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Schotse tunes
Hielan Laddie
Where ha' ye
been a' the day?
Bonnie laddie, Hielan' laddie.
Saw ye him that' far awa'
Bonnie laddie, Hielan' laddie.
On his head a
bonnet blue
Bonnie laddie, Hielan' laddie.
Tartan plaid and Hielan' trews,
Bonnie laddie, Hielan' laddie.
When he drew his
gude braid-sword,
Then he gave his royal word.
Frae the field he ne'er wad flee,
Wi' his friends wad live or dee.
Geordie sits in
Charlie's chair,
But I think he'll no bide there.
Charlie yet shall mount the throne,
Weel ye ken it is his own.
Here we come...
Stottin' down the street...
We get the funniest looks
From everyone we meet.
Hey, hey, we're
the Tartan Army
And people say we fanny around.
But we're too busy singing
To put anybody down.
We're just
trying to be friendly;
We like to sing and play.
We're the famous Tartan Army
And we've got something to say.
Hey, hey, we're
the Tartan Army
And people say we fanny around.
But we're too busy singing
To put anybody down.
The Skye Boat Song
(Chorus)
Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing
Onward the sailors cry
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye
Loud the wind
howls, loud the waves roar,
Thunderclaps rend the air
Baffled our foes, stand by the shore
Follow they will not dare
Chorus
Many's the lad
fought on that day
Well the claymore did wield
When the night came, silently lain
Dead on Culloden field
Chorus
Though the waves
heave, soft will ye sleep
Ocean's a royal bed
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head
Chorus
Burned are our
homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men
Yet e'er the sword cool in the sheath
Charlie will come again.
Chorus
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld
acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
And surely
you'll be your pint stoup,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne!
Chorus
We twa hae ran
about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine,
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit
Sin' auld lang syne.
Chorus
We twa hae
paidl'd in the burn
Frae morning sun til dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.
Chorus
And there's a
hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine,
And we'll tak a right gude willie waught
For auld lang syne!
Chorus
By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomon'
Where me and my true love were ever wont tae gae
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'
Chorus
Oh you tak' the high road and I'll tak the low road
An' I'll be in Scotland afore ye,
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'
Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen.
On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomon',
Where in purple hue, the hielan' hills we view,
An' the moon comin' out in the gloamin'.
Chorus
The wee birdies
sing, and the wild flowers spring,
While in sunshine the waters are sleepin'
But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again,
Tho' the waefu' may cease free their greetin'.
Chorus
Culloden, on thy swarthy brow
Spring no wild flowers nor verdure fair;
Thou feel'st not summer's genial glow,
More than the freezing wintry air.
For once thou drank'st the hero's blood,
And war's unhallow'd footsteps bore;
Thy deeds unholy, nature view'd,
Then fled, and cursed thee evermore.
From Beauly's
wild and woodland glens,
How proudly Lovat's banners soar!
How fierce the plaided Highland clans
Rush onward with the broad claymore!
Those hearts that high with honour heave,
The volleying thunder there laid low;
Or scatter'd like the forest leaves,
When wintry winds begin to blow!
Where now thy
honours, brave Lochiel?
The braided plumes torn from thy brow,
What must thy haughty spirit feel,
When skulking like the mountain roe!
While wild birds chant from Locky's bowers,
On April eve, their loves and joys,
The Lord of Locky's loftiest towers
To foreign lands an exile flies.
To his blue
hills that rose in view,
As o'er the deep his galley bore,
He often look'd and cried, "Adieu!
I'll never see Lochaber more!
Though now thy wounds I cannot feel,
My dear, my injured native land,
In other climes thy foe shall feel
The weight of Cameron's deadly brand.
"Land of proud
hearts and mountains gray,
Where Fingal fought, and Ossian sung!
Mourn dark Culloden's fateful day,
That from thy chiefs the laurel wrung.
Where once they ruled and roam'd at will,
Free as their own dark mountain game,
Their sons are slaves, yet keenly feel
A longing for their father's fame.
"Shades of the
mighty and the brave,
Who, faithful to your Stuart, fell!
No trophies mark your common grave,
Nor dirges to your memory swell.
But generous hearts will weep your fate,
When far has roll'd the tide of time;
And bards unborn shall renovate
Your fading fame in loftiest rhyme."
Scots wha' hae'
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed
Or to victorie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour:
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's power
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn, and fleel
Wha for Scotland's King and Law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
Let him follow me!
By Oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins
But they shall be free!
Hark when the night is falling,
Hear! hear the pipes are calling,
Loudly and proudly calling,
Down thro' the glen.
There where the hills are sleeping,
Now feel the blood a-leaping,
High as the spirits of the old Highland men.
Chorus
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
High in the misty Highlands
Out by the purple islands,
Brave are the hearts that beat
Beneath Scottish skies.
Wild are the winds to meet you,
Staunch are the friends that greet you,
Kind as the love that shines from fair maidens' eyes.
Chorus
Far off in sunlit places
Sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearning to feel the kiss
Of sweet Scottish rain.
Where the tropics are beaming
Love sets the heart a-dreaming,
Longing and dreaming for the hameland again.
Chorus
There was a
soldier, a Scottish soldier,
Who wandered far away and soldiered far away,
There was none bolder, with good broad shoulders,
He fought in many a fray and fought and won.
He's seen the glory, he's told the story,
Of battles glorious and deeds victorious.
But now he's sighing, his heart is crying,
To leave these green hills of Tyrol.
Chorus:
Because these
green hills are not Highland hills
Or the Island's hills, they're not my land's hills,
As fair as these green foreign hills may be
They are not the hills of home.
And now this
soldier, this Scottish soldier,
Who wandered far away and soldiered far away,
Sees leaves are falling, and death is calling,
And he will fade away, on that dark land.
He called his piper, his trusty piper,
And bade him sound away, a pibroch sad to play,
Upon a hillside, a Scottish hillside
Not on these green hills of Tyrol
Chorus:
And now this
soldier, this Scottish soldier,
Who wanders far no more, and soldiers far no more,
Now on a hillside, a Scottish hillside,
You'll see a piper play this soldier home.
He's seen the glory, he's told the story,
Of battles glorious, and deeds victorious;
But he will cease now, he is at peace now,
Far from these green hills of Tyrol
Chorus:
I've been wi' a
couple o' cronies,
One or two pals o' my ain;
We went in a hotel, and we did very well,
And then we came out once again;
Then we went into anither,
And that is the reason I'm fu';
We had six deoch-an-doruses, then sang a chorus,
Just listen, I'll sing it to you:
Chorus
I belong to Glasgow,
Dear old Glasgow town;
But what's the matter wi' Glasgow,
For it's goin' roun' and roun'!
I'm only a common old working chap,
As anyone here can see,
But when I get a couple o' drinks on a Saturday,
Glasgow belongs to me!
There's nothing
in keeping your money,
And saving a shilling or two;
If you've nothing to spend, then you've nothing to lend,
Why that's all the better for you!
There no harm in taking a drappie,
It ends all your trouble and strife;
It gives ye the feeling that when you get home,
You don't give a hang for the wife!
Chorus
I returned to
the fields of glory,
Where the green grasses and flowers grow.
And the wind softly tells the story,
Of the brave lads of long ago.
Chorus:
March no more my soldier laddie,
There is peace where there once was war.
Sleep in peace my soldier laddie,
Sleep in peace, now the battle's over.
In the great
glen they lay a sleeping,
Where the cool waters gently flow.
And the gray mist is sadly weeping,
For those brave lads of long ago.
Chorus
See the tall
grass is there awaiting,
As their banners of long ago.
With their heads high forward threading,
Stepping lightly to meet the foe.
Chorus
Some return from
the fields of glory,
To their loved ones who held them dear.
But some fell in that hour of glory,
And were left to their resting here.
Chorus
Flower of Scotland
O
Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
Your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
To think again.
The
Hills are bare now,
And Autumn leaves
lie thick and still,
O'er land that is lost now,
Which those so dearly held,
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
To think again.
Those
days are past now,
And in the past
they must remain,
But we can still rise now,
And be the nation again,
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
To think again.
O
Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
To think again.
Donald, Where's Your Trousers?
I
just down from the Isle of Skye
I'm no very big but I'm awful shy
All the lassies shout as I walk by,
"Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"
Let
the wind blow high and the wind blow low
Through the streets in my kilt I go
All the lassies cry, "Hello!
Donald, where's your trousers?"
I
went to a fancy ball
It was slippery in the hall
I was afeared that I may fall
Because I nay had on trousers
I
went down to London town
To have a little fun in the underground
All the Ladies turned their heads around, saying,
"Donald, where's your trousers?"
The
lassies love me every one
But they must catch me if they can
You canna put the breeks on a highland man, saying,
"Donald, where's your trousers?"
Ye Jacobites By Name
Ye
Jacobites by name lend an ear, lend an ear
Ye Jacobites by name lend an ear
Ye Jacobites by name your faults I will proclaim
Your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear.
What
is right and what is wrong by the law, by the law
What is right and what is wrong by the law
What is right and what is wrong, a short sword and a long
A weak arm and a strong for to draw.
What
makes heroic strife famed afar, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife famed afar?
What makes heroic strife, to whet the assassin's knife
Or hunt a parent's life with bloody war.
Then
leave your schemes alone in the state, in the state
Then leave your schemes alone in the state
Then leave your schemes alone, adore the rising sun
And leave a man alone to his fate.
Then leave your schemes alone, adore the rising sun
And leave a man alone to his fate...
And leave a man alone to his fate.
Rampant Scotland heeft een uitgebreide selectie op hun website en die kan je hier vinden.
Samengesteld door Martine Maryns
Revised: januari 06, 2009
