| 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 |



















| Scots' Music |


| Ye Banks And Braes |






































| 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 Were the outdated union not of some very high value to England and the English, why would they fight so to try to keep it?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. |
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care! Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flowering thorn! Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed, never to return. Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o' mine; Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree! And my fause luver stole my rose - But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me. |
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