Robert Tannahill 1774-1810
Born in Paisley. He was a cotton weaver. The weavers had a reputation for intellectual and artistic endeavour. Tannahill was shy and morbidly sensitive. In 1807 he had a volu...Robert Tannahill 1774-1810
Born in Paisley. He was a cotton weaver. The weavers had a reputation for intellectual and artistic endeavour. Tannahill was shy and morbidly sensitive. In 1807 he had a volume of poems and songs published ('Poems and Songs'
which met with great success. When the publisher Constable delayed publication of a collection of new songs, this affected him so much that he burned the MSS and drowned himself in a canal.
'Bonnie Wood O' Craigielea'
by Robert Tannahill
------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------
Thou bonnie wood o' Craigielea!
Thou bonnie wood o' Craigielea!
Near thee I pass'd life's early day,
And won my Mary's heart in thee.
The brume, the brier, the birken bush,
Blume bonnie o'er thy flowery lee,
An a the sweets that ane can wish
Frae Nature's han, are strewed on thee.
Far ben thy dark green plantin's shade,
The cushat croodles am'rously,
The mavis, doon thy bughted glade,
Gars echo ring frae ev'ry tree.
Awa, ye thochtless, murd'rin gang
Wha tear the nestlins ere they flee!
They'll sing you yet a cantie sang,
Then, oh! in pity let them be!
Whan Winter blaws, in sleety showers,
Frae aff the Norlan hills sae hie,
He lichtly skiffs thy bonnie bow'rs,
As laith tae harm a flow'r in thee.
Though fate should drag me south the line,
Or o'er the wide Atlantic sea,
The happy hours I'll ever mind
That I, in youth, hae spent in thee.
birken=birch
ben=within
cushat=wood-pigeon
mavis=song-thrush
bughted=sheltered
gars=makes
cantie=tuneful
skiffs=touches lightly in passing
laith tae=loath to
The Return (A Piper's Vaunting)
by James Pittendrigh Macgillivray
1856-1938
Och hey! for the splendour of tartans!
And hey for the dirk and the targe!
The race that was hard as the Spartans
Shall return aga...The Return (A Piper's Vaunting)
by James Pittendrigh Macgillivray
1856-1938
Och hey! for the splendour of tartans!
And hey for the dirk and the targe!
The race that was hard as the Spartans
Shall return again to the charge:
Shall come back again to the heather,
Like eagles, with beak and with claws
To take and to scatter for ever
The Sasennach thieves and their laws.
Och, then, for the bonnet and feather!
The pipe and its vaunting clear:
Och, then, for the glens and the heather!
And all that the Gael holds dear.
For Scotland
by Robert Fuller Murray (1863 - 1894)
Beyond the Cheviots and the Tweed,
Beyond the Firth of Forth,
My memory returns at speed
To Scotland and the North.
For still I keep, and ever shall,
A warm...For Scotland
by Robert Fuller Murray (1863 - 1894)
Beyond the Cheviots and the Tweed,
Beyond the Firth of Forth,
My memory returns at speed
To Scotland and the North.
For still I keep, and ever shall,
A warm place in my heart for Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
A warm place in my heart for Scotland.
Oh, cruel off St. Andrew's Bay
The winds are wont to blow!
They either rest or gently play,
When there in dreams I go.
And there I wander, young again,
With limbs that do not tire,
Along the coast to Kittock's Den,
With whinbloom all afire.
I climb the Spindle Rock, and lie
And take my doubtful ease,
Between the ocean and the sky,
Derided by the breeze.
Where coloured mushrooms thickly grow,
Like flowers of brittle stalk,
To haunted Magus Muir I go,
By Lady Catherine's Walk.
In dreams the year I linger through,
In that familiar town,
Where all the youth I ever knew,
Burned up and flickered down.
There's not a rock that fronts the sea,
There's not an inland grove,
But has a tale to tell to me
Of friendship or of love.
