

There was gonna be a champions' race from Italy
"Look at the maps, all that land and sea
Charlie, you'll lose that bird"
But Charlie never heard
He put it in a basket and sent it off to Rome

On the day o' the big race a storm blew in
A thousand birds were swept away and never seen again
"Charlie we told you so
Surely by now you know
When you're living in te West End there ain't many dreams come true"

"Yeah, I know, but I had to try
A man can crawl around or he can learn to fly
And if you live 'round here
The ground seems awful near
Sometimes I need a lift from victory"

I was off with me mates for a pint or two
When I saw a wing flash up in the blue
"Charlie, it's the King of Rome
Come back to his West End home
Come outside quick, he's perched up on your roof"

"Come on down, your majesty
I knew you'd make it back to me
Come on down, you lovely one
You made me dream come true"

In the West End of Derby lives a working man
He says "I can't fly but me pigeons can
And when I set them free
It's just like part of me
Gets lifted up on shining wings"

Sudbury

Drake's Drum


Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away,
     (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
 
Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,
An' dreamin' arl the time O' Plymouth Hoe.
Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder lie the ships,
Wi' sailor lads a-dancing' heel-an'-toe,
An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin',
He see et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.

Drake he was a Devon man, an' ruled the Devon seas,
     (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?)
 
Roving' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease,
A' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
"Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore,
Strike et when your powder's runnin' low;
If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven,
An' drum them up the Channel as we drumm'd them long ago."

Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
     (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
 
Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,
An' dreamin arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,
Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;
Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin'
They shall find him ware and wakin', as they found him long ago!

Sir Henry Newbolt

A Rebel Song

Come workers, sing a rebel song, a song of love and hate,
Of love unto the lowly, and of hatred to the great
The great who trod our fathers down, who steal our children's bread,
Whose hand of greed is stretched to rob the living and the dead

Chorus

  Then sing our rebel song, as we proudly sweep along
  To end the age-long tyranny that makes for human tears
  Our march is nearer done with each setting of the sun,
  And the tyrant's might is passing with the passing of the years.

We sing no song of wailing, and no song of sights or tears,
High are our hopes and stout our hearts, and banished all our fears
Our flag is raised above us so that all the world may see
'Tis Labour's faith and Labours arm alone can labour free.


Out from the depths of misery we march with hearts aflame,
With wrath against the rulers false who wreck our menhood's name
The serf who licks his tyrant's rod may bend forgiving knee.
The slave who breaks his slaverys chain a wrathful man must be.

Our army Marches onward with its face towards the dawn,
In trust secure in that one thing the slave may lean upon,
The might within the arm of him who, knowing Freedom's worth,
Strikes home to banish tyranny from off the face of earth

Rebels Escape

Come all you jolly soldiers I will sing to you a song
I will try to be brief I will not detain you long
Concerning al my troubles and how they did advance
And how I got around them and what a narrow chance

With a bottle of good whiskey, I put the guard to sleep
Then down upon my knees so slyly I did creep
And when I had gone around them and found I had got through
I set down upon a little rock and there put on my shoe.

The ferryage it was guarded and I had nary horse
I cast my eyes around a little raft I spied
I thought by good judgment I could get to the other side
I jumped upon my little raft, so gently sailed across

Not thanking them for ferryage nor eitherwise a horse
I struck out up old Lickin, I set my head for home
To see my wife and children all that was my intent
To see my wife and children that I had left at home.

When I come to find them, I found them all asleep
I told my wife I had been a prisoner and now on my retreat
She gave to me my supper a blanket in my hand
Told me to leave this country and go to Dixies land.

Killiecrankie
   

Whaur hae ye been sae braw lad?
Whaur hae ye been sae brankie-o?
Whaur hae ye been sae braw lad?
Cam' ye by Killiecrankie-o?

And ye had been whaur I hae been
Ye wadna been sae cantie-o
And ye had seen what I hae seen
On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o

I fought at land, I fought at sea
At hame I fought my auntie-o
But I met the Devil, and Dundee
On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o

And ye had been whaur I hae been
Ye wadna been sae cantie-o
And ye had seen what I hae seen
On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o

The bold Pitcur fell wi' a fur
And Clavers gat a clankie-o
And I had fed an Atholl gled
On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o

And ye had been whaur I hae been
Ye wadna been sae cantie-o
And ye had seen what I hae seen
On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o

Oh fie, McKay, what gart ye lie
In the bush ayont the brankie-o?
Ye'd better kissed King Willie's loof
Than come by Killiecrankie-o

And ye had been whaur I hae been
Ye wadna been sae cantie-o
And ye had seen what I hae seen
On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o

There's nae shame, there's nae shame
There's nae shame tae swankie-o
There's soor slaes on Atholl's braes
And the De'il's at Killiecrankie-o

And ye had been whaur I hae been
Ye wadna been sae cantie-o
And ye had seen what I hae seen
On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o.

Robert Burns

Quote:

Without books the development of civilization would have been impossible. They are the engines of change, windows on the world, "Lighthouses" as the poet said "erected in the sea of time." They are companions, teachers, magicians, bankers of the treasures of the mind, Books are humanity in print.

Arthur Schopenhauer

Quote:

The Bill of Rights: A Transcription

The Preamble to The Bill of Rights

THE Conventions of a number of the States, having at the time of their adopting the Constitution, expressed a desire, in order to prevent misconstruction or abuse of its powers, that further declaratory and restrictive clauses should be added: And as extending the ground of public confidence in the Government, will best ensure the beneficent ends of its institution.

RESOLVED by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America, in Congress assembled, two thirds of both Houses concurring, that the following Articles be proposed to the Legislatures of the several States, as amendments to the Constitution of the United States, all, or any of which Articles, when ratified by three fourths of the said Legislatures, to be valid to all intents and purposes, as part of the said Constitution; viz.
 
