Frances Mathews (1944-2007)
Scottish, Gaelic and other songs
Recorded by her father Robert Dundas Mathews (1905-1984) c. 1963
I Know Where I'm Going [lyric; MP3 file]
Dream Valley (William Blake) [lyric; MP3 file]
I will make you Brooches (R.L. Stevenson) [lyric; MP3 file]
My Nanie's Awa (Robert Burns) [lyric; MP3 file]
John Anderson My Jo (Robert Burns) [lyric; MP3 file]
Peat-Fire Flame (Far away and o'er the Moor) [lyric; MP3 file]
Loch Lomond (By Yon Bonnie Banks) [lyric; MP3 file]
The Holy City (Last night I lay a-sleeping) [lyric; MP3 file]
Recording cuts off before the end
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GAELIC SONGS
(Google Translate used for some of the translations - as will be evident! Corrections welcome...)
An Gille Bàn (The Fair Lad) [lyric/translation; mp3 file]
Bidh Seumas Leam An-Nochd (James will be with me tonight) [lyric / translation; mp3 file]
Bothan an Fhuarain (Fountain Cottage) [lyric/translation; mp3 file]
Taladh Eirisgeach (An Eriskay Lullaby) [lyric/translation; mp3 file]
Toirt M' aghaidh ri Diùra (Setting my Path towards Jura - radio broadcast) [lyric/translation; mp3 file]
Dh' Éirich Mi Moch Madainn Chéitein (I Arose Early on a May Morning) [lyric/translation; mp3 file]
Mo Ghleannan Taobh Loch Lìobhainn (My Little Valley by Loch Leven) [lyric/translation; mp3 file]
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LYRICS
(Folk song)
I know where I'm going
And I know who's going with me
I know who I love
But the dear† knows who I'll marry.
I have stockings of silk
Shoes of fine green leather
Combs to buckle my hair
And a ring for every finger.
Some say he's black
But I say he's bonnie
The fairest of them all
My handsome winsome Johnny.
Feather beds are soft
And painted rooms are bonnie
But I would leave them all
To go with my love Johnny.
I know where I'm going
And I know who's going with me
I know who I love
But the dear† knows who I'll marry.
† euphemism for "de'il" (= devil)
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Dream Valley
(William Blake)
Memory, hither come
And tune your merry notes;
And while upon the wind
Your music floats,
I'll pore upon the stream,
Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.
I'll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet's song,
And there I'll lie and dream
The day along;
And when night comes I'll go
To places fit for woe,
Walking along the darkened valley,
With silent melancholy.
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I Will Make You Brooches
R.L. Stevenson
I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.
I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,
Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom,
And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white
In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.
And this shall be for music when no one else is near,
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
That only I remember, that only you admire,
Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.
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(Robert Burns)
Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes;
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw,
But to me it's delightless - my Nanie's awa.
The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nanie - and Nanie's awa.
Come Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay:
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw
Alane can delight me - now Nanie's awa.
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John Anderson, My Jo
(Robert Burns)
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo!
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
Gloss: jo = sweetheart; brent = smooth, unwrinkled;
beld = bald; pow = pate;
canty = cheerful.
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Peat-Fire Flame
(K. MacLeod)
Far away and o'er the moor,
Far away and o'er the moor,
Morar waits for a boat that saileth,
Far away down Lowland way,
I dream the dream I learned, lad.
By the light o' the peat-fire flame,
Light for love, for lit, for laughter,
By the light o' the peat-fire flame,
The light the hill-folk yearn for.
Far away, down Lowland way,
Far away, down Lowland way,
Grim's the toil, without tune or dream, lad,
All you need's a creel and love,
For the dream the heart can weave, lad.
[Chorus]
Far away and o'er the moor,
Far away the tramp and tread,
Tune and laughter of all the heroes,
Pulls me onward o'er the trail
Of the dream my heart may weave, lad,
[Chorus]
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My Ain Folk
(Wilfred Mills)
Far frae my hame I wander, but still my thoughts return
To my ain folk ower yonder, in the shieling by the burn.
I see the cosy ingle, and the mist abune the brae:
And joy and sadness mingle, as I list some auld-warld lay.
