O let me Music hear Night and Day! Let the voice and let the Lyre Dissolve my heart, my spirit's fire; Music and I ask no more, Night or Day! Hence with colder world, Hence, Adieu! Give me. Give me but the while, The brighter heav'n of Ellen's smile, Love and then I ask no more, Oh, would you? Hence with this world of care I say too; Give me but the blissful dream, That mingles in the goblet's gleam, Wine and then I ask no more, What say you? Music may gladden Wine, What say you? Tendrils of the laughing Vine Around the Myrtle well may twine, Both may grace the Lyre divine, What say you? What if we all agree, What say you? I will list the Lyre with thee, And he shall dream of Love like me, Brighter than the wine shall be, What say you? Refrain Love, Music, wine agree, True, true, true! Round then round the glass, the glee, And Ellen in our toast shall be! Music, wine and Love agree, True, true, true!
25 schottische Lieder mit Begleitung von Pianoforte, Violine und Violoncello , opus 108
by Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 - 1827)
1. Music, Love and Wine  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "Music, love and wine"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Musik, Liebe und Wein"
2. Sunset  [sung text checked 1 time]
The sun upon the Weirdlaw hill, in Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet; the westland wind is hush and still, the lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eyes bears those bright hues that once it bore; tho' Ev'ning, with her richest dye, flames o'er the hills on Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain, I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill , the stream, the tower, the tree, Are they still such as once they were, Or is the dreary change in me? Alas, the warp'd and broken board, How can it bear the painter's dye? The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord, How to the minstrel's skill reply? To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows chill: And Araby's or Eden's bowers, Were barren as this moorland hill.
Authorship:
- by Walter Scott, Sir (1771 - 1832), "Sunset"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Daphné van Raemdonck) , "Coucher de soleil", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Der Abend"
3. O sweet were the hours  [sung text checked 1 time]
O sweet were the hours When in mirth's frolic throng I led up the revels With dance and with song; When brisk from the fountain And bright as the day, My spirits o'erflow'd And ran sparkling away! Wine! Wine! Wine! Come bring me wine to cheer me, Friend of my heart! Come pledge me high! Wine! Till the dreams of youth Again are near me, Why must they leave me, Tell me, why? Return, ye sweet hours! Once again let me see Your airly light forms Of enchantment and glee; Come, give an old friend, While he crowns his gay glass, A nod as you part And a smile as you pass I cannot forget you, I would not resign, There's health in my pulse, And a spell in my wine; And sunshine in Autumn, Tho' passing too soon, Is sweeter and dearer Than sunshine in June.
Authorship:
- by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "O sweet were the hours"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Daphné van Raemdonck) , "Oh, douces furent les heures", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "O köstliche Zeit"
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Belli erano i momenti", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
4. The maid of Isla  [sung text checked 1 time]
O, Maid of Isla, from the cliff, That looks on troubled wave and sky, Dost thou not see yon little skiff Contend with ocean gallantly? Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, And steep'd her leeward deck in foam, Why does she war unequal urge? - O, Isla's maid, she seeks her home. O, Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, Her white wing gleams through mist and spray, Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, As to the rock she wheels away; - Where clouds are dark and billows rave, Why to the shelter should she come Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave? - O, maid of Isla, 'tis her home. As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, And cold as is yon wintry cliff, Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come; For in thy love, or in his grave, Must Allan Vourich find his home.
