| One of the largest collections of Scottish Ballads & Scots Folk Songs, lyrics, celtic music and downloads available on the internet. |
| Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads |
| Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer. |
| Hazel Whyte |
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| Scots' Music |
| Moon Was A Waning |
| A simple brief thought on Scottish Independance. Were the outdated union not of some very high value to England and the English, why would they fight so to try to keep it? There are only so many slices to a pie, for one to have more, another must have less. Lastly - to those Scottish "Loyalists" - to whom are you loyal? Scots royalty died in the 1700's so it can be no Scots crown - And certainly not it appears to those who came before, that bled for Scotland and her freedom ! |
| In the words of Burns, as he wrote from the heart. 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 would be a traitor-knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a Slave? Let him turn and flie: Wha for Scotland's king and law, Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or free-man 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! Lay the proud Usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Let us Do - or Die!!! Choose your destiny. |
| The moon was a-waning, the tempest was over Fair was the maiden, and fond was the lover But the snow was so deep that his heart it grew weary And he sunk down to sleep in the moorland so dreary Soft was the bed she had made for her lover White were the sheets and embroidered the cover But his sheets are more white, and his canopy grander And sounder he sleeps where the hill foxes wander Alas, pretty maiden, what sorrows attend you I see you sit shivering with lights at your window But long may you wait ere your arms shall enclose him For still, still he lies with a wreath on his bosom How painful the task the sad tidings to tell you An orphan you were ere this misery befell you And far in yon wild where the dead-tapers hover So cold, cold and wan lies the corpse of your lover |
| Tab/Sheet Music As Available |