(Stevenson Productions SP20420)
A twentieth anniversary
celebration!
©è
2007, Stevenson Productions, All rights reserved.
LONGSHIPS
(Dudley-Brian Smith, ©
1989, BMI)
The
mist is on the water; the half-moon is still;
Fires
from the village burn against the chill
The
watchman is sleeping – no one hears them ‘til
It’s
too late to run, but you run for the hills!
Longships are coming you’d better beware
Longships are coming be prepared.
The
warnings were given; danger’s on the rise.
You’d
better be ready by the rising of the tide.
The
signals are clear, but too many close their eyes.
Only
a few remember what was prophesied.
Sure
destruction – certain doom;
Only
those who are ready escape the tomb.
WALK THE
(Jan & Dudley-Brian
Smith, © 1999, BMI)
I
would walk the
I
would walk the moors;
I
would give up all I own
Gin(if) it brought me to your door.
I
would swim
I
would climb Ben Lawers;
I
would do most anything,
Gin
it brought me to your door.
And
gin I came to your door,
I
would be where I long to be.
I
would never wish to wander…
With
you I’d live and die.
And
gin you open your door…
Gin
you let me in,
I
will lie in your heart,
In the
JAMES
OF THE GLEN
(Dudley-Brian
Smith, ©1997, BMI)
O, James of the Glen, you’re a braw and
loyal man
To the idea of
But you’ll be the sacrifice for Colin
Campbell’s life
And you’ll hang in the rain while Appin grieves.
A life for a life the judge Argyll
demands
But this life becomes a symbol of our
land
This land you would set free
And so you hang upon that tree
As if one silenced voice would stop the
hearts
And still the swords for
There’s a kettle on the boil, fueled by
honest toil
Of our fathers born and dying so we might
be free
So we pray for autumn speight
to wipe the shame away
Of oppressions bonds
and chains of slavery.
O, James of the Glen, you were an honest
friend
Who gave your precious life in hopes we’d
be set free
But your brave sacrifice has rekindled
the light
Across this land for
A life for a
life…
(Jan Smith, ©1988, BMI)
If I were a wealthy
man,
What would I
do? What would I do?
If I were a wealthy
man,
I’d sell my diamonds
to find you.
I’d travel on the
seven seas with seven ships and seven sails,
For seven years and
seven more
To bring you home
again to me.
O, if you lived in
water deep
Or mountain high or
desert sand,
I’d give my life to
win your love,
Forever wear your
wedding band.
O, life is short and
quickly gone
And love is precious
more than gold;
And every night I
spend alone,
My withered heart it
turns to stone.
MY HEART’S IN THE
(Lyric Robert Burns, Music
Jan Smith, ©2002, BMI)
My
heart’s in the
My
heart’s in the
A-chasing
the wild deer and following the roe,
My
heart’s in the
Farewell
to the
The
birthplace of valour, the country of worth!
Wherever
I wander, wherever I rove,
The
hills of the
Farewell
to the mountains high covered with snow,
Farewell
to the straths and green valleys below,
Farewell
to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell
to the torrents and loud-pouring floods!
My
heart’s in the
My
heart’s in the
A-chasing
the wild deer and following the roe,
My
heart’s in the
SWEPT AWAY
(Jan Smith, ©1999/2004)
MOON OVER
(Jan & Dudley-Brian Smith, ©1989,
BMI)
The men of Balquhidder are restless tonight,
Waiting
for the call to arms.
Prince Charlie has
landed & soon we'll reclaim
Our
nations, our homes, & our farms.
Long have we waited;
long have we prayed;
Long has our nation
been boiling, but stayed.
Prince Charlie will
lead us
To take back what's
long been our claim
And the moon will
shine bright in
Alive
with hope tonight.
And the moon will shine
bright in
Once more, brothers,
once more!
From Glenfinnan into December,
The Highlanders
scattered the foe.
The pipes could be
heard at each victory,
Claiming
our nation once more.
On toward
But cruel winds blew
hard on the field;
And at Culloden Moor
near
Prince Charlie was
turned on his heels
At Ruthven then
there was gathering of clans,
O, those Highlander
hearts and claymores were strong
In
numbers to trample Duke Cumberland o'er.
But Bonnie Prince
Charlie abandoned our cause.
Hope without hope,
now the Highlanders dream
Of a hero or a king,
anyone, anything,
That one day will
set
(Dudley-Brian Smith, © 1999. BMI)
Appain, mo chridhe
Beannachd nan
Athair-Mor
Chi mi na mor-bheana
- Na loch allain
An gleann agam - Appain, mo chridhe
Appin, my heart.