And so I keep, and ever shall,
The best place in my heart for Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
The best place in my heart for Scotland!
Found this one in South Africa!
Where Goes my Heart?
If my body lays mouldering 'neath the Hot African soil
Where goes my heart?
It soars, with eagles, among snow topped Highland mountains
Among the gree...Found this one in South Africa!
Where Goes my Heart?
If my body lays mouldering 'neath the Hot African soil
Where goes my heart?
It soars, with eagles, among snow topped Highland mountains
Among the green Angus Glens it meanders loath to part
High on the Struie it delights in Northern Lights cascading fountains
Along the swift flowing Spey it tumbles joyously through Moray parts
Then to Culloden, Bannockburn, Flodden and Falkirk fields shedding a tear
Remembering our past, Wallace and the Bruce and a Bonnie Prince frae a far
Perchance conversing with Burns, Sir Walter, Andrew Selkirk and Tranter too
It laments with the haunting sound of Great Pipes that rise with the curlew
And humbly looks at the Flowers of the Forest - those Flowers o' Scotland
While I lay slumbering silently in solitude 'neath a different, different land
Must I. with these few words, you convince, for are you not Scottish too?
That is where a Scot's heart should be - under Saint Andrew's sky.
Terry Isaac
Mombasa, Kenya
20 June 2005
John Barleycorn
Robert Burns
I.
There were three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high;
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
II.
They took a plou...John Barleycorn
Robert Burns
I.
There were three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high;
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
II.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head;
And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
III.
But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.
IV.
The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears
That no one should him wrong.
V.
The sober autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His beading joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.
VI.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
VII.
They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
VIII.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm.
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.
IX.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
X.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.
XI.
They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all--
He crush'd him 'tween the stones.
XII.
And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
XIII.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
XIV.
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy:
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.
XV.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
John Buchan (1st Baron of Tweedsmuir) was born in Perth, Scotland in 1874 and was the oldest son of Rev. John Buchan and Helen Buchan. He studied at the University of Glasgow and Brasenose College, Ox...John Buchan (1st Baron of Tweedsmuir) was born in Perth, Scotland in 1874 and was the oldest son of Rev. John Buchan and Helen Buchan. He studied at the University of Glasgow and Brasenose College, Oxford.
He was a Scottish diplomat, barrister, journalist, historian, poet and novelist. He wrote adventure novels, short-story collections and biographies. His passion for the Scottish countryside is reflected in much of his writing. Buchan's adventure stories are high in romance and are peopled by a large cast of characters. Alfred Hitchcock adapted his most famous book The Thirty-Nine Steps for screen.
In the spring of 1915, Buchan agreed to become one of the journalists reporting for the British Army. He was given responsibility for providing articles for The Times and the Daily News. In June 1916, Buchan was recruited by the British Army to draft communications for Sir Douglas Haig and other members of the headquarters staff. He was given the rank of Second Lieutenant in the Intelligence Corps and was also provided with the documents needed to write the Nelson's History of the War.
After the war Buchan continued to write successful adventures stories such as Huntingtower (1922), The Three Hostages (1924) and Witch Wood (1927). He also became involved in politics and in 1927 was elected Conservative MP for the Scottish Universities. John Buchan died on 12th February, 1940.
The Gipsy's Song To The Lady Cassilis
The door is open to the wall,
The air is bright and free;
Adown the stair, across the hall,
And then-the world and me;
The bare grey bent, the running stream,
The fire beside the shore;
And we will bid the hearth farewell,
And never seek it more, My love,
And never seek it more.
And you shall wear no silken gown,
No maid shall bind your hair;
The yellow broom shall be your gem,
Your braid the heather rare.
Athwart the moor, adown the hill,
Across the world away;
The path is long for happy hearts
That sing to greet the day, My love,
That sing to greet the day.