And it's oh! but I'm longing for my ain folk,
Tho' they be but lowly, puir and plain folk:
I am far beyond the sea, but my heart will ever be
At hame in dear auld Scotland, wi' my ain folk.
O' their absent ane they're telling, the auld folk by the fire:
And I mark the swift tears welling, as the ruddy flame leaps high'r.
How the mither wad caress me, were I but by her side:
Now she prays that Heav'n will bless me, tho' the stormy seas divide.
[Chorus]
Gloss: ain = own; shieling = hut used by people looking after animals high in
the hills;
ingle = fireside; abune = above; brae = hillside; auld-warld = old
world
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Loch Lomond
(Old Scots Song)
By yon bonnie banks,
And by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,
Where me and my true love
Were ever want to gae,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.
Oh! ye'll take the high road and
I'll take the low road,
And I'll be in Scotland afore ye;
But me and my true love
Will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.
'Twas then that we parted
In yon shady glen,
On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomond,
Where in purple hue
The Highland hills we view,
And the moon coming out in the gloaming.
[Chorus]
The wee birdies sing
And the wild flowers spring,
And in sunshine the waters are sleeping,
But the broken heart it kens
Nae second Spring again,
Tho' the waeful may cease frae their greeting.
[Chorus]
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The Holy City
(Frederick E. Weatherly)
Last night I lay a-sleeping
There came a dream so fair,
I stood in old Jerusalem
Beside the temple there.
I heard the children singing,
And ever as they sang
Methought the voice of angels
From heaven in answer rang.
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Lift up your gates and sing,
Hosanna in the highest!
Hosanna to your King!
And then methought my dream was changed,
The streets no longer rang.
Hushed were the glad Hosannas
The little children sang.
The sun grew dark with mystery,
The morn was cold and chill,
As the shadow of a cross arose
Upon a lonely hill.
[Chorus]
And once again the scene was changed,
New earth there seemed to be.
I saw the Holy City
Beside the tideless sea.
The light of God was on its streets,
The gates were open wide,
And all who would might enter,
And no one was denied.
No need of moon or stars by night,
Or sun to shine by day;
It was the new Jerusalem
That would not pass away.
[Recording cuts off here]
[Chorus]
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GAELIC SONGS
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Horo lady
bhig, horo eile,
[Lyric of later verses required] |
An Eriskay Lullaby
Horo, lady wee, horo eile! My babe, on a curling green wave, Be thy cradling. While the seagull and swan For the curach are caring. With his nets from the bay Will thy father be faring.
Marjory Kennedy-Fraser
Horo eile - common chorus words of no meaning Curach - a boat or coracle
(From Lullabies of Four Nations, arranged by Adelaide L.J. Gossett (1915)) |
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'S e
bothan beag an fhuarain Tha
fasgadh air bhon fhuar-ghaoith Ach 's e
mo chion am fuaran,
|
Fountain Cottage
It is the small hut of the fountain Today my verse moved, I remember all the peace Which I sometimes enjoyed there; Sunning me on the banks, As I was the herdsman over there, The island of cold mountains, The red hens and the brown stags.
It is sheltered from the cold winds Coming from the north with a snort, The protection of the green mound The trees sway; The laughter of the stream burns in their ears Travel is down the glen, Rumblingly moving On a lasting, endless path.
But my guilt is the fountain, It is the noblest drink The chaochan comes to the surface From the cold depths of the mountains: That I would drink the full cup of it Without dizziness But my respect for this field is great My sweet partner being there.
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[Sèist]
O hiùraibh ì hiùraibh, Toirt m'
aghaidh ri Diùra Tha thu
foghainteach làidir, Gaol
peathar, gaol bràthar,
|
Setting my Path towards Jura
[Chorus] Oh, hurry, hurry, O ye heirs of promise, I'll give him or her, I want to be reconciled with you.
I set my path towards Jura With my back to Port Askaig, I wept profusely, Knowing I would not be coming home.
You are mighty and strong, You are important, smeared, Going in Highland Dress, On the beach you were in the middle.
There is love for a sister, brotherly love, The love for a mother and father, The love I have given I will not forsake Until I am laid in my shroud. |
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[Sèist] |
The Fair Lad [Chorus] |
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