ARTICLES in addition to, and Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America, proposed by Congress, and ratified by the Legislatures of the several States, pursuant to the fifth Article of the original Constitution.
 

Amendment I
 
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
 
Amendment II
 
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
 
Amendment III
 
No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.
 
Amendment IV
 
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
 
Amendment V
 
No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.
 
Amendment VI
 
In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.
 
Amendment VII
 
In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.
 
Amendment VIII
 
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
 
Amendment IX
 
The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.
 
Amendment X
 
The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.

The Old Orange Flute
   
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon
Where many the ructions meself had a han'in
Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade
And all of us thought him a stout orange blade
On the twelfth of July as it yearly did come
Bob played with his flute to the sound of a drum
You may talk of your harp, your piano or lute
But there's none can compare with the old orange flute

Toora loo, toora lay
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

Now Bob, the deceiver, he took us all in
He married a Papist named Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the old cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws
Now, the boys of the place made some comment upon it
And Bob had to fly to the province of Connaught
He fled with his wife and his fixings to boot
And along with the latter his old orange flute

Toora loo, toora lay
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

At the chapel on Sunday to atone for past deeds
Said Paters and Aves and counted his beads
Till after some time at the priest's own desire
He went with the old flute to play in the choir
He went with the old flute for to play for the mass
But the instrument shivered and sighed, oh, alas
And try though he would, though it made a great noise
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys"

Toora loo, toora lay
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

Bob jumped and he started and got in a flutter
And threw the old flute in the blessed holy water
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound
When he tried it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down"
Now, for all he could whistle and finger and blow
To play Papish music he found it no go
"Kick The Pope" and "Boyne Water" it freely would sound
But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found

Toora loo, toora lay
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee

At the council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the old flute away
They couldn't knock heresy out of its head
So they bought Bob a new one to play in its stead
Now, the old flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic
'Twas fastened and burned at the stake as heretic
As the flames soared around it they heard a strange noise
'Twas the old flute still whistling "The Protestant Boys"

Toora loo, toora lay
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee.

Trad

Quote:

“One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors.”
 

Plato

Coal Tattoo

Travelin' down that coal town road. Listenin' to my rubber tires whine.
Goodbye to Buckeye and white Sycamore. I'm leavin' you behind.
I've been coal miner all of my life. Layin' down track in the hole.
Gotta back like an ironwood, bit by the wind. Blood veins blue as the coal. Blood veins blue as the coal.

Somebody said, "That's a strange tattoo you have on the side of your head."
I said, "That's the blueprint left by the coal. A little more and I'd been dead.
Well, I love the rumble and I love the dark. I love the cool of the slate,
And it's on down the new road, lookin' for a job. This travelin' nook in my head.

I stood for the union and walked in the line and fought against the company.
I stood for the U. M. W. of A. Now, who's gonna stand for me?
I've got no house and I got no job, just got a worried soul
And a blue tattoo on the side of my head left by the number nine coal. Left by the number nine coal.

Some day when I'm dead and gone to heaven, the land of my dreams.
I won't have to worry on losin' my job, on bad times and big machines.
I ain't gonna pay my money away on dues or hospital plans.
I'm gonna pick coal where the blue heavens roll and sing with the angel band.

Billy Edd Wheeler

Black Day In July

Black day in July
Motor city madness has touched the countryside
And through the smoke and cinders
You can hear it far and wide
The doors are quickly bolted
And the children locked inside

Black day in July
Black day in July
And the soul of Motor City is bared across the land
As the book of law and order is taken in the hands
Of the sons of the fathers who were carried to this land

Black day in July
Black day in July
In the streets of Motor City is a deadly silent sound
And the body of a dead youth lies stretched upon the ground
Upon the filthy pavement
No reason can be found

Black day in July
Black day in July
Motor City madness has touched the countryside
And the people rise in anger
And the streets begin to fill
And there's gunfire from the rooftops
And the blood begins to spill

Black day in July

In the mansion of the governor
There's nothing that is known for sure
The telephone is ringing
And the pendulum is swinging
And they wonder how it happened
And they really know the reason
And it wasn't just the temperature
And it wasn't just the season

Black day in July
Black day in July
Motor City's burning and the flames are running wild
They reflect upon the waters of the river and the lake
And everyone is listening
And everyone's awake

Black day in July
Black day in July
The printing press is turning
And the news is quickly flashed
And you read your morning paper
And you sip your cup of tea
And you wonder just in passing
Is it him or is it me

Black day in July

In the office of the President
The deed is done the troops are sent
There's really not much choice you see
It looks to us like anarchy
And then the tanks go rolling in
To patch things up as best they can
There is no time to hesitate
The speech is made the dues can wait

Black day in July
Black day in July
The streets of Motor City now are quiet and serene
But the shapes of gutted buildings
Strike terror to the heart
And you say how did it happen
And you say how did it start
Why can't we all be brothers
Why can't we live in peace
But the hands of the have-nots
Keep falling out of reach

Black day in July
Black day in July
Motor city madness has touched the countryside
And through the smoke and cinders
You can hear it far and wide
The doors are quickly bolted
And the children locked inside..
 

Gordon Lightfoot

Cailín deás crúidhte na mbó

Tá bliain nú níos mó 'gram ag eisteacht,
Le cogar doilghéasach mo mhéoinn,
Ó casadh liom grádh geal mo chléibhe,
Tráthnóna breágh gréinne sa bhfoghmhar
Bhí an bhóbhainne chumhrtha ag géimnigh
A's na héanlaith go meidhreach le ceól,
A's ar bhruch an tsrotháin ar leathtaobh díom
Bhí cailín deás crúidhte na mbó.