Authorship:
- by Walter Scott, Sir (1771 - 1832), "The maid of Isla"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Das Islamägdlein"
5. The sweetest lad was Jamie  [sung text checked 1 time]
The sweetest lad was Jamie, The sweetest, the dearest; And well did Jamie love me, And not a fault has he. Yet one he had, it spoke his praise, He knew not woman's wish to teaze, He knew not all our silly ways, Alas! The woe [is]1 me! For though I loved my Jamie Sincerely and dearly, Yet, often when he woo'd me, I held my head on high; And huffed and tossed with saucy air, And danced with Donald at the fair, And placed his ribbon in my hair, And Jamie, -- passed him by. So, when the war-pipes sounded, Dear Jamie he left me, And now some other maiden Will Jamie turn to woo. My heart will break, and well it may, For who would word of pity say To her who threw a heart away, So faithful and so true? Oh! Knew he how I loved him, Sincerely and dearly! And I would fly to meet him, Oh! happy were the day! Some kind, kind friend, oh! come between, And tell him of my altered mien! That Jeanie has not Jeanie been Since Jamie went away!
Authorship:
- by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "Ballad", subtitle: "Scotch"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le plus doux garçon était Jamie", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Der schönste Bub war Henny, der schönste, der beste!"
Confirmed with William Smyth, English Lyrics, London, William Pickering, 1850, pages 165-166.
1 Beethoven: "to"
Researcher for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani
6. Dim, dim is my eye  [sung text checked 1 time]
Dim, dim is my eye, As the dew-drop once clear, Pale, pale is my cheek, Ever wet with the tear And heavily heaves This soft breast, once so gay, For William, my true love, My William away! Sad. Sad was the hour, When he bade me adieu, While he hung on my bosom, And vow'd to be true; My heart it seem'd bursting On that fatal day, When the fast less'ning sail Bore my William away. For honour my William Braved danger and toil, And he fought and he fell With the Lord of the Nile. To die for his country In glory's bright day, My valiant sweet William Count never dismay. Lament him, ye fair, And lament him, ye brave, Though unshrouded he lies, And the sea is his grave; For the kind and true hearted, The gallant and gay, Lament, for my William's For ever away!
Authorship:
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]7. Bonny Laddie, Highland Laddie  [sung text checked 1 time]
Where got ye siller moon, Bonny laddie, highland laddie, Glinting braw your belt aboon, Bonny laddie, highland laddie? Belted plaid and bonnet blue, Bonny laddie, highland laddie, Have ye been at Waterloo, Bonny laddie, highland laddie? Weels me on your tartan trews, Bonny laddie, highland laddie, Tell me, tell me a' the news, Bonny laddie, highland laddie! Saw ye Boney by the way, Bonny laddie, highland laddie, Blucher wi' his beard sae grey, Bonny laddie, highland laddie? Or, the doure and deadly Duke, Bonny laddie, highland laddie, Scatt'ring Frenchmen wi'his look, Bonny laddie, highland laddie! Some say he the day may rue; Bonny laddie, highland laddie, You can till gin this be true, Bonny laddie, highland laddie. Would ye tell me gin ye ken, Bonny laddie, highland laddie, Aught o' Donald and his men, Bonny laddie, highland laddie? Tell me o' my kilted Clan, Bonny laddie, highland laddie, Gin they fought, or gin they ran, Bonny laddie, highland laddie?
Authorship:
- by James Hogg (1770 - 1835), "Bonny Laddie, Higland Laddie"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Isabelle Cecchini) , "Petit gars des Highlands", copyright © 2003, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Frische Bursche, Hochlands Bursche"
- SPA Spanish (Español) (Susana Martin Dudoignon) , copyright © 2021, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
8. The lovely lass of Inverness  [sung text checked 1 time]
The lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en [to]1 morn she cries, (Alas!) And ay the saut tear blins her e'e: « Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, A waefu' day it was to me ! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see, And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e! Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be, For monie a heart thou has made sair That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee! »
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "The lovely lass o' Inverness"
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Josef Václav Sládek) , "Dívka z Inverness"
- FRE French (Français) (Isabelle Cecchini) , "La jolie fille d'Inverness", copyright © 2003, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Die holde Maid von Inverness"
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "L'amabile fanciulla di Inverness", copyright © 2005, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- POL Polish (Polski) (Jan Kasprowicz) , "Nadobna dziewka z Inverness", Warsaw, first published 1907
Confirmed with The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Cambridge edition, Boston and New York, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1897, page 250.
1 Beethoven: "and"
Researcher for this page: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]
9. Behold, my love, how green the groves  [sung text checked 1 time]
[Behold, my love, how]1 green the groves, The primrose banks how fair; The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flowing hair. The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings: For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, To Shepherds as to Kings. Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string, In lordly lighted ha': The Shepherd stops his simple reed, Blythe in the birken shaw. The Princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi' scorn; But are their hearts as light as ours, Beneath the milk-white thorn! The shepherd, in the flowery glen; In shepherd's phrase, will woo: The courtier tells a finer tale, But is his heart as true! These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine: The courtiers' gems may witness love, But, 'tis na love like mine.
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "Behold, my love, how green the groves", written 1794
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Vois ma Chloris", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Schau her, mein Lieb, der Wälder Grün"
1 in some editions, "My Chloris, mark how" (and titled "My Chloris, mark")
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
10. Sympathy  [sung text checked 1 time]
Why, Julia, say, that pensive mien? I heard thy bosom sighing; How quickly on thy cheek is seen The blush, as quickly flying! Why mark I, in thy soften'd eye, Once with light spirit beaming, A silent tear I know not why, In trem'lous luster gleaming? Come, tell me all thy bosom pain: Perhaps some faithless lover? Nay, droop not thus, the rose with rain May sink, yet still recover. O Julia! My words recall, My thoughts too rud'ly guide me; I see afresh thy sorrows fall, They seem to plead and chide me. I too, the secret would have known, That makes existence languish, Links [to]1 the soul on thought alone, And that, a thought of anguish; Forgive, forgive, an aching heart, That vainly hoped to cheer thee These tears may tell thee, while they start, How all thy griefs endear thee!
Authorship:
- by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "Sympathy"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Sympathie"
1 or possibly "for" [suggested by a correspondent after hearing a recording]
Researcher for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani
11. O! thou art the lad of my heart  [sung text checked 1 time]
Oh! Thou are the lad of my heart, Willy, There's love and there's life and glee, There's a cheer in thy voice, and thy bounding step, And there's bliss in thy blithesome e'e. But, oh, how my heart was tried, Willy, For little I thought to see, That the lad who won the lasses all, Would ever be won by me. Adown this path we came, Willy, T'was just at this hour of eve; And will he or will he not, I thought, My fluttering heart relieve? So oft as he paused, as we saunter'd on, T'was fear and hope and fear; But here at the wood, as we parting stood, T'was rapture his vows to hear! Ah vows so soft thy vows, Willy! Who would not, like me, be proud! Sweet lark! with thy soaring echoing song, Come down from thy rosy cloud. Come down to thy nest, and tell thy mate, But tell thy mate alone, Thou hast seen a maid, whose heart of love, Is merry and light as thine own.
Authorship:
- by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "O! thou art the lad of my heart"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Oh ! tu es le garçon de mon cœur, Willy", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "O, du nur bist mein Herzensbub"
12. Oh, had my fate been join'd with thine  [sung text checked 2 times]
Oh! had my fate been join'd with thine, As once this pledge appear'd a token, These follies had not then been mine, For then my peace had not been broken. To thee these early faults I owe, To thee the [wise and old]1 reproving: They know my sins, but do not know 'T was thine to break the [bonds]2 of loving. For once my soul like thine was pure, And all its rising fires could smother; But now thy vows no more endure, Bestow'd by thee upon another; Perhaps his peace I could destroy, And spoil the blisses that await him; Yet let my rival smile in joy For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. Ah! since thy angel form is gone, My heart no more can rest with any; But what it sought in thee alone Attempts, alas! to find in many. Then, fare thee well, deceitful maid, 'T were vain and fruitless to regret thee; Nor hope, nor memory yield their aid, But Pride may teach me to forget thee. Yet all this giddy waste of years, This tiresome round of palling pleasures; These varied loves, these matron's fears, These thoughtless strains to passion's measures -- If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd: -- This cheek now pale from early riot, With passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, For Nature seem'd to smile before thee; And once my heart abhorr'd deceit, -- For then it beat but to adore thee. But now I [seek]3 for other joys: To think would drive my soul to madness; In thoughtless throngs and empty noise, I conquer half my bosom's sadness. [Yet]4, even in these a thought will steal, In spite of every vain endeavour, -- And fiends might pity what I feel, -- To know that thou art lost for ever.
