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| Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads |
| Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer. |
| Hazel Whyte |



















| Scots' Music |


| Wae's Me For Prince Charlie |






































| 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 Were the outdated union not of some very high value to England and the English, why would they fight so to try to keep it?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. |
| Tab/Sheet Music As Available |
| A wee bird cam' tae oor ha' door, he warbled sweet and early And aye the o'ercam' o' his sang was, Wae's me for Prince Chairlie And when I heard the wee bird sing the tears cam' droppin' rarely I took my bonnet aff my heid, oh wae's me for Prince Chairlie Said I, My bird, my bonnie bonnie bird, is that some tale you've borrowed Or is't some words you learnt by rote, some lilt o' dule and sorrow Oh no no no, the wee bird sang, I've flown since morning early Through sic a day o' wind and rain, oh wae's me for Prince Chairlie On hills that are by right his ain he roams, a lonely stranger On ilka side he's pressed by want, on ilka hand by danger Yestreen I met him in the glen, my heart near bursted fairly For sadly changed indeed was he, oh wae's me for Prince Chairlie Dark night came on, the tempest howled oot o' the hills and valleys And where was't that your prince lay doon whose hame should be in a palace He's ro'ed him in a Heilan' plaid that covered him but sparely And slept beneath a bush of broom, oh war's me for Prince Chairlie |