Tá asúile mar lonnradh na gréine
Ag scaipeadh tré spéarthaibh an cheoigh.
'S is deirge a gruadh 'ná na caora
Ar lasadh 'measg craobha na gcnó:
Tá a béilin nios milse 'na sméara,
'S is gile 'ná leamhnacht a snódh:
Ní 'l óigbhean níos deise' san tsaoghal seo
'Ná cailín deás crúidhte na mbó.

Dá bhfaghainn-se árd-thighearnas na hÉireann
Agus éideacha síoda 'gus sróil:
Dá bhfaghainn-se an bhainríoghan is aeirde
Dá bhfuil ar an dtalaimh so beó:
Dá bhfaghainn-se céad loingeas mar spré dham
Pioláití, caisleáin, agus or,
Do b'fearr liom bheith bocht ar druim sléibhe
Le cailín deas crúidhte na mbó

Charlie He's My Darling

Twas on a Monday morning
Right early in the year
When Charlie came to out town
The Young Chevalier

Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling
Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier

As he cam' marchin' up the street
The pipes played loud and clear
And a' the folk cam' rinnin' out
To meet the Chevalier
Wi' highland bonnets on their heads
And claymores bright and clear
They cam' to fight for Scotland's right
And the young Chevalier

They've left their bonnie highland hills
Their wives and bairnies dear
To draw the sword for Scotland's lord
The young Chevalier

Oh, there were many beating hearts
And mony a hope and fear
And mony were the pray'rs put up
For the young Chevalier

Carolina Oliphant,

Buachaill Ón Éirne
 
Buachaill ón Éirne mé is bhrágfainn féin cailín deas óg.
Ní iarrfainn bó spré léi, tá mé féin saibhir go leor -
Is liom Corcaigh dá mhéid é,
Dhá taobh an ghleanna, is Tír Eoghain,
Is mura n-athra' mé béasaí,
Is mé an t-oidhre ar contae Mhuigheo.

Buachailleacht bó, mo leo, nár chleacht mise riamh
Ach ag imirt is ag ól le hógmhná deasa fá shliabh.
Má chaill mé mo stór
Ní móide gur cahill mé mo chiall
Is ní mó liom do phóg ná an bhróg
Atá ar caitheamh le bliain..

Rachaidh mé amárach a dhéanamh leanna fán choill,
Gan coite gan bád gan gráinín brach' ar bith liom,
Ach duilliúir na gcraobh
Mar éide leaba os mo cheann
Is óró, a sheacht m'anam déag thú,
Is tú ag féachaint orm anall.

Boys of the Old Brigade

"Oh father, why are you so sad,
on this bright Easter morn?
When Irishmen are proud and glad
Of the land where they were born."
"Oh, son, I see sad mem'ries view
Of far-off distant days,
When, being just a boy like you,
I joined the old brigade.

Chorus:
Where are the lads who stood with me
When history was made?
Oh, gra mo chree I long to see
The Boys of the Old Brigade.
 
In hills and farms the call to arms
Was heard by one and all,
And from the glens came brave young men
To answer Ireland's call.
'Twas long ago we faced the foe,
The old brigade and me,
But by my side they fought and died
That Ireland might be free.

Chorus

And now, my boy, I've told you why
On Easter morn I sigh
For I recall my comrades all
From dark old days gone by,
I think of men who fought in glens
With rifles and grenade
May Heaven keep the men who sleep
From the ranks of the old brigade.

Erin-Go-Bragh

My name's Duncan Campbell from the shire of Argyll
I've travelled this country for many's the mile
I've travelled through Ireland, Scotland and a'
And the name I go under's bold Erin-go-bragh

One night in Auld Reekie as I walked down the street
A saucy big polis I chanced for to meet
He glowered in my face and he gi'ed me some jaw
Sayin' "When cam' ye over, bold Erin-go-bragh?"

"Well I am not a Pat though in Ireland I've been
Nor am I a Paddy though Ireland I've seen
But were I a Pat, now, what's that at a'?
For there's many's the bold hero from Erin-go-bragh"

"Well I know you're a Pat by the cut of your hair
But you all turn to Scotsmen as soon as you're here
You left your ain country for breaking the law
And we're seizing all stragglers from Erin-go-bragh"

"Were I a Pat and you knew it were true
Or were I the devil, then what's it to you?
Were it not for the stick that you hold in your paw
I would show you a game played in Erin-go-bragh"

And a lump of blackthorn that I held in my fist
Around his big body I made it to twist
And the blood from his napper I quickly did draw
And paid him stock-and-interest for Erin-go-bragh

Then the people came around like a flock of wild geese
Crying "Catch that daft rascal, he's killed the police"
And for every friend I had I'll swear he had twa
It was terrible hard times for Erin-go-bragh

But I cam' to a wee boat that sailed in the Forth
And I packed up my gear and I steered for the North
Fareweel to Auld Reekie, you polis and a'
And the devil gang with you, says Erin-go-bragh

So come all you young people, wherever you're from
I don't give a damn to what place you belong
I come from Argyll in the Hielands so braw
But I ne'er took it ill being called Erin-go-bragh

Quote:

"It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the emperor has no clothes. 

But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the emperor remains an emperor."

 Neil Gaiman

Quote:

No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.
 

Voltaire

The Happy Warrior


    I HAVE brought no store from the field now the day is ended,
        The harvest moon is up and I bear no sheaves;
    When the toilers carry the fruits hanging gold and splendid,
        I have but leaves.

    When the saints pass by in the pride of their stainless raiment,
        Their brave hearts high with the joy of the gifts they bring,
    I have saved no whit from the sum of my daily payment
        For offering.

    Not there is my place where the workman his toil delivers,
        I scarce can see the ground where the hero stands,
    I must wait as the one poor fool in that host of givers,
        With empty hands.

    There was no time lent to me that my skill might fashion
        Some work of praise, some glory, some thing of light,
    For the swarms of hell came on in their power and passion,
        I could but fight.

    I am maimed and spent, I am broken and trodden under,
        With wheel and horseman the battle has swept me o'er,
    And the long, vain warfare has riven my heart asunder,
        I can no more.

    But my soul is still; though the sundering door has hidden
        The mirth and glitter, the sound of the lighted feast,
    Though the guests go in and I stand in the night, unbidden,
        The worst, the least.

    My soul is still. I have gotten nor fame nor treasure,
        Let all men spurn me, let devils and angels frown,
    But the scars I bear are a guerdon of royal measure,
        My stars--my crown.

        Violet Jacob

The Old Triangle

A hungry feeling
Came o'er me stealing
And the mice were squealing
In my prison cell

And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal

To begin the morning
The warder's bawling
"Get out of bed
And clean up your cell"

And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal

On a fine spring evening
The lag lay dreaming
The seagulls wheeling
High above the wall

And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal

The screw was peeping
The lag was sleeping
While he lay weeping
For his girl Sal

And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal

The wind was rising
And the day declining
As I lay pining
In my prison cell

And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal

In the female prison
There are seventy women
I wish it was with them
That I did dwell

Then the old triangle
Could go jingle jangle
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal

The day was dying
And the wind was sighing
As I lay crying
In my prison cell

And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal
All along the banks
Of the Royal Canal

Brendan Behan

Óró, Sé Do Bheatha 'Bhaile
   
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ahnish err hockth on thourig

Sé do bheatha a bhean ba léanmhar!
B'é ár gcreach tú bheith i ngéibhinn
Shay dhu vahha ah van buh lanevor!
Bay aer grack thew veh ingavein
Do dhúiche bhreá i seilbh méirleach
'S tú diolta leis na Ghallaibh
Dhu goohe vrah ih shelliv marelock
Sthew deelthe lesh nah Gooliv

Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ahnish err hockth on thourig

Tá Gráinne Mhaol ag teacht thar sáile
Óglaigh armtha léi mar gharda
Thaw Grawnyee Wail egg chockth horr sawl-yeh
Oglig orramha lay maw gawrdha
Gaeil iad féin 's ni Gaill ná Spáinnigh
'S cuirfid siad ruaig ar Ghallaibh
Gwale eedh fain snee Guile naw Spawnig
Squirrhidh sheed rooig err Gooliv

Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ahnish err hockth on thourig

A bhui le Ri na bhfeart go bhfeiceam
Muna mbeam beo 'na dhiaidh ach seachtain
Avwwe lah Ree nah varth guh veckim
Munah mem byoh nah yeeg ock shockthin
Gráinne Mhaol agus mile gaiscioch
Ag fógairt fáin ar Ghallaibh
Grawnyee Wail oggus meeleh goshkeeock
Egg fohgirth fawn err Gooliv

Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh
Ohrow, shay dhu vahha walyeh!
Ahnish err hockth on thourig.

O'Donnell Abú

Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding
Loudly the war cries arise on the gale
Fleetly the steed by Lough Swilly is bounding
To join the thick squadrons on Saimer's green vale
On, every mountaineer, strangers to flight of fear
Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh
Bonnaught and Gallowglass, throng from each mountain pass
Onward for Erin, O'Donnell Abú!

Princely O'Neill to our aid is advancing
With many a chieftain and warrior clan
A thousand proud steeds in his vanguard are prancing
'Neath the borders brave from the banks of the Bann
Many a heart shall quail under its coat of mail
Deeply the merciless foeman shall rue
When on his ear shall ring, borne on the breeze's wing
Tirconnell's dread warcry: "O'Donnell Abú!"

Wildly o'er Desmond the war wolf is howling
Fearless the eagle sweeps over the plain
The fox in the streets of the city is prowling
And all who scare them are banished or slain
On with O'Donnell, then, fight the old fight again
Sons of Tirconnell, are valiant and true
Make the proud Saxon feel Erin's avenging steel
Strike for your country, O'Donnell Abú!

Trad.

Dublin

Grey brick upon brick
Declamatory bronze
On somber pedestals
O'Connell, Grattan, Moore
And the brewery tugs and the swans
On the balustraded stream
And the bare bones of a fanlight
Over a hungry door
And the air soft on the cheek
And porter running from the taps
With a head of yellow cream
And Nelson on his pillar
Watching his world collapse

This never was my town
I was not born or bred
Nor schooled here and she will not
Have me alive or dead
But yet she holds my mind
With her seedy elegance
With her gentle veils of rain
And all her ghosts that walk
And all that hide behind
Her Georgian facades
The catcalls and the pain
The glamour of her squalor
The bravado of her talk

The lights jig in the river
With a concertina movement
And the sun comes up in the morning
Like barley-sugar on the water
And the mist on the Wicklow hills
Is close, as close
As the peasantry were to the landlord
As the Irish to the Anglo-Irish
As the killer is close one moment
To the man he kills
Or as the moment itself
Is close to the next moment

She is not an Irish town
And she is not English
Historic with guns and vermin
And the cold renown
Of a fragment of Church latin
Of an oratorical phrase
But oh the days are soft
Soft enough to forget
The lesson better learnt
The bullet on the wet
Streets, the crooked deal
The steel behind the laugh
The Four Courts burnt

Fort of the Dane
Garrison of the Saxon
Augustan capital
Of a Gaelic nation
Appropriating all
The alien brought
You give me time for thought
And by a juggler's trick
You poise the toppling hour
O greyness run to flower
Grey stone, grey water
And brick upon grey brick.