Blessing from
the Great Father;
The great
mountains, beautiful lochs,
My own glen - Appin, my heart
Appain, mo chridhe
Aisling mi na
thu ‘nuair ‘smise fada air falbh
Duthchas, mo chridhe,
Dachaigh na Gaidheal - Appain, mo
chridhe
Appin, my heart,
I dream of thee
when I am far away;
Country of my
heart,
land of the Gael;
Appin, my heart
BACK WHERE WE BELONG/A
TINKER’S DAMN
(Dudley-Brian Smith, ©2002)
‘Tis the same from age to age,
The
have’s not the have-not’s remain
An
ancient call of claim ‘neath the struggle to survive
So,
we move and shift again. It’s a flight from town to glen
The
old ways, the road, and the tin
And
the struggle to survive
The
cry so loud and so strong – ‘Go back where you belong!’
Aye,
that’s the age-old wrong, but where do we belong?
It’s
the wind that moves us on.
If
we stand too long in one place,
‘Tis a fine or jail that we face
The
shame and the absence of grace
Makes
it harder to survive
I’ve
got bairns who are ailing and sad;
Got
a wife, never home has she had;
Lost
a brother who wanted so bad to settle and survive.
They
once said we couldn’t go home.
‘Leave
this land,’ it’s theirs, now go on!
But
where do the homeless belong and who lives there now,
Back
where we belong?
You
live on the lands of our name.
How
long do you think you’ll remain?
There’s
always one stronger who claims
You’ve
no right to reside.
So
it’s shift and shift again.
Helpless,
pushed by a rich man’s whim;
A
caravan full of my kin, all who struggle to survive.
SHEEP IN THE ROAD
(Jan Smith, ©2004)
FINE HOMECOMING DAY
(Dudley-Brian Smith, ©2004,
BMI)
I
no longer speak the language;
I
no longer talk the talk;
But
I dream and love my homeland;
To
one day return is my choice.
My
father was forced in leaving.
In
that, I had no say.
As
the year’s roll by I’m longing
For a fine homecoming day.
I’ll
ramble and roll – plan and I’ll shoulder
The
extra labor to save
For
the day I journey homeward
What
a fine homecoming day.
Now
you may think it strange my reason
With
so many coming this way
That
I would wish to go there
‘Unemployment
will kill you’ you say.
My
father was forced in leaving
And
took that regret to his grave
But
before he passed on he handed to me
The love of old
Now
I’ve only been home for a visit
But
I’ve found it just as they say
The
land of my forefathers owns me
And
it calls me homeward again.
HOME
TO
(Jan & Dudley-Brian
Smith, ©1997< BMI)
I
can see by your eyes and your bright, winning smile
You’re
a lass who has come a long way
Gin
(if) a guess is my choice, from the lilt in your voice,
You’re
an island girl from fair
I
have seen it before, you have come to these shores
For employment and meaning to stay.
Like
the others, I’m sure, some braw lad to secure
‘Til your heart beats no
more for
But
sooner or later your thoughts turn and tempt you
Then
over the water you’ll gaze.
And
before very long comes the bonniest song and you’ll follow it home to
I
remember sweet Meg who came to Inverbeg
An apprentice to the weaver MacTay.
She
got homesick and sad and the weaver’s bright lad
Tried
to get her mind off fair
He
was clever and daring, dashing, sea-faring;
A
lover of sea salt and spray.
But
to win sweet Meg’s hand,
He
did soon understand to establish his port at
‘Tis an old tale but true; It can happen to you
As
it has to so many before.
‘Cause
an island girl’s heart gets heavy & dark
When
it’s anchored too far from its shore.
She
begins to regret kith and kin she has left
And
she longs for the old ways of home.
Then
one day like the mist or a lover’s last kiss,
In
a moment she’s there, then she’s gone.
THE
PRETENDER WILL COME NO MORE
(Dudley-Brian Smith, ©1999, BMI)
Up the claymore, up the standard!
The pretender will come no more.
Stand your ground for
No deliverer from the tyrant's force!
Up the targe,
then, to shield fair
Pride of Wallace take the fore!
Up the claymore, up the standard!
The pretender will come no more!
When oppression's darkest hour came
Tyrant Geordie pressed the claim.
The hope of
Raise the standard for old King James.
Gather round him, mighty chieftains...
Gather round him, you sons of war...
Listen close to Lord George Murray
And we'll knock on
Drunken Charlie, where's your spirit?
Where's the French you said would come?
Where's the pride in
You proclaimed to the pipes and drums?
O, sad Culloden, scar upon us, Charlie
failed to understand
Gather ‘round now at Ruthven's calling
‘Round
Lord George now, every clan!
(Jan & Dudley-Brian Smith, ©1993,
BMI)
Close your eyes and
dream of
Let the wind take
you home again to
Gloaming in the
glen, the smoky silent loch.
