Margaret Winefride Simpson

SLEEP A WEE, SLEEP A WEE! (Traditional)

SLEEP a wee, sleep a wee!
Close yer een noo!
Sleep, an mey waukenin be
Halesome to you!
Lang are the nichts for play
A' Simmer-tide;
Sleepin at nuin-day soon'
Bairnies maun bide.
Tirin ootby the sun
Burnin abuin;
Laich in yon gratefu shade
Cattle lies doon,
Sleep, my dou! Close yer een
Saftly, my dear!
Sleep, my luve, for your ain
Minnie is near!
Sleep a wee, sleep a wee!
Nae a wird noo!
Sleep a wee, sleep a wee,
Dawtie, my dou!

O MY BRAW BIT BAIRNIE! (Traditional)

O MY braw bit bairnie!
O my lammie fair!
O my braw bit bairnie!
My treasure nane sall share!
My treasure, blythe an bonnie,
The cap sae weel sall croun!
Ever I'll esteem thee
A' the lave abuin!
Watchin' ower thy slumber
Withoot devaul am I;
‘It's a' my care, dear Anna,
That trouble pass thee by!
In thy minnie's bosom
Quately shall thoo sleep,
A' guid aboot's, an ower us
Guid oor weys to keep!

O, SLEEP NOO, MY BAIRNIE! (Traditional)

O, SLEEP noo, my bairnie!
Luve, sleep for a wee!
Sae early at dawin
Wide opened yer ee!
When the birdies' blythe sang
Echoed clear throu the den
Ye were thrang wi your cantrips,
But creepin an ben!
The sweet-smellin' flouers
That blaws on the knowe,
A' the buttercups gowden
An daisies that growes,
Fair bloom o the muirland,
Primrose o the wud,
Their een or nicht's darkness
To close hae begood!
Sleep, croodlin-dou,
An mey Providence guide
Your weys an your wannerin's
Whate'er mey betide!
As a branch strongly growin
I'd hae ye to be,
Abuin the lave buddin
Maist fruitfu an free!

THE CAULDRIFE HILL (Kenneth MacLeod)

LAST nicht it was my ae dream, my fond dream, my fair dream,
An o the misty, cauldrife hill this nicht my dream sall be;
An ilk nicht my dream sall dwall upon the cauldrife hill, the cauldrife hill,
Bi the bonnie linn thats waters murmurs evermair to me.
There's a langin in my dreams for the cauldrife hill, the cauldrife hill,
An the linn, a-murmurin throu the mist, whaur clear the waters be;
For the hill thats locks the sun an stars in kin'liness caresses
My wythin an my wearyin bides evermair wi me.
Tho I'm dowie here sae frem an hine frae hame an frae my cauldrife hill
It's my dream an dream's desire 'mang thy mists again to be,
Whaur the sea-waves be thy lauchter, an the wild heichts hears thy sang,
Bi the bonnie linn thats waters murmurs evermair to me.

THE DAITH O MARY (Evan MacColl)

SHE passed awa as rosy cloodlets fades
That flushes the East afore the brak o day;
The sun, in envy o this luvely maid,
Rase to obscure her wi its glorious ray:
She passed awa like to the sun's clear beam
That swift yon hastenin shaidae dis pursue,
Or like the splendour o yon antrin gleam
That wi the shouer the rainbow dis forhoo:
She passed awa as vainishes, in truith,
Yon lingerin snaw upon the ocean's side
When tides attour it rushes withooten ruith:
Beauty ower pure for oor delyte to bide!
She passed awa like a sweet strain an clear
When saftly dis the clàrsach's voice vibrate;
Or, as it were, a luvely tale an dear
Whilk ane haed scarce begood yet to relate:
She passed awa like the muin's glimmerin licht
When mariners, fearfu, throu the mirk maun fare;
Or like unto a pleasant dream an bricht
Whilk wae the slumberer is to ken nae mair:
She passed awa in her first beauty's flouer
Whilk laith was Heeven here langer spared to see;
O, Mary passed awa as quenched that oor
Micht seem the sun's new-risen licht to be!

THE FAIR LAND O THE MOUNTAINS (Neil MacLeod)

WILL ye gang ower wi me, young lass,
Wi me, young lass, wi me, young lass,
Will ye gang ower wi me, young lass,
To the fair Land o the Mountains?
Ye'll see the dew-weet roses growe
Whaur hinny mists rise sweet, I trow;
Blythe birds will sing frae ilka bough
In the fair Land o the Mountains:
Ye'll see the glen whaur ance I'd gae,
Wi guileless hert, in youth's gled day
Or e'er I kent o duil or wae,
In the fair Land o the Mountains:
Ye'll see the dark craigs, heich an hoar,
Attour whase crests cloods sweeps an soars,
An burns rins lauchin to the shore
In the fair Land o the Mountains:
An bonnie maidens mony a ane,
Reared in the glen I loe sae fain,
Young, gentle, pure withooten stain,
In the fair Land o the Mountains:
Warm welcome there to you they'll gie
Whaur freen'ship glints in ilka ee,
An kin'ness in ilk face ye'll see
In the fair Land o the Mountains:
The land o gallant lads an gay
That never fled afore a fae,
Thats fame will live while daws the day
In the fair Land o the Mountains:
Tho they be scattered far an wide
Throu ilk land on the saut sea's side
For evermair their fond thochts bides
In the fair Land o the Mountains:
Wi hert fou willin syne we'll fare
For kin'ly simmer's in the air,
An braw is flouer an forest there
In the fair Land o the Mountains!