Louis MacNeice

Derwentwater's Farewell
   

Farewell to pleasant Dilston Hall
My father's ancient seat
A stranger now must call thee his
Which gars my heart to greet
Farewell each friendly, well-known face
My heart has held so dear
My tenants now must leave their lands
Or hold their lives in fear

And when the head that wears the crown
Shall be laid low like mine
Some honest hearts may then lament
For Radcliffe's fallen line
The warning bell now bids me cease
My trouble's nearly o'er
Yon sun that rises from the sea
Shall rise on me no more

And fare thee well, George Collingwood
Since fate has put us down
If thou and I have lost our lives
Our King has lost his crown
Fareweel, fareweel, my lady dear
III, ill, thou counselled me
I never more may see the babe
That smiles upon thy knee.

Tead.

The D-Day Dodgers
   

We are the D-Day Dodgers way out in Italy
Always on the vino, always on the spree
Eighth Army scroungers and their tanks
We live in Rome among the Yanks
We are the D-Day Dodgers in sunny Italy

We landed at Salerno, a holiday with pay
The Jerries brought the bands out to greet us on the way
Showed us the sights and gave us tea
We all had girls and the beer was free
We are the D-Day Dodgers in sunny Italy

Naples and Cassino were taken in our stride
We didn't go to fight there, we just went for the ride
Anzio and Sangros they're just names
We only went to look for dames
We are the D-Day Dodgers in sunny Italy

Dear Lady Astor, you think you know a lot
Standing on a platform and talking tommyrot
You're England's sweetheart and her pride
We think your mouth's too bloody wide
That's from your D-Day Dodgers in sunny Italy

Look around the mountains in the mud and rain
You'll see the scattered crosses, there's some that have no name
Heartbreak and toil and suffering gone
The boys beneath them slumber on
They are the D-Day Dodgers who'll stay in Italy
They are the D-Day Dodgers who'll stay in Italy.

Hamish Henderson

Queen Mary's Escape from Loch Leven


Put off, put off, and row with speed,
   For now 's the time, and the hour of need!
To oars, to oars, and trim the bark,
   Nor Scotland's queen be a warder's mark!
Yon light that plays round the castle's moat
   Is only the warder's random shot!
Put off, put off, and row with speed,
   For now is the time, and the hour of need!

Those pond'rous keys shall the kelpies keep,
   And lodge in their caverns dark and deep;
Nor shall Lochleven's towers or hall,
   Hold thee, our lovely lady, in thrall;
Or be the haunt of traitors, sold,
   While Scotland has hands and hearts so bold;
Then, steersmen, steersmen, on with speed,
   For now is the time, and the hour of need!

Hark! the alarum-bell hath rung,
   And the warder's voice hath treason sung;
The echoes to the falconet's roar,
   Chime swiftly to the dashing oar.
Let town, and hall, and battlements gleam,
   We steer by the light of the tapers' beam;
For Scotland and Mary, on with speed,
   Now, now is the time, and the hour of need! 

Trad.

The Haughs of Cromdale


As I come in by Auchindoun,
Just a wee bit frae the toun,
To the Hi'lands I was bound
To view the Haughs of Cromdale.
I met a man in tartan trews,
Spiered at him what was the news,
Quo' he, "The Hi'land army rues
That e'er we come to Cromdale.

"We were in bed, sir, every man,
When the English host upon us cam;
A bloody battle then began
Upon the Haughs of Cromdale.
The English horse they were so rude,
They bathed their hoofs in Hi'land blood,
But our brave clans, they boldly stood
Upon the Haughs of Cromdale.

"But, alas! We could no longer stay,
And o'er the hills we come away,
Sore we do lament the day
That e"er we come to Cromdale."
Thus the great Montrose did say:
Hi'land man show me the way
I will over the hills this day,
To view the Haughs of Cromdale."

They were at their dinner, every man,
When great Montrose upon them cam;
A second battle then began
Upon the Haughs of Cromdale.
The Grant, Mackenzie and M'Ky,
As Montrose they did espy,
Then they fought most valiantly
Upon the Haughs of Cromdale.

The McDonalds they returned again,
The Camerons did our standard join,
McIntosh played a bloody game
Upon the Haughs of Cromdale.

The Gordons boldly did advance,
The Frasers fought with sword and lance,
The Grahams they made the heads to dance,
Upon the Haughs of Cromdale.

And the loyal Stewarts, wi' Montrose,
So boldly set upon their foes,
Laid them low wi' Hi'land blows
Laid them low on Cromdale.
Of twenty-thousand Cromwell's men,
A thousand fled to Aberdeen,
The rest of them lie on the plain,
There on the Haughs of Cromdale.

Of twenty-thousand Cromwell's men,
A thousand fled to Aberdeen,
The rest of them lie on the plain,
There on the Haughs of Cromdale.



Trad.

Came Ye by Atholl


Cam' ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg,
Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Garry?
Saw ye the lads, wi' their bonnets an' white cockades,
Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie.
Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee?
Long has thou lov'd an' trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?
King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Charlie.

I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald;
But if I had ten, they should follow Glengarry;
Health to MacDonald and gallant Chan Ronald,
For these are the men that will die for their Charlie.
Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee?
Long has thou lov'd an' trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?
King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Charlie.

I'll go to Lochiel, and Appin, and kneel to them;
Down by Lord Murray and Roy of Kildarlie;
Brave Mackintosh, he shall fly to the field wi' them;
These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie.
Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee?
Long has thou lov'd an' trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?
King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Charlie.

