1. |
Now Westlin Winds
03:22
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Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather
The moorcock springs on whirring wings
Among the blooming heather
Now waving grain, wild o'er the plain
Delights the weary farmer
And the moon shines bright as I rove at night
To muse upon my charmer
The partridge loves the fruitful fells
The plover loves the mountains
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells
The soaring hern the fountains
Through lofty groves the cushat roves
The path of man to shun it
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush
The spreading thorn the linnet
Thus every kind their pleasure find
The savage and the tender
Some social join and leagues combine
Some solitary wander
Avaunt! Away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic man's dominion
The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry
The fluttering, gory pinion
But Peggy dear the evening's clear
Thick flies the skimming swallow
The sky is blue, the fields in view
All fading green and yellow
Come let us stray our gladsome way
And view the charms of nature
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn
And every happy creature
We'll gently walk and sweetly talk
Till the silent moon shines clearly
I'll grasp thy waist and, fondly pressed,
Swear how I love thee dearly
Not vernal showers to budding flowers
Not autumn to the farmer
So dear can be as thou to me
My fair, my lovely charmer
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2. |
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The braw folk crush the poor folk down,
An’ blood an’ tears are rinnin’ hot;
An’ meikle ill and meikle wan,
We a’ upon the earth have met,
An’ falsehood aft comes boldly forth,
And on the throne of truth doth sit;
But true hearts a’ – gae work awa’ –
We’ll make the world better yet!
Though superstition, hand in hand,
W’ prejudice – that gruesome hag –
Gangs linkin’ still; though misers make
Their heaven o’ a siller bag:
Though ignorance, wi’ bloody hand,
Is tryin slavery’s bonds to knit –
Put knee to knee, ye bold an’ free,
We’ll make the world better yet!
See yonder cooff wha becks an’ bows
To yonder fool wha’s ca’d a lord:
See yonder gowd–bedizzen’d wight –
Yon’ fopling o’ the bloodless sword.
Baith slave, an’ lord, an’ soldier too,
Maun honest grow, or quickly flit;
For freeman a’, baith grit an’ sma’, -
We’ll make the world better yet!
Yon dreamer tells us o’ a land
He frae his airy brain hath made –
A land where truth and honesty
Have crushed the serpent falsehood’s head.
But by the names o’ love and joy,
An’ common - sense, and lear an’ wit,
Put back to back, - and in a crack
We’ll make the world better yet!
The knaves and fools may rage and storm,
The growling bigot may deride –
The trembling slave away may rin,
And in his tyrant’s dungeon hide;
But free and bold, and true and good,
Unto this oath their seal have set –
“Frae pole to pole we’ll free ilk soul, -
We’ll make the world better yet!
Yon dreamer tells us o’ a land
He frae his airy brain hath made –
A land where truth and honesty
Have crushed the serpent falsehood’s head.
But by the names o’ love and joy,
An’ common - sense, and lear an’ wit,
Put back to back, - and in a crack
We’ll make the world better yet!
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3. |
Nature and Freedom
02:37
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There is a sweet charm in the valley sae glowin’
Wi’ a’ the bright flowerets blended in bloom;
The dew hangs sae pure on the breast o’ the gowan,
And bright are the tassels that wave on the broom.
O! saft are the breezes, wi’ sweet odours flying,
The birds sing sae bonny frae braken and tree,
And reason responds to their melody, sighing –
O! that gaun, like the birds, were a’ happy and free!
There is a wild charm where the eagle is soaring
O’er mountains where wildness and grandeur combine;
Where heather is blooming and torrents are pouring,
Resistless in might, through the craggy ravine.
And we gaze on the torrents with thrilling emotion,
That dash o’er the rocks and glide on to the sea,
And reason responds to the roar of the ocean –
O! that gaun, like the billows, were mighty and free!