Authorship:
- by George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron (1788 - 1824), "To a lady"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Ernst Eckstein) , "An ein Mädchen", subtitle: "(Nach dem Englischen des Lord Byron.)", appears in In Moll und Dur, in 3. Dritte Abtheilung
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "O hätte doch dies goldne Pfand"
Confirmed with The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, London: Oxford University Press Humphrey Milford, 1933, pages 42-43.
1 Beethoven: "old and wise"2 Beethoven: "bands"
3 Beethoven: "ask"
4 Beethoven: "Yes"
Research team for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani , Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]
13. Come fill, fill, my good fellow!  [sung text checked 1 time]
Come fill, fill, my good fellow! Fill high, high, my good Fellow, And let's be merry and mellow, And let us have one bottle more. When warm the heart is flowing, And bright the fancy glowing, Oh, shame on the dolt would be going, Nor tarry for one bottle more! My Heart, let me but lighten, And Life, let me but brighten, And Care, let me but frighten. He'll fly us with one bottle more! By day, tho' he confound me, When friends at night have found me, There is Paradise around me But let me have one bottle more! So now, here's to the Lasses! See, see, while the toast passes, How it lights up beaming glasses! Encore to the Lasses, encore. We'll toast the welcome greeting Of hearts in union beating. And oh! For our next merry meeting, Huzza! Then for one bottle more!
Authorship:
- by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "Come, fill, fill my good fellow"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Allez, remplis, remplis, mon bon gars !", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Trinklied"
- SPA Spanish (Español) (Susana Martin Dudoignon) , "¡Ven, llena la copa, buen amigo!", copyright © 2021, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
14. O how can I be blythe and glad  [sung text checked 1 time]
O how can I be blythe and glad, Or how can I gang brisk and braw, When the bonie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa ? It's no the frosty winter wind, It's no the driving drift and snaw; But aye the tear comes in my e'e, To think on him that's far awa. My father pat me frae his door, My friends they hae disown'd me a'; But I hae ane will tak my part, The bonie lad that's far awa. A pair o' glooves he bought to me, And silken snoods he gae me twa; And I will wear them for his sake, The bonie lad that's far awa. O, weary Winter soon will pass, And Spring will cleed the birken shaw; And my young babie will be born, And he'll be hame that's far awa !
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "The Bonie Lad That's Far Awa", written 1788
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Josef Václav Sládek) , "Ten hodný hoch"
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Le joli garçon qui est au loin", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "O wie kann ich wohl fröhlich sein"
Researcher for this page: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]
15. O cruel was my father  [sung text checked 1 time]
O cruel was my father That shut the door on me. And cruel was my mother That such a thing could see. And cruel is the wintry wind That chills my heart with cold. But crueler than all, the lad, That left my love for gold. Hush, hush, my lovely Baby, And warm thee in my breast. Ah! Little thinks thy father How sadly we're distrest, For cruel as he is, Did he know but how we fare, He'd shield me in his arms From this bitter piercing air. Cold, cold, my dearest jewel! Thy little life is gone! O let my tears receive thee, So warm that trickle down! My tears that gush so warm, Oh, they freeze before they fall, Ah, wretched, wretched mother Thou art now bereft of all! Then down she sunk despairing Upon the drifted snow, And, wrung with killing anguish, Lamented loud her woe. She kiss'd her baby's pale lips And laid by her side; Then cast her eyes to heaven, Then bow'd her head, and died.