Down by thro' the Lowlands, down wi' the whigamore,
Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely;
Ronald and Donald drive on wi' the braid claymore,
Over the necks o' the foes o' Prince Charlie.
Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee?
Long has thou lov'd an' trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?
King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Charlie.

The McGregors
   

McGregor o' the heilan' clan ye left five sons and no' a man
Your motley crew dae a' they can tae terrorize the border
Young Jamie we' his fourteen weans, ne'er a steek tae claed their banes
Wi' idle lands and little brains cause nothing but disorder

McGregor o you've left your gun tae Robin Oidh your second son
Noo poor McLaren's days are done, Jamie's ta'en his cattle
He's led them af at early dawn, your widow Ellen led them on
She'd better see that they are gone, or be prepared for battle

McGregor o your kith and kin have loupit ower the loch and linn
A wife o' Robin they maun bin, pick on one wi' plenty
Young Jamie's taen a widow tree, wi' mansion hoose for a' tae see
Her mother just for company, and Jean was barely twenty

McGregor a tae see them go intae the hills abune Glencoe
The rascals noo are lyin' low, hope for Jeannie's favours
But she would spurn the rogue's embrace, her tempered wrath was hard tae face
They swore they'd put her in her place, and on her best behavior

McGregor o if you could see the pleedin' in the lassie's e'e
I'm sure ye'd set the widow free, it's cruel tae hear her sobbin'
Against her will though she be led, and ae man force her tae the bed
Arm up the kirk where they are wed. She'll ne'er submit tae Robin

McGregor o it's drawing near, this time the law will mak' it clear
The rascal's days are short I fear, hands are on the lever
The gallows noo will have its chance, Jamie's fled awa' tae France
He'll no' be here tae see Rab dance. In Hell they'll meet thegither.

Trad.

Now I'm Easy
   

For nearly sixty years I've been a cockie
Of droughts and fires and floods I've lived through plenty
This country's dust and mud
Have seen my tears and blood
But it's nearly over now and now I'm easy

I married a fine girl when I was twenty
She died in giving birth when she was thirty
No flying doctor then
Just a gentle old black gent
But it's nearly over now and now I'm easy

She left me with two sons and a daughter
And a bone dry farm whose soil cried out for water
Though me care was rough and ready
They grew up fine and steady
But it's nearly over now and now I'm easy

My daughter married young and went her own way
My sons lie buried by the Burma railway
So on this land I've made me home
I've carried on alone
But it's nearly over now and now I'm easy

Oh, city folks these days despise the cockie
Saying with subsidies and dole we've had it easy
But there's no drought or starving stock
On the sewered suburban block
But it's nearly over now and now I'm easy

For nearly sixty years I've been a cockie
Of droughts and fires and floods I've lived through plenty
This country's dust and mud
Have seen my tears and blood
But it's nearly over now and now I'm easy
But it's nearly over now and now I'm easy.


Eric Bogle

The Rights Of Man
   

I speak with grandeur one night in slumber
My mind did wander near to Athlone
The centre station of this Irish nation
A congregation unto me was shown
Beyond my counting upon a mountain
Near to a fountain that clearly ran
My feet did tremble I'll not dissemble
As they assembled for the Rights of Man

All clad in green there I thought I seen
A virtuous Queen who was grave and old
Saying children dear now do not fear
But come and hear what I will unfold
This fertile country for seven centuries
Since Strongbow's entry upon our land
Has been kept under with woes unnumbered
And always plundered of the Rights of Man

My cause you chided you so derided
And when divided alas you know
All in disorder round Erin's border
Strife grief and murder have left you low
Let each communion detest disunion
In love and union join hand in hand
And believe oul' Graine that proud Britannia
Shall no more rob you of the Rights of Man

Then I caught the crowd, they all spoke aloud
And fighting stopped then bowed to take advise
They seemed delighted and all united
Not to be fighting, but to rejoice
Her harp so pleasing she played amazing
I still stood gazing, but could not understand
As I most enchanting and most endearing
Saying always be true to the Rights of Man.

Trad.

Sir Andrew Barton

    As it befell in midsummer-time
        When birds sing sweetly on every tree,
    Our noble king, King Henry the Eighth,
        Over the river of Thames past he.

    He was no sooner over the river,
        Down in the forest to take the air,
    But eighty merchants of London city
        Came kneeling before King Henry there.

    "O ye are welcome, rich merchants,
        Good sailors, welcome unto me!"
    They swore by the rood they were sailors good
        But rich merchants they could not be.

    "To France nor Flanders dare we not pass,
        Nor Bordeaux voyage we dare not fare,
    And all for a false robber that lies on the seas,
        And robs us of our merchantsware."

    King Henry was stout, and he turned him about,
        And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
    "I thought he had not been in the world throughout
        That durst have wrought England such unright."

    But ever they sighed, and said, alas!
        Unto King Harry this anwer again:
    "He is a proud Scot that will rob us all
        If we were twenty ships and he but one."

    The king looked over his left shoulder,
        Amongst his lords and barons so free:
    "Have I never lord in all my realm
        Will fetch yond traitor unto me?"

    "Yes, that dare I!" says my lord Charles Howard,
        Near to the king whereas he did stand;
    "If that Your Grace will give me leave,
        My self will be the only man."

    "Thou shalt have six hundred men," saith our king,
        "And choose them out of my realm so free;
    Besides mariners and boys,
        To guide the great ship on the sea."

    "I'll go speak with Sir Andrew," says Charles, my lord Howard;
        "Upon the sea, if he be there;
    I will bring him and his ship to shore,
        Or before my prince I will never come near."

