'Last Picts' Lyrics                                         

Dalriada
© R. Andropolis, 2005 

Hollowed eyes of southern famine fled

To the cool white sands of Ulster’s head

Our leather craft afloat,

That seven benches boast,

Pretty boats to host our journeys

Cross the watery moor to quench our dream

 

By our charts a broken country seen,

By reckoning ours one kingdom of the sea,

But four leagues to our trial,

Antrim to Argyll,

Singing tales the while we steady row

Cross the watery plain, unfettered dreams

 

Chorus: Come go with me,

Dal Riata

Kiss the salty sea.

Come sail with me,

Dalriada

Bridge the island stream.

Hill of five plateaus

Footprint in the stone

By Kilmartin vale stake we our new home.

 

Nets laden with our catch

Summer sun hardly sets

Ocean breezes we fetch calling by name

Spur us ‘cross the watery road of dreams

 

Chorus

 

To northwest the Druid isle of yews

And pitched turf of kindred tinted blue;

They the Pictti, we the Scotti,

So named by masters unwanted

Bonded we to raid undaunted

and they, not so dear, departed …..

 

We to weave and thread isles in our sight

Some to shadow Benandonner’s flight

 

Chorus

MacPherson’s Rant

Scottish traditional

 

Farewell ye dungeons dark an’ strang,

And all beneath the skies.

MacPherson’s time will no’ be long,

Below thon gallow trees I’ll hing.

 

There’s some cam’ here to see me hang’t

An’ some to buy my fiddle;

But before ‘at I do part part wi’ her,

I’ll break her through the middle.

 

He took the fiddle into both of his hands

An’ he broke it over a stone;

Says he: Tis none han’ll play on thee

Till when I am dead and gone.

 

Chorus: Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, sae dantin’ly went he,

He played a tune then he danced a-roon’ below the gallows tree.

 

It wis by a woman’s treacherous hand

‘At I wis condemned to dee:

Below a ledge a windae she stood,

Then a blanket she threw ower me.

 

The Laird o’ Grant, the Highland sa’nt,

‘At first laid hands on me;

He played the cause on Peter Broon

Tae let MacPherson dee.

 

Chorus

 

Untie these bands from off my hands,

‘An gae bring me my sword,

Tis no a man in all Scotland

But’ll brave him at his word.

 

The reprieve was comin’ o’er the brig o’ Banff

For tae let MacPherson free,

When they put the clock a quarter before,

They hanged him to the tree.

 

Chorus

 

I’ve lived a life o’ sturt and strife,

I die by treachery.

O, it breaks my heart, I must depart

An’ live in slavery.

 

Farewell you life, you sunshine bright

And all beneath the skies,

For in this place I’m ready to,

MacPherson’s time tae die.

 

Chorus

John Riley

Irish/Appalachian Traditional

 

As I walked out one morning early

To breathe the sweet and pleasant air,

Who should I spy but a fair young maiden,

Whose cheeks were like the lily fair.

 

I stepped up to her and finally asked her

If she would be a sailor’s wife.

“O no, kind sir, I’d rather tarry

And remain single for all my life.”

 

‘What makes you so far from all human nature?

What makes you so far from all human kind?

You are young, youthful and handsome,

You can marry me, if so inclined.’

 

“The truth, kind sir, I’ll plainly tell you,

I could have married three years ago

To one John Riley, who left this country,

Who’s been the cause of my grief and woe.”

 

‘Come along with me, don’t think of Riley

Go with me to that distant shore.’

“My heart’s with Riley, I can’t forget him,

Though I’ll not see him no more.”

 

Now when he saw she loved him truly,

He gave her kisses, one, two, three,

Saying ‘I’m Riley, your long lost lover,

Who has been the cause of your misery.’

 

“If you be he and your name be Riley,

I will go with you to that distant shore.

We’ll lock our hands and hearts together

And to the church house we shall go.”

A Bonnie Blaze
© R. Andropolis, 2005

 

Janet Horne gazed forlornly toward grey Sutherland skies,

Though bitter cold, they’d bared her to parade about the shire;

Gone long, kind days of being lady’s maid,

With journeys as far abroad as Italy … (den of the devil)

 

Years before, she’d married Horne in Dornoch, and a family planned,

A daughter born, unfortunate, with one unseemly withered hand;

Whispers churned by years had festered into talk, 

Not a human hand said neighbors, but a claw … (a hoof, a paw …)

 

Chorus:           From her lips that cold June morn:

                          “Oh, what a bonnie blaze …”

                          Shivering fast and happy to be warmed,

                         “Oh, what a bonnie blaze, bonny blaze …”

 

Old Janet Horne was said her daughter secretly to bewitch,

And ride her as a pony on night errands for Old Nick;

Horseshoed by him to witches’ Sabbath flew,

Un-shoed the withering just a telltale clue … (so stood accused)

 

Chorus

 

Feed her salt and flog her but no water though she plead,

Spike her neck, thraw her about and rack her if need be,

Screw her thumbs, send pricklers in but mind she doesn’t bleed,

Find the devil’s mark for King and Kirk and fall her to her knees …

 

Janet weathered scorn and torment, finally being tried,

Made to say Lord’s Prayer in Gaelic, she did err in speaking out one line;

So deemed a witch and sentenced to the pyre,

In her dotage cheerfully smiled and to her neighbors chimed:

 

Chorus

 

Last witch of Scotland put to flame - befuddled, simple Janet Horne,

In a few short years, the law repealed - late – more than four thousand burned;

A few years more again and born to Janet’s clan,

Her granddaughter, unfortunate with one unseemly withered hand …..

 

Chorus:         From her lips that cold June morn:

                       “Oh, what a bonnie blaze …”

                        Shivering fast and happy to be warmed,

                       “Oh, what a bonnie blaze …”

                        Ashes to the Earth’s four corners,

                        “Oh, what a bonnie blaze …”

                         King and Kirk her pious mourners,

                         “Oh, what a bonnie blaze, bonnie blaze …”

 

 He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he ran,
"O hooly, hooly wi' me sir, ye'll wauken our guidman."

Chorus

 

Next morn he held the lassie close an’ gae her kisses three,
And four-and-twenty hunder mark to pay the maiden’s fees.
 
He took the horn frae his side, and blew baith loud and shrill
And four-and-twenty belted knights cam skippin’ o'er the hill.

And he took out his little knife, loot a' his duddies fa',
And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a'.

Chorus

A Wee Drap O’ Whisky

Scottish Traditional

 

A wee drappie whisky, oh when I am wearied

Ma blood it will warm, my spirits will cheer

For when I sit doon, I intend to be merry

Come fill up a bumper and hand it round here.

 

I can scarce get a hauf oor, oh when I am wearied

To tell you the truth that I’m vrocht very sore

My ploo and my lassie is a’ my whole pleasure

We’ll both tak’ a kiss an’ hae a drap more.

 

Contented I sit and contented I labour

Contented I drink and contented I sing

Oh fat is the use o a man aye compleenin’

For that is a mean and contentious thing.

 

Come noble waiter, bring in a large measure

I mean hauf a mutchkin the best o’ the toon

An’ when it is drunken, it’s time to bejoggin

We’ll gang merrily hame wi’ the canniest carl.

 

So goodnight to you all, I think it’s but a reason

Altho’ that the whisky speaks lood in my ear

Goodnight and safe home till farther occasion

We’ll a’ meet in friends … and hae a drap mair.