Authorship:
- by Alexander Ballantyne , "O cruel was my father"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "O grausam war mein Vater"
16. Could this ill world have been contriv'd  [sung text checked 1 time]
Could this ill world have been contriv'd to stand without that mischief, woman, how peaceful bodies wou'd have liv'd, releas'd frae a' the ills sae common! But since it is the waefu' case, that man must have this teasing crony, why such a sweet bewitching face? Oh! had they no been made sae bonny! I might have roam'd wi' cheerful mind, nae sin nor sorrow to betide me, as careless as the wand'ring wind, as happy as the lamb beside me. I might have screw'd my tuneful pegs, and carol'd mountain airs fu' gayly, had we but wanted a' the Megs, wi' glossy e'en sae dark and wily. I saw the danger, fear'd the dart, the smile, the air, and a' sae taking, yet open laid my wareless heart, and got the wound that keeps me waking. My harp waves on the willow green, of wild witch notes it has nae ony, sinc' e'er I saw that pawky quean, sae sweet, sae wicked, and sae bonny.
Authorship:
- by James Hogg (1770 - 1835), "Could this ill world"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Wenn doch die arge böse Welt"
17. O Mary, at thy window be  [sung text checked 1 time]
O Mary, at thy window be! It is the wish'd the trysted hour. Those smiles and glances let me see, That makes the miser's treasure poor. How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure -- The lovely Mary Morison! Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a' -- "Ye are na Mary Morison!" O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? Or canst thou break that heart of his Whase only faut is loving thee? If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown: A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison.
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "Mary Morison"
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Josef Václav Sládek) , "Mary Morison"
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Mary Morison", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Mariechen, komm ans Fensterlein"
- GER German (Deutsch) (Gustav Legerlotz) , "Mary Morison"
- HUN Hungarian (Magyar) (József Lévay) , "Morison Mari"
Researcher for this page: Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]
18. Enchantress, farewell  [sung text checked 1 time]
Enchantress, farewell, who so oft hast decoy'd me, At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam, Where the forester, 'lated, with wonder espied me Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking The language alternate of rapture and woe: Oh! none but some lover, whose heartstrings are breaking The pang that I feel at our parting can know. Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow, Or pale disappointment to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of tomorrow, Till forgot in the strain was the grief of today! But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not assuage; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 'Twas thou that once taught me, accents bewailing, To sing how a warrior I lay stretch'd on the plain, And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing, And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; As vain thy enchantments, O Queen of wild Numbers To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers -- Farewell, then, Enchantress I'll meet thee no more!
Authorship:
- by Walter Scott, Sir (1771 - 1832), "Farewell to the Muse"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "O Zaub'rin, leb wohl"
19. O swiftly glides the bonny boat  [sung text checked 1 time]
O swiftly glides the bonny boat Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus note Soft moves the dipping oar. His toils are borne with happy cheer And ever may they speed, That feeble age and helpmate dear And tender bairnies feed. Refrain We cast our lines in Largo Bay, Our nets are floating wide, Our bonny boat with yielding sway Rocks lightly in the tide. Amd happy prove our daily lot Upon the summer sea, And blest on land our kindly Cot Where all our treasures be. The mermaid on her rock may sing, The witch may weave her charm, Nor watersprite nor eldritch thing The bonny boat can harm. It safely bears its scaly store Thro many a storm gale, While joyful shouts rise from the shore, Its homeward prow to hail.