    The first of all my lord did call,
        A noble gunner he was one;
    This man was three score years and ten,
        And Peter Simon was his name.

    "Peter," says he, "I must sail to the sea,
        To seek out an enemy; God be my speed!
    Before all others I have chosen thee;
        Of a hundred gunners thou'st be my head."

    "My lord," says he, "if you have chosen me
        Of a hundred gunners to be the head,
    Hang me at your main-mast tree
        If I miss my mark past three pence bread."

    The next of all my lord he did call,
        A noble bowman he was one;
    In Yorkshire was this gentleman born,
        And William Horsely was his name.

    "Horsely," says he, "I must sail to the sea,
        To seek out an enemy; God be my speed!
    Before all others I have chosen thee;
        Of a hundred bowmen thou'st be my head."

    "My lord," says he, "if you have chosen me
        Of a hundred bowmen to be the head,
    Hang me at your mainmast-tree
        If I miss my mark past twleve pence bread,"

    With pikes, and guns, and bowmen bold,
        This noble Howard is gone to the sea
    On the day before midsummer-even,
        And out at Thames' mouth sailed they.

    They had not sailed days three
        Upon their journey they took in hand,
    But there they met with a noble ship,
        And stoutly made it both stay and stand.

    "Thou must tell me thy name," said Charles, my lord Howard,
        "Or who thou art, or from whence thou came,
    Yea, and where thy dwelling is,
        To whom and where thy ship does belong.

    "My name," says he, "is Henry Hunt,
        With a pure heart and a penitent mind;
    I and my ship they do belong
        Unto the Newcastle that stands upon Tyne."

    "Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt,
        As thou hast sailed by day and by night,
    Hast thou not heard of a stout robber?
        Men calls him Sir Andrew Barton, knight."

    But ever he sighed, and said, Alas!
        Full well, my lord, I know that wight;
    He robbed me of my merchantsware,
        And I was his prisoner but yesternight.

    As I was sailing upon the sea,
        And a Bordeaux voyage as I did fare,
    He clasped me to his archboard,
        And robbed me of all my merchantsware.

    And I am a man both poor and bare
        And every man will have his owner of me,
    And I am bound towards London to fare,
        To complain to my prince Henry.

    "That shall not need," says my Lord Howard;
    "If thou canst let me this robber see,
    For every penny he hath taken thee from,
        Thou shalt be rewarded a shilling," quoth he.

    "Now God forefend," says Henry Hunt,
        "My lord, you should work so far amiss!
    God keep you out of that traitor's hands!
        For you wott full little what a man he is.

    "He is brass within, and steel without,
        And beams he bears in his topcastle strong;
    His ship hath ordinance clean round about;
        Beside, my lord, he is very well manned.

    "He hath a pinnace, is dearly dight,
        Saint Andrew's cross that is his guide;
    His pinnace bears nine score men and more,
        Besides fifteen cannons on every side.

    "If you were twenty ships, and he but one,
        Either in archboard or in hall,
    He would overcome you every one,
        And if his beams they do down fall."

    "This is cold comfort," says my Lord Howard,
        "To welcome a stranger thus to the sea;
    I'll bring him and his ship to shore,
        Or else into Scotland he shall carry me."

    "Then you must get a noble gunner, my lord,
        That can set well with his eye,
    And sink his pinnace into the sea,
        And soon then overcome he be.

    "And when that you have done this,
        If you chance Sir Andrew for to board,
    Let no man to his topcastle go;
        And I will give a glass, my lord,

    "And then you need to fear no Scot,
        Whether you sail by day or by night;
    And tomorrowe'en, by seven of the clock,
        You shall meet with Sir Andrew Barton, knight.

    "I was his prisoner but yester night,
        And he hath taken me sworn," quoth he;
    "I trust my Lord God will be forgive
        And if that oath then broken be."

    "You must lend me six pieces, my lord," quoth he,
        "Into my ship, to sail the sea,
    And tomorrow, by nine of the clock,
        Your Honor again then will I see."

             *     *     *     *     *

    And the hatch-board where Sir Andrew lay
        Is hatched with gold dearly dight:
    "Now by my faith," say Charles, my lord Howard,
        "Then yonder Scot is a worthy wight!

    "Take in your ancients and your standards,
        Yea that no man shall them see,
    And put me forth a white willow wand,
        As merchants use to sail the sea."

    "But they stirred neither top nor mast,
        But Sir Andrew they passed by:
    "What English are yonder," said Sir Andrew,
        "That can so little courtesy?"

    I have been admiral over the sea
        More than these years three;
    There is never an English dog, nor Portingall,
        Can pass this way without leave of me.

    "But now yonder peddlers, they are past,
        Which is no little grief to me:
    Fetch them back," says Sir Andrew Barton,
        "They shall all hang at my main-mast tree."

    With that the pinnace it shot off,
        That my Lord Howard might it well ken;
    It stroke down my lord's foremast,
        And killed fourteen of my lord his men.

    "Come hither, Simon!" says my Lord Howard,
        "Look that thy words be true thou said;
    I'll hang thee at my main-mast tree
        If thou miss thy mark past twelve pence bread."

    Simon was old, but his heart it was bold;
        He took down a piece, and laid it full low;
    He put in chain yards nine,
        Beside other great shot less and more.

    With that he let his gun-shot go;
        So well he settled it with his eye,
    The first sight that Sir Andrew saw,
        He see his pinnace sunk in the sea.

    When he saw his pinnace sunk,
        Lord! in his heart he was not well:
    "Cut my ropes, it is time to be gone!
        I'll go fetch yon peddlers back myself!"

    When my lord Howard saw Sir Andrew loose,
        Lord! in his heart that he was fain:
    "Strike on your drums! spread out your ancients!
        Sound out your trumpets! sound out amain!"