When morning cleaves the eastern grey,
And the lone hills are red
When sunsets light the evening way
And birds are quieted;
In autumn noon and springtide dawn,
By hill and dale and sea,
The world shall sing its ancient song
Of hope and joy for thee, My love,
Of hope and joy for thee.
And at the last no solemn stole
Shall on thy breast be laid;
No mumbling priest shall speed thy soul,
No charnel vault thee shade.
But by the shadowed hazel copse,
Aneath the greenwood tree,
Where airs are soft and waters sing,
Thou'lt ever sleep by me, My love,
Thou'lt ever sleep by me.
Today is the birthday of the Scottish poet James Thomson!
Thomson, James, 1700-1748, Scottish poet. Educated at Edinburgh, he went to London, took a post as tutor, and became acquainted with such liter...Today is the birthday of the Scottish poet James Thomson!
Thomson, James, 1700-1748, Scottish poet. Educated at Edinburgh, he went to London, took a post as tutor, and became acquainted with such literary celebrities as Gay, Arbuthnot, and Pope. His most famous poem, The Seasons, was published in four parts, beginning with "Winter" (1726), which achieved an immediate success. "Summer" (1727) was followed by "Spring" (1728) and then "Autumn" in the first collected edition (1730); a revised edition appeared in 1744. In The Seasons, Thomson's faithful, sensitive descriptions of external nature were a direct challenge to the urban and artificial school of Pope and influenced the forerunners of romanticism, such as Gray and Cowper. His other important poems are Liberty (1735-36), a tribute to Britain, and The Castle of Indolence (1748), written in imitation of Spenser and reflecting the poet's delight in idleness. Thomson also wrote a series of tragedies along classical lines, with a strong political flavor. The most notable were Sophonisba (1730); Edward and Eleanora (1739), which was banned for political reasons; and Tancred and Sigismunda (1745). In 1740 he collaborated with his friend David Mallet on a masque, Alfred, which contains his famous ode "Rule Britannia."
Rule Britannia by James Thomson
When Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."
The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."
The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."
The poem is named after a deserted township located on the south-eastern corner of the Hebridean island of Raasay, the poet's birthplace. It is a reflection on the nature of time and the historical im...The poem is named after a deserted township located on the south-eastern corner of the Hebridean island of Raasay, the poet's birthplace. It is a reflection on the nature of time and the historical impact of the Highland Clearances, leaving an empty landscape populated only by the ghosts of the evicted and those forced to emigrate.
Hallaig by Sorley MacLean, translated by Seamus Heaney
Time, the deer, is in Hallaig Wood
There's a board nailed across the window
I looked through to see the west
And my love is a birch forever
By Hallaig Stream, at her tryst
Between Inver and Milk Hollow,
somewhere around Baile-chuirn,
A flickering birch, a hazel,
A trim, straight sapling rowan.
In Screapadal, where my people
Hail from, the seed and breed
Of Hector Mor and Norman
By the banks of the stream are a wood.
To-night the pine-cocks crowing
On Cnoc an Ra, there above,
And the trees standing tall in moonlight -
They are not the wood I love.
I will wait for the birches to move,
The wood to come up past the cairn
Until it has veiled the mountain
Down from Beinn na Lice in shade.
If it doesn't, I'll go to Hallaig,
To the sabbath of the dead,
Down to where each departed
Generation has gathered.
Hallaig is where they survive,
All the MacLeans and MacLeads
Who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim:
The dead have been seen alive,
The men at their length on the grass
At the gable of every house,
The girls a wood of birch trees
Standing tall, with their heads bowed.
Between The Leac and Fearns
The road is plush with moss
And the girls in a noiseless procession
Going to Clachan as always
And coming boack from Clachan
And Suisnish, their land of the living,
Still lightsome and unheartbroken,
Their stories only beginning.
From Fearns Burn to the raised beach
Showing clear in the shrouded hills
There are only girls congregating,
Endlessly walking along
Back through the gloaming to Hallaig
Through the vivid speechless air,
Pouring down the steep slopes,
Their laughter misting my ear
And their beauty a glaze on my heart.