Authorship:
- by Joanna Baillie (1762 - 1851), "O swiftly glides the bonny boat"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Wie gleitet schnell das leichte Boot"
20. Faithfu' Johnie  [sung text checked 1 time]
When will you come again, my faithfu' Johnie, When will you come again? "When the corn is gathered, And the leaves are withered, I will come again, my sweet and bonny, I will come again." Then winter's wind will blow, my faithfu' Johnie, Then winter's wind will blow: "Though the day be dark wi' drift, That I cannot see the lift, I will come again, my sweet and bonny, I will come again." Then will you meet me here, my faithfu' Johnie, Then will you meet me here? "Though the night were Hallowe'en When the fearfu' sights are seen, I would meet thee here, my sweet and bonny, I would meet thee here." O come na by the muir, my faithfu' Johnie, O come na by the muir. "Though the wraiths were glist'ning white By the dim elf-candles' light, I would come to thee, my sweet and bonny, I would come to thee." And shall we part again, my fathfu' Johnie? Shall we part again? "So lang's my eye can see, Jean, That face so dear to me, Jean, We shall not part again, my sweet and bonny, We shall not part again."
Authorship:
- possibly by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "Faithfu' Johnie"
- possibly by Anne Grant (1755 - 1838), "Faithfu' Johnie"
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Isabelle Cecchini) , "Fidèle Johnie", copyright © 2003, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
20. Der treue Johnnie  [sung text checked 1 time]
O wann kehrst Du zurück, mein treuer Johnnie! O wann kehrst Du zurück? "Wenn das Korn ist eingebracht Und verwelkt der Blätter Pracht, Dann kehr' ich zurück, mein süßes Liebchen, Dann kehr' ich zurück." Dann bläst der kalte Nord, mein treuer Johnnie, Dann bläst der kalte Nord! "Birgt Gestöber auch den Tag, Kaum den Pfad ich finden mag, Komm' ich doch zu Dir, mein süßes Liebchen, Komm' ich doch zu Dir!" Dann willst Du sein bei mir, mein treuer Johnie? Dann willst Du sein bei mir? "Wär' es auch in heilger Nacht, Wo manch grauser Spuk erwacht, Komm' ich doch zu Dir, mein süßes Liebchen, Komm' ich doch zu Dir!" Nicht komm' um Mitternacht, mein treuer Johnie! Nicht komm' um Mitternacht! "Schillern der Gespenster Reihn Bleicher auch im Irrlichtschein, Komm' ich doch zu Dir, mein süßes Liebchen, Komm' ich doch zu Dir!" Ach, scheiden wieder wir, mein treuer Johnnie? Ach, scheiden wieder wir? "Nein, so lang mein Augenlicht Spiegelt mir Dein lieb Gesicht, Scheiden nimmer wir, mein süßes Liebchen, Scheiden nimmer wir!"
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author, "Der treue Johnnie"
Based on:
- a text in English possibly by William Smyth (1765 - 1849) and possibly by Anne Grant (1755 - 1838)
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Researcher for this page: Caroline Diehl21. Jeanie's Distress  [sung text checked 1 time]
By William late offended, I blam'd him, I allow And then my anger ended, And he is angry now. And I in turn am chided, For what I ne'er design'd; And tho'by love misguided, Am call'd myself unkind. So now, when I am nigh him, My looks must coldness wear; They tell me I must fly him At market and at fair; Nor near the thorn-tree meet him, At evening, I suppose, Nor in the morning greet him, As by the door he goes. Nor at the kirk perceive him, But ponder on my book; With downcast eyes deceive him, Tho' stealing oft a look. Alas! How long must nature This cruel war maintain? Content in every feature, While writhes my heart with pain? O William, dost thou love me? Oh! Sure I need not fear; How, dearest, would it move thee To see this falling tear! Too heedless, thoughtless lover, From what thyself must feel, Why canst thou not discover, What Jeanie must conceal?