    "Fight on, my men!" says Sir Andrew Barton;
        "Weate, howsoever this gear will sway,
    It is my Lord Admiral of England
        Is come to seek me on the sea."

    Simon had a son; with shot of a gun--
        Well Sir Andrew might it ken--
    He shot it in at a privy pace,
        And killed sixty more of Sir Andrew's men.

    Harry Hunt came in at the other side,
        At at Sir Andrew he shot then;
    He drove down his foremast-tree,
        And killed eighty more of Sir Andrew's men.

    "I have done a good turn," says Harry Hunt;
        "Sir Andrew is not our king's friend;
    He hoped to have undone me yesternight,
        But I hope I have quit him well in the end."

    "Ever alas!" said Sir Andrew Barton,
        "What should a man either think or say?
    Yonder false thief is my strongest enemy,
        Who was my prisoner but yesterday."

    "Come hither to me, thou Gorden good,
        And be thou ready at my call,
    And I will give thee three hundred pound,
        If thou wilt let my beams down fall."

    With that he swarmed the main-mast tree,
        So did he it with might and main;
    Horsely, with a bearing arrow,
        Stroke the Gorden through the brain.

    And he fell into the hatches again,
        And sore of this wound that he did bleed;
    Then word went through Sir Andrew's men,
        That the Gordan he was dead.

    "Come hither to me, James Hambliton,
        Thou art my sister's son, I have no more;
    I will give thee six hundred pound
        If thou will let my beams down fall.

    With that he swarmed the main-mast tree,
        So did he it with might and main:
    Horseley, with another broad arrow,
        Strake the yeoman through the brain.

    That he fell down to the hatches again;
        Sore of his wound that he did bleed;
    Covetousness gets no gain,
        It is very true, as the Welshman said.

    But when he saw his sister's son slain,
        Lord! in his heart he was not well;
    "Go fetch me down my armor of proof,
        For I will to the topcastle myself.

    "Go fetch me down my armor of proof,
        For it is guilded with gold so clear:
    God be with my brother, John of Barton!
        Amongst the Portingalls he did it wear."

    But when he had his armor of proof,
        And on his body he had it on,
    Every man that looked at him
        Said, gun or arrow he needs fear none.

    "Come hither, Horsely!" says my lord Howard,
        "And look your shaft that it go right;
    Shoot a good shoot in the time of need,
        And for thy shooting thou'st be made a knight."

    "I'll do my best," says Horsely then,
        "Your Honor shall see before I go;
    If I should be hanged at your main-mast,
        I have in my ship but arrows two."

    But at Sir Andrew he shot then;
        He made sure to hit his mark;
    Under the spole of his right arm
        He smote Sir Andrew quite through the heart.

    Yet from the tree he would not start,
        But he clinged to it with might and main;
    Under the collar then of his jack,
        He stroke Sir Andrew through the brain.

    "Fight on, my men," says Sir Andrew Barton,
        "I am hurt, but I am not slain;
    I'll lay me down and bleed a while,
        And then I'll rise and fight again.

    "Fight on my men," says Sir Andrew Barton,
        "These English dogs they bite so low;
    Fight on for Scotland and Saint Andrew
        Till you hear my whistle blow!"

    But when they could not hear his whistle blow,
        Says Harry Hunt, "I'll lay my head
    You my board yonder noble ship, my lord,
        For I know Sir Andrew he is dead."

    With that they boarded this noble ship,
        So did they it with might and main;
    And found eighteen score Scots alive,
        Beside the rest were maimed and slain.

    My lord Howard took sword in his hand,
        And smote off Sir Andrew's head;
    The Scots stood by and did weep and mourn,
        But never a word durst speak or say.

    He caused his body to be taken down,
        And over the hatch board cast into the sea,
    And about his middle three hundred crowns:
        "Wheresoever thou lands, it will bury thee."

    With his head they sailed into England again,
        With right good will, and force and main,
    And the day before New Year's even
        Into Thames' mouth they came again.

    My lord Howard wrote to King Henry's grace,
        With all the news he could him bring:
    "Such a New Year's gift I have grought to your Grace
        As never did subject to any king."

    "For merchandise and manhood,
        The like is not to be found;
    The sight of these would do you good,
        For you have not the like in your English ground."

    But when he heard tell that they were come,
        Full royally he welcomed them home;
    Sir Andrew's ship was the king's New Year's gift;
        A braver ship you never saw none.

    Now hath our king Sir Andew's ship,
        Beset with pearls and precious stones;
    Now hath England two ships of war,
        Two ships of war, before but one.

    'Who helped to this?" says King Henry,
        "That I may reward him for his pain:"
    "Harry Hunt, and Peter Simon,
        William Horsely, and I the same."

    "Harry Hunt shall have his whistle and chain,
        And all his jewels, whatsoever they be,
    And other rich gifts that I will not name,
        For his good service he hath done me.

    "Horsely, right thou'st be a knight,
        Lands and livings thou shalt have store;
    Howard shall be Earl of Nottingham,
        And so was never Howard before.

    "Now, Peter Simon, thou art old;
        I will maintain thee and thy son;
    Thou shalt have five hundred pound all in gold
        For the good service that thou hast done."

    Then King Henry shifted his room;
        In came the Queen and ladies bright;
    Other errands they had none
        But to see Sir Andrew Barton, knight.

    But when they see his deadly face,
        His eyes were hollow in his head;
    "I would give a hundred pound," said King Henry,
        "The man were alive as he is dead!

    "Yet for the manful part that been played,
        Both here and beyond the sea,
    His men shall have half a crown a day
        To bring them to my brother, King Jamie." 

Trad.