O! sweet is the chorus when the morning is breaking,
Sae bright in its beauty, unveiling the sun;
The dew-studded flowers, which the zephyr is shaking,
Unfolds a’ their beauty, and day is begun!
A’ the sweets o’ the earth, a’ the beauties o’ nature,
And a’ that the wisest in wisdom cauld gie,
The Creator gies fur the creature,
And man might be happy if men were a’ free!
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4. |
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Let Monarchs revel in their might
And mighty Empires away.
Let millions robb’d of native right
A Lordling’s whims obey;
They who delight to worship drones
Deserve not to be free,
Content to live in landless homes,
The Land! the Land for me!
I envy not a monarch’s state,
I spurn the badge he wears;
Tho’ girt with pearls, the thing I hate,
‘Tis rear’d on human tears;
I crave but that which tyrants rift
From those who should be free,
Nature’s first boos, man’s dearest gift,
The Land! the Land for me!
The pomp of Kings I’d scorn to seek,
I wish alone to toil;
Yet while I toil the right to reap
The blessings of the soil.
I ask no gold, no dazzling pelf,
Tho’ bright and fair to see,
Let all the world deem lucre wealth,
The Land! the land for me!
My wish is not the lounging lot
Of Poor or Priestly drone,
‘Tis freedom – peace – a vote – a cot,
And plot of ground my own;
Then while I toil the live-long days,
This, this ray-song shall be,’
With pomp and pelf away, away,
The Land! The land for me!
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5. |
Kinnoull Hill
03:27
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Last night I awoke to find my vision I had lost
My eyes they were a bandaged I was trembling at the cost
I thought my life will surely end, I lay there very still
Then I thought of home on Scotland’s shore a climbing Kinnoull Hill
I stood upon the cliff top and marvelled at the day
Beyond there lay the Perthshire Hills , the valleys and the Tay
The golden gorse, the beech, the birch, the cock crew loud and shrill
Twas then I met old Jamie Foyers there on Kinnoull Hill
He said to me when Springtime comes this country I do roam
Way up here I feel alive, a quietness in my bones
My blood runs warm despite the cold of the morning chill
So Paddy will you walk with me here on Kinnoull Hill?
He told me of the war in Spain where once he did fight
Against Napolean’s army and of his deadly plight
But since that time, he said to me, we’ve learnt more ways to kill
He asked me to go and help make peace, like here on Kinnoull Hill
I said to him with all my strength, Jamie I will try
Then I felt my sight come back, I opened up my eyes
And with new hope and breathe to draw, I summoned up the will
Then made my way from Mexico, many miles from Kinnoull Hill
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6. |
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A’ Ye wha farm Auld Scotland’s soil!
A’ Ye whase life is tillage toil!
A’ Ye wha ne’er frae Right recoil!
List to my rhyme;
A Scotsman like yersel’s, I swear
I lo’e my country passin’ dear;
Be this my passport to each ear
At this need-time.
Hear me, ye thinkin’ sons o’ men,
Ye soil-sprung stock frae strath an’ glen,
Whose aim is aye to do an’ken
The truly right;
Hear me. Behold the wrongs o’ years,
Lang watered wi’ your toil and tears,
Hae blossomed, an’ the fruit appears
Before your sight.
God sends nae ills without the cures,
He points the way that weal secures,
Sae this lang-looked-for hairst is yours
Sair wrangs to stop
Up! reap there from wi' heart an' soul
An’ as your lairds the earth control,
Now bauldly gar the eat the whole
O’ this new crop.
When land was stown wi’ spears an’ swords,
An’ lairds were made by kingly words,
The earth nae langer was the Lord’s,
To keep His creatures.
Lairds’ laws were framed by lairds, that they
Might o’er their stolen acres sway,
An’ grind the sowers as they may,
Wi’ despot natures.
Ah! Then mankind was puir an’ weak,
An’ Learnin’s light was but a peek
That few e’er saw, or cared to seek,
For fear o’ death;
Hence, while by laird-oppression bound,
As slaves they tilled for lairds the ground,
An’ ‘gainst their laws nae chiel was found
To raise a breath.
But times are changed! The schule an’ pen
Hae taught a’ sowers now to ken
That lairds are just like ither men,
Gey common clay;
Besides, this lesson nobbly grand, -
Lairds hae nae right to tax the land!
Is felt as a Divine command
A’ maun obey.
An’ shall the toil which has been spent
In shine an’ storm, wi’ sweat unkent,
Be but a landlord’s guage o’ rent
For farmer bodies?
No! No! fouk hae right to gi’e
Their labour for starvation’s fee;
Wha are sae simple, sure maun be
No’ men, but cuddies.
Why should the lairds be reapers o’
The profits which should surely go
To those wha harrow, plough an’ sow,
An’ bear the stress?
Is it because they bought the land?
Then let an ord’nar’ int’rest stand
The measure o’ their rent-demand,
Nae mair, nae less.
Is it because o’ titles auld
Bestowed on some ancestor bauld,
Wha had some reivers sairly mauled,
Syne stole their lands?
Or is’t because God has decreed
That some should aff their neebors feed,
An’ never feel the nip o’ need,
Or fyle their hands?
Whate’er the cause, the factor creed
O’ ruthless selfishness an’ greed
Has brought Nemesis wi’ full speed
Upon their heids!
Scots sowers to their rights hae woke!
Nae mair they’ll bear the bitter yoke
O’ keepin’ useless gentry folk
For taxin’ deeds.
Strong in the holy sense of right,
Behold them a’ as ane unite
To free the soil frae that curst blight
Laird-fashioned laws.
O! sowers, be ye o’ guid cheer,
Frae Justice’ path ne’er swerve or veer,
Your reapers’ rage ye needna fear,
God speeds your cause.
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7. |
The Freedom of the Hills
05:00
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There’s gloom upon the mountain brow,
There’s darkness in yon glen,
No more the white fall sparkles now
In yonder hazy den.
Hushed are the tuneful groves, the sun
Beams not on babbling rills,
Strong hands are taking one by one
The freedom of the hills!
Oh! What is Scotland’s greatest pride?
Is it her streams and mountains,
Lochs, isles, and dark woods spreading wide?
Nay! ‘tis her glorious mountains!
Where granite grey, and shingly sheen
Fling back the sun together,
‘Mong yellow whins and bracken green,
And fragrant purple heather.
Shall men give up their free resort
That squires, with gun and cartridge,
May have their brief and bloody sport
‘Mong pheasant, grouse, and partridge?
That deer, who seek the lonely place,
To which their trust has drawn them,
May never see a human face
Till murder bursts upon them?
What climbing Scot could tamely see
Upon a mountainous border,
“This hill path shall alone be free
To sporting lords. By order,” -
As well lay tolls upon men’s eyes,
Arrest the clouds’ swift motion,
Trap the free air, divide the skies,
And parcel out the ocean.
Ye gentle folks who walk in silk,
And dream of feudal vassals,
You’re welcome to your hands of milk,
Your gardens, parks, and castles;
But do not try to filch away
The free paths of the people,
Or ye may hear some sunny day
Th’ alarum bell in the steeple.
‘Tis ever from the darkest cloud,
Brooding in mourning deep,
That crackling thunder volleys loud,
And jagged lightnings leap;
And from the gloom o’er wood and lake
A warning murmur thrills, -
Woe to the hand that tries to take
The freedom of the hills!
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Alan Dickson Glasgow, UK
Scottish singer songwriter Alan Dickson was born in Leith but now based in Glasgow. Alan writes about life in Scotland and
beyond, mainly of a personal and political nature.
Descended from a Leith docker, he remarks: "as life mimics art I'm just like my grandfather, only he used a rivet gun and I use a guitar."
Among his influences are Robert Burns, Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan and Dick Gaughan.
... more
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