1. |
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Good morning, pretty maid
Where are you going?
For to range the fields so fair
With no one knowing?
I think too bold you are
for to range the fields so fair
With danger everywhere
Oh, you charming maiden
A charming maid I am,
sir, she replied
Without any guile or care
And to no man tied
My recreations are
For to range the fields so fair
For to take a pleasant air
Oh, you boasting stranger
A farmer's son am I
And your richest neighbor
I have great wealth in store
Through honest labor
And if you will agree
It's married we should be
For I am in love with thee
Oh, you charming maiden
But a farmer's wife must work
Both late and early
Just like some foreign turk
So please believe me
I do not intend to be
A servant bound by thee
For to do thy drudgery
Oh, you boasting stranger
So come all you brisk young men
With riches laden
Who would range the fields so fair
To court a charming maiden
Then speak with courtesy
And show thy humility
For if you don't then all she'll see
Is a boasting stranger
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2. |
A Scottish Trio (tunes)
03:18
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3. |
The Blighted Lover
03:50
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When I rose like a Russian at morning
No cross on my forehead I signed
Oh, the thought that my love had forsook me
It drove me clear out of my mind
I reached for a scythe that hung high in the hawthorn
Flew at it with a file and a blue sharpening stone
And stripped to the waist in the cornfield
I cut half the harvest alone
Too long now my feet wanting leather
And longer my pockets want gold
I envy the old mountain weather
For his love song need never be told
It's a pity that death didn't strike down my father
For he sent me to war with the king's own army
Neath the flagstone at length they will stretch me
Oh, my true love have pity on me
If I was stretched flat with a fever
Or seven feet under the ground
If you came to the boneyard and called me
I would leap from the dead with one bound
By the wanting and wailing of women I'm withered
Oh, death sure must come and set my soul free
Neath the flagstone at last they will stretch me
Oh, the good Lord have pity on me
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4. |
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By the sweet flowing river in the fine summer season
Where the weather is warm and the meadows in bloom
The small birds sang quietly and everything most pleasant
Which caused me to wander away from my loom
I carelessly strayed by a lonely plantation
For to view of a fair one some time I stood still
She equaled bright Flora in her lofty station
She's Bessie, the beauty of Rossinure Hill
"Oh, darling, then really, please pardon my folly
For daring to speak with a goddess, you know
Pity a slave that's in deep melancholy
Struck down by Cupid, I'll tell you such woe
Your glance and appearance have my heart attracted
You may kill or cure me but I'm here at your will
This killing affection has me most distracted
My Bessie, my beauty, of Rossinure Hill"
She says then, "Young man, you must cease your intrusion
On some other fair one perhaps you mistreat
I here desire you to make a conclusion
For I'll not be flattered, I'll tell you quite plain
You know I'm no goddess, nor nearly celestial
But a poor peasant's daughter that lives near the mill
So banter no longer and treat me terrestrial"
Said Bessie, the beauty, of Rossinurre Hill
I says then, "Fair maid, I am no deceiver
The words that I spoke are the thoughts of my mind
And to be candid, I am only a weaver
Though future in life, I'll be constant and kind
I seek your affection and care not for money
That littering trash, sure, that will not coax will
My heart's near your bosom, accept it, my honey
My Bessie, my beauty, from Rossinure Hill"
She says then, "Young man, you do speak with some reason
I cannot slight you at all for being poor
I'm happy that poverty it is not high treason
For wealth unto any man is never secure
Till I see my parents, I can give you no answer
But I hope evermore my commands they'll fulfill
And to proceed further is only romancing"
says Bessie, the beauty, of Rossinure Hill
Well, I bid her goodbye and I parted from Bessie
Watched her the mountain, that enchanted place
And the most hardened tyrant I'm sure would me pity
If he was aware of my heart-wrenching kiss
So now I'll go home and apply to my shuttle
I'll use my exertions, my heart and my skill
And unto blind Cupid, I mean to do battle
For he wounded me sorely on Rossinure Hill
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5. |
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November's wind tonight is raw
And whips the Clyde to foam
I watch here on the Broomielaw
The harvesters go home
CHORUS:
Oh, luck is theirs and blessed are they
Who can cross the Sea of Moyle
To see again at dawning gray
The waters of the Foyle
Tomorrow night on starlit ways
They'll go to a loved door
And sit with kin by hearths ablaze
In Rosses and Gweedore
No welcome warm, no lighted pane
Now awaits me in the west
And sorrow keener than the rain
Lies heavy on my breast
But longings often draw me where
The boats for Ireland start
They take an unseen passenger
My lonely Irish heart
Like wild geese in their homing flight
These toilers homeward draw
And leave me lonely in the night
Upon the Broomielaw
(Repeat first verse)
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Sean T. Smith Boston, Massachusetts
Sean Smith has been playing folk music since his teens, with a focus on the traditions of Ireland, Scotland and England in particular. He's been active in the Greater Boston music scene since the early '80s, and been part of numerous collaborations. He also writes about music for BostonIrish.com, helps organize an annual Celtic music festival, and has been known to drink Ballantine Ale. ... more
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