| 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 |
| Rothesay Bay |
| 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 Were the outdated union not of some very high value to England and the English, why would they fight so to try to keep it?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. |
| Fu' yellow lie the cornrigs, fat down the braid hillside; It is the brawest har'st field, alang the shores o' Clyde, And I'm a puir har'st lassie wha stands the lee lang day - Amang the cornrigs of Ardbeg, aboon sweet Rothesay Bay. O I had ance a true love, now I hae nane ava; And I had three braw brithers, but I hae tint them a'. My father and my mither sleep i' the mools this day - I sit my lane amang the rigs, aboon sweet Rothesay Bay. It's a bonnie bay at morning, and bonnier at noon, But bonniest when the sun draps and red comes up the moon. When the mist creeps o'er the Cumbraes and Arran peaks are gray, And the great black hills, like sleeping kings, sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay. Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom, and wee tear blin's my e'e, And I think of that far countrie wha I wad like to be. But I rise content i' the morning to wark while I may - I' the yellow har'st field of Ardbeg, aboon sweet Rothesya Bay. |
| Tab/Sheet Music As Available |