Authorship:
- by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "Jeanie's Distress"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Jeanies Trübsal"
22. The Highland Watch  [sung text checked 1 time]
Old Scotia, wake thy mountain strain In all its wildest splendours! And welcome back the lads again, Your honour's dear defenders! Be every harp and viol strung', Till all the woodlands quaver: Of many a band your Bards have sung, But never hail'd a braver. Refrain Then raise the pibroch, Donald Bane, We're all in key to cheer it; And let it be a martial strain, That warriors bold may hear it. Ye lovely maids, pitch high your notes As virgin voice can sound them, Sing of your brave, your noble Scots, For glory kindles round them. Small is the remnant you will see, Lamented be the others! But such a stem of such a tree, Take to your arms like brothers. Refrain: Raise high the pibroch, Donald Bane, Strike all our glen with wonder; Let the chanter yell, and the drone notes swell, Till music speaks in thunder. What storm can rend your mountain rock, What wave your headlands shiver? Long have they stood the tempest's shock, Thou knowst they will for ever. Sooner your eye these cliffs shall view Split by the wind and weather, Than foeman's eye the bonnet blue Behind the nodding feather. Refrain: O raise the pibroch, Donald Bane, Our caps to the sky we'll send them. Scotland, thy honours who can stain, Thy laurels who can rend them!
Authorship:
- by James Hogg (1770 - 1835), "The Highland Watch"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Die Hochlands Wache"
23. The Shepherd's Song  [sung text checked 1 time]
The gowan glitters on the sward, The lavrock's in the sky, And Colley on my plaid keeps ward, And time is passing by. Oh no! Sad and slow! I hear nae welcome sound! The shadow of our trysting bush, It wears so slowly round. My sheepbell tinkles frae the west, My lambs are bleating near, But still the sound tha I lo'e best, Alack! I canna hear. Oh no! Sad and slow! The shadow lingers still, And like a lonely ghaist I stand And croon upon the hill. I hear below the water roar, Th mill wi' clakkin' din, And Lukky scolding frae her door, To bring the bairnies in, Oh no! Sad and slow! These are nae sounds for me; The shadow of a trysting bush, It creeps sae drearily.
Authorship:
- by Joanna Baillie (1762 - 1851), "The Sheperd's Song"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Des Schäfers Lied"
24. Again, my Lyre, yet once again  [sung text checked 1 time]
Again my lyre, yet once again! With tears I wake thy thrilling strain O sounds to sacred sorrow dear, I weep, but could for ever hear! Ah! cease! nor more past scenes recall, Ye plaintive notes! thou dying fall! For lost, beneath thy lov'd control, Sweet Lyre! is my dissolving soul. Around me airy forms appear, And Seraph songs are in mine ear! Ye Spirits blest, oh bear away To happier realms my humble lay! For still my Love may deign to hear Those human notes that once were dear! And still one angel sigh bestow On her who weeps, who mourns below.
The text shown is a variant of another text. [ View differences ]
It is based on
- a text in English by William Smyth (1765 - 1849), "The mourner"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Encore, ma lyre, encore une fois", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Noch einmal wecken Tränen"
25. Sally in our Alley  [sung text checked 1 time]
Of all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pretty Sally! She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley! There's not a lady in the land That's half so sweet as Sally, She is the darling of my heart And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage nets, And through the street does cry' em; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy' em How could such folks the parents be Of such a girl as Sally! She is the darling of my heart And she lives in our alley. When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs me most severely: But let him bang his bellyful, I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days that's in the week, I dearly love but one day, And that's the day that comes between The Saturday and Monday, For then I'm drest all in my best To walk abroad with Sally. She is the darling of my heart And she lives in our alley. My master carries me to church, And often am I blam'd Because I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is nam'd; I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When Christmas comes about again, O, then I shall have money; I'll hoard it up, and box it all, I'll give it to my honey: I would it were ten thousand pound, I'd give it all to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbours all Make game of me and Sally, And but for her I'd better be A slave, and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out, Oh! Then I'll marry Sally; She is the darling of my heart And she lives in our alley.
Authorship:
- by Henry Carey (1687? - 1743), "Sally in our Alley"
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist) , "Das Bäschen in unserm Sträßchen"