Then as the kyles go dim
And the sun sets behind Dun Cana
Love's loaded gun will take aim.
It will bring down the lightheaded deer
As he sniffs the grass round the wallsteads
And his eye will freeze: while I live,
His blood won't be traced in the woods.
Here's one from James Hogg known as the "Ettrick Shepherd" 1770 - 1835.
Caledonia
James Hogg
Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock,
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind-
Thou land of the torre...Here's one from James Hogg known as the "Ettrick Shepherd" 1770 - 1835.
Caledonia
James Hogg
Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock,
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind-
Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak,
Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind;
Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens,
Though bleak thy dun islands appear,
Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans,
That roam on these mountains so drear!
A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,
Could never thy ardour restrain;
The marshall'd array of imperial Rome
Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain!
Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,
Of genius unshackled and free,
The muses have left all the vales of the south,
My loved Caledonia, for thee!
Sweet land of the bay and wild-winding deeps
Where loveliness slumbers at even,
While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps
A calm little motionless heaven!
Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill,
Of the storm and the proud rolling wave-
Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still,
And the land of my forefathers' grave!
Carolina Oliphant, Lady Nairne 1766 - 1845
Although many people may not recognise her name, Carolina Oliphant's songs are second only in popularity to Burns. She wrote such classics as "Will Ye No' Com...Carolina Oliphant, Lady Nairne 1766 - 1845
Although many people may not recognise her name, Carolina Oliphant's songs are second only in popularity to Burns. She wrote such classics as "Will Ye No' Come Back Again" and "Charlie is My Darling" and "Wi' 100 Pipers An' A'".
Carolina Oliphant was born on 16 August 1766 in Gask, Perthshire. Carolina became known as the "Flower of Strathearn" because of her beauty. Both her father and grandfather had joined Bonnie Prince Charlie in the 1745 Jacobite Uprising and she herself had been named after the Young Pretender (Carolina being the feminine form of Charles) so it is not perhaps surprising that many of her songs were sympathetic to the Jacobite cause.
In those days it was not appropriate for women of her social standing to publish poetry and so for a long time they were published under the pen-name of Mrs Bogan of Bogan. Even after marrying her second cousin, Major William Nairne in 1806, she kept her writing secret from him too! They had a son, born in 1808, when she was aged 43. In 1824, following a campaign by Sir Walter Scott, peerages and titles which had been forfeited as a result of the Jacobite Uprising were restored and so Caroline became Lady Nairne.
Like Robert Burns and James Hogg, Lady Nairne collected old folk tunes and modified or put her own words to them. She showed a love of the countryside in such songs as "The Rowan Tree" and "The Pentland Hills." Her poem "The Auld House" is about her birthplace in Gask and she showed her compassion in songs such as "Caller Herring" -
Wha'll buy my caller herrin?
Oh, ye may call them vulgar farin' -
Wives and mithers, maist despairin',
Ca' them lives o' men.
Her husband died in 1830 and she then travelled through Europe, returning to Gask two years before her death on 26th October 1845. She gave permission at that stage for her collected songs (87 in all) to be published as "Lays from Strathearn". They appeared in 1846.
The Land o' the Leal
I'm wearin' awa', John
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There 's nae sorrow there, John,
There 's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn 's there, John,
She was baith gude and fair, John;
And O! we grudged her sair
To the land o' the leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy 's a-coming fast, John,
The joy that 's aye to last
In the land o' the leal.
Sae dear 's the joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the land o' the leal.
O, dry your glistening e'e, John!
My soul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me
To the land o' the leal.
O, haud ye leal and true, John!
Your day it 's wearin' through, John,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John,
This warld's cares are vain, John,
We'll meet, and we'll be fain,
In the land o' the leal.
" Leal " means loyal, faithful or true.
A poem about love in old age and a certainty of a welcome in the World to Come.
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