| 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 |
| Presence |
| 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 Were the outdated union not of some very high value to England and the English, why would they fight so to try to keep it?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. |
| It was out in the long spring grass, she said And the night was soft on the hill He touched my ear with his voice, she said And my blood ran sweet and chill I laugh in my sleep at their gibes, she said Though they call me old maid still I have seen them sprinkled, weaned and loved The young girls fondled and wed I've watched their dreams go as grey as the hair That the limpin' sheepdogs shed But mine are as green as the tall pines That lean by Loch Erne head And he never came back to my father's byre Yet on an April night When the moon sits pat on a scudding cloud And the stars are quick and white I have known his clutch like a cloak of pyre And his limbs like swords of light And my eyes wet by the fire, she said But not with lust or shame I mourn no shepherd laid low on the hill I weep in the starry flame With the joy of what I can never lose But what I dare not name It was out in the long spring grass, she said |
| Tab/Sheet Music As Available |