Hier möchte ich euch einige Lieder von berühmten Schotten vorstellen
Die unoffizielle schottische Nationalhymne wurde von Roy Williamson (1937 - 1990) 1. O Flower of Scotland, When will we see your like again, That fought and died for, Your wee bit Hill and Glen, And stood against him, Proud Edward's Army, And sent him homeward, Tae think again. 3. Those days are past now, And in the past they must remain, But we can still rise now, And be the nation again, That stood against him, Proud Edward's Army, And sent him homeward, Tae think again. 2. The Hills are bare now, And Autumn leaves lie thick and still, O'er land that is lost now, Which those so dearly held, That stood against him, Proud Edward's Army, And sent him homeward, Tae think again. 4. O Flower of Scotland, When will we see your like again, That fought and died for, Your wee bit Hill and Glen, And stood against him, Proud Edward's Army, And sent him homeward, Tae think again
Carolina Oliphant, (Lady Nairne), 1766-1845 Bonnie Charlie's now awa', Safely owre the friendly main; Mony a heart will break in twa, Should he no' come back again. Chorus: Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Better lo'ed ye canna be, Will ye no come back again?
2. Ye trusted in your Hieland men, They trusted you, dear Charlie; They kent you hiding in the glen. Your cleadin' was but barely. Chorus:
3. We watched you in the gloamin' hour, We watched thee in the mornin' grey; Tho' thirty thousand pounds they'd gie, Oh, there was nane that wad betray. Chorus: 4. Mony a traitor 'mange the isles Brak the band o' nature's laws; Mony a traitor wi' his wiles, Sought to wear his life awa'. Chorus:
5. Many a gallant sodger gaught, Mony a gallant chief did fa, Death itself were dearly bought, A' for Scotland's king and law. Chorus:
6. Whene'er I hear the blackbird sing, Unto the evening sinking down, Or merl that makes the wood to ring, To me they hae nae other sound. Chorus:
7. Sweet the lav'rock's note and lang, Lilting wildly up the glen; And aye the o'erworld o' he sang, "Will he no' come back again?" Chorus:
Robert Burns, 1789 Orthodox! orthodox, who believe in John Knox, Let me sound an alarm to your conscience: A heretic blast has been blown in the West, "That what is no sense must be nonsense," Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense. 2. Doctor Mac! Doctor Mac, you should streek on a rack, To strike evil-doers wi' terror: To join Faith and Sense, upon any pretence, Was heretic, damnable error, Doctor Mