Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound There's none but the witch of the Westmoreland can make thee hale and soond"
So turn, turn your stallion's head 'til his red mane flies in the wind And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by below the hills were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet cry
Saying "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore came you here?" "I seek the Witch of the Westmorland that dwells by the winding mere" And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way Til throught the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay
He said "Lie down, by brindled hound and rest ye, my good grey hawk And thee, my steed may graze thy fill for I must dismount and walk, But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn ye will serve me best of all"
And it's down to the water's brim he's born the rowan shield And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield And wet she rose from the lake, and fast and fleet went she One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mare's body
And loud, long and shrill he blew til his steed was by his side High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride Saying "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair"
She said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword. Lay down thy rown shield For I see by the briny blood that flows you've been wounded in the field" And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round withh a silver chain And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times round again
And she's bound his wounds with the goldenrod, full fast in her arms he lay And he has risen hale and sound with the sun high in the day She said "Ride with your brindled hound at heel, and your good grey hawk in hand There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmorland."
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Caw
"I am a Canadian by birth, but I am a Highlander by blood and feel under an obligation to do all I can for the sake of the Highlanders and their literature.... I have never yet spoken a word of English to any of my children. They can speak as much English as they like to others, but when they talk to me they have to talk in Gaelic."
-Alexander Maclean Sinclair of Goshen (protector of Gaelic Culture)
I like this one too! as far as i know, i have at least one copy of evertything Stan ever did. (Unless they've come out with something since Live From Halifax) I think my own personal favorite is Giant.
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If age is a learning experience, I should be a genius by now...
I like this one too! as far as i know, i have at least one copy of evertything Stan ever did. (Unless they've come out with something since Live From Halifax) I think my own personal favorite is Giant.
Ah yes. The Giant. One of the songs we like to play. And the more whiskey you've had, the better the song is.
Do you have a copy of the vidio One Warm Line? There is a scene in there where Stan and the band are sitting around a table singing Barrett's Privateers and obviously having a great time. I'm sure the bottle or two that are in evidence didn't hurt either!
Do you have a copy of the vidio One Warm Line? There is a scene in there where Stan and the band are sitting around a table singing Barrett's Privateers and obviously having a great time. I'm sure the bottle or two that are in evidence didn't hurt either!
The bottle never hurts, lass.
I remember seeing it when I was in grade 8 in music class. Haven't seen it since, and I didn't apreciate it at the time. They have the film for sale on his label's website.
OR, That was beautifully done, I am new to reading Stan Rogers , But I find that he has a certain purity of truth about him. Thank you for sharing that. Would love to see more of what he has written.
There is a young maiden she lived all alone, She lived all alone on the shore-o There was nothing she could find to comfort her mind But to roam all alone on the shore shore shore, But to roam all alone on the shore.
Twas of the young captain who sailed the salt sea, Let the wind blow high blow low. I will die I will die the young captain did cry If I don't have that maid on the shore shore shore, if I don't have that maid on the shore.
I have lots of silver I have lots of gold, I have lots of costly ware-o I'd divide I'll dived with my jolly ships crew If they row me the maid on the shore shore shore If they row me the maid on the shore.
After much persuasion they got her aboard Let the wind blow high, blow low They replaced her away in his cabin below, Here's adieu to all sorrow and care care care Here's adieu to all sorrow and care
They replaced her away in his cabin Let the wind blow high blow low She's so pretty and sweet she's so neat and complete, She sung captain and sailors to sleep sleep sleep She sung captain and sailors to sleep.
Then she robbed 'em of silver she robbed 'em of gold, She robbed him of costly ware-o Then she took his broad sword instead of an oar And paddled her way to the shore shore shore And paddled her way to the shore.
Me men must be crazy me men must be mad. Me men must be deep in despair-o For to let you away from my Cabin so gay And paddle your way to the shore shore shore And paddle your way to the shore.
Your men was not crazy your men was not mad, Your men is not deep in despair-o. I deluded your sailors as well as yourself, I'm a maiden again on the shore shore shore. I'm a maiden again on the shore. Twas of a young maiden how lived all alone, she lived all alone on the shore
Oldraven, I heard a version of Northwest Passage that's done by Tom Lewis and the Poles Apart Chorus on the folk show Sun nite. Never heard that particular song done in Polish before!
The House of Orange (one of Stan's only political works, about the War in Northern Ireland)
I took back my hand and I showed him the door No dollar of mine would I part with this day For fueling the engines of bloody cruel war In my forefather's land far away. Who fled the first Famine wearing all that they owned, Were called 'Navigators', all ragged and torn, And built the Grand Trunk here, and found a new home Wherever their children were born.
Their sons have no politics. None call recall Allegiance from long generations before. O'this or O'that name just can't mean a thing Or be cause enough for to war. And meanwhile my babies are safe in their home, Unlike their pale cousins who cower and cry While kneecappers nail their poor Dads to the floor And teach them to hate and to die.
It's those cruel beggars who spurn the fair coin. The peace for their kids they could take at their will. Since the day old King Billy prevailed at the Boyne, They've bombed and they've slain and they've killed. Now they cry out for money and wail at the door But Home Rule or Republic, 'tis all of it shame; And a curse for us here who want nothing of war. We're kindred in nothing but name.
All rights and all wrongs have long since blown away, For causes are ashes where children lie slain. Yet the damned U.D.L. and the cruel I.R.A. Will tomorrow go murdering again. But no penny of mine will I add to the fray. "Remember the Boyne!" they will cry out in vain, For I've given my heart to the place I was born And forgiven the whole House of Orange King Billy and the whole House of Orange.
Once again with the tide she slips her lines Turns her head and comes awake Where she lay so still there at Privateer's Wharf Now she quickly gathers way She will range far south from the harbour mouth And rejoice with every wave Who will know the Bluenose in the sun
Feel her bow rise free of Mother Sea In a sunburst cloud of spray That stings the cheek while the rigging will speak Of sea-miles gone away She is always best under full press Hard over as she'll lay And who will know the Bluenose in the sun?
That proud, fast Queen of the Grand Banks Fleet Portrayed on every dime Knew hard work in her time...hard work in every line The rich men's toys of the Gloucester boys With their token bit of cod They snapped their spars and strained to pass her by But she left them all behind
Now her namesake daughter remains to show what she has been What every schoolboy remembers and will not come again To think she's the last of the Grand Banks Schooners That fed so many men And who will know the Bluenose in the sun?
So does she not take wing like a living thing Child of the moving tide See her pass with grace on the water's face With clean and quiet pride Our own tall ship of great renown still lifts unto the sky Who will know the Bluenose in the sun?