Heather in my hand,
thistle in my heart.
Faces I have known
never growing old.
Stories of the past
from islands I call home.
Tend the fallen
lamb, lead him to the fold;
Piper on the hill,
Gaelic in my soul.
CATRIONA
(Dudley-Brian Smith, ©1999,
BMI)
Catriona, my darling, Hoo-ri,
Hoo-o!
Catriona, my lassie, Hoo-ri,
Hoo-o!
Come
stay by my side, come lay in my arms
Catriona forever..Hoo-ri,
Hoo-o!
As
the Almighty’s blessed me, Hoo-ri, Hoo-o;
Thy
face is the morning - the bright sun a-glow.
My
blessing - thy presence beside as I go.
Thy
hand I have taken, Hoo-ri, Hoo-o!
Thy
father has spoken, Hoo-ri, Hoo-o!
To
honour and care for, to have and to hold.
Thy
heart is the moonlight in darkness a-glow.
Together
to share all, Hoo-ri, Hoo-o!
To
grow old with grace, Hoo-ri, Hoo-o!
Thy
strength is my lantern, my pathway to show.
As
God is my witness, no loneliness know.
Forever
I’ll hold thee, Hoo-ri, Hoo-o!
GREYFRIAR’S BOBBY (Auld Jock’s Lament)
(Jan Smith, ©2004, BMI)
It’s
been a long night on the beat
Rain
and wind and sleet
Guarding
the cold dark streets with Bobby.
Never
had money or fame;
Don’t
have a rich man’s name;
Seems
I lose more than I gain. Don’t I, Bobby?
But
a man’s as rich as a king
If
he’s got just one loyal friend
To
hold on until the end like Bobby.
I
used to work on a farm; family safe and warm;
O,
what a fine life it was – had a garden.
Then,
we had a bad year, lost it all.
Everything
just went wrong.
Now
this city just don’t feel like home, I tell Bobby.
Now
my health’s starting to fail;
Another
night – another thug in jail.
But
right by my side all the way is Bobby.
And
I can make it from dusk to dawn
Through
the night and beyond
‘Cause
I’m never, never alone – I’ve got Bobby.
GIANTS’ DANCE
(Dudley-Brian
Smith, ©1989, BMI)
Some say it's a miracle, others 'twas a
spell.
Some believe in giants who danced 'til
they fell
Beneath some darker power, into some
cruel curse.
Whate'er the case they're standing still
In rings in Alba’s earth.
In the giants' dance there are whispers,
Whispers of some joyful song.
In the giants' dance, there's a sight to
behold,
Of better days of long ago when the
giants danced.
Across the sea they floated on water or
air.
Or perhaps the giants swam beneath these
islands fair.
Until some secret reason stopped them
where they stood,
Stilled their songs and stories without a
drop of blood.
It's cold beneath the stars...dark,
except the glow
Of torchlight tourists who ask, but never
know...
Why the giants danced.
NUTMEG’S WELLYS/PIPER’S
PLAID
(Jan Smith, ©1999/2004)
WILL IT BE THE KING?
(Dudley-Brian Smith, ©1994,
BMI)
All
that is most dear has now been taken away
They
laughed at all my tears,
And
sent a braw lad to the grave.
My
husband hung by Englishmen
His
crime was he was poor.
Now
their king demands my sons
With
soldiers at my door
Who
will till the earth? Who will cut the peat?
Who
will build the dry-stane dykes?
Will
it be the king?
Will
the king mind my sheep that wander on the moor?
Now
that he’s hung my husband dear
And
marched my sons to war,
Will
it be the king? Will it be the king?
For
some dread, faceless king,
My
sons were taken away;
And
all that’s precious dies for naught
To
fill some distant grave.
They
stole a widow’s mite to fight a foreign war;
An
empty croft (farm), a heart of woe
And
silence on the moor.
FIRE IN THE GLEN
(Dudley-Brian Smith, © 1999, BMI)
Take a warning
out into the night
Through the mist
on the moors,
Let everyone
know of the danger.
They’ve come to
take what’s ours, let’s gather together
And let them
know that blood must flow
To cleanse and
make all right again.
Let Stewart,
MacLaurin, Gilchrist, Cameron
Set aside their
strife, lift up the cross,
And take it
‘round the glen.
We’ll stand side
by side, a gathering of families,
And stand before
the ancient stone,
All families
know there’s fire in the glen.
There’s a fire
in the glen. There’s trouble in the air.
There’s a mist
on the moors, be silent and beware.
There’s a fire
in the glen. Let’s gather and prepare!
Send a message
out across the darkness.
Hold fast and
raise the signal
To every man,
woman and child.
Let arms be
lifted up to guard against any outsiders.
Let them know
that blood with flow,
To cleanse and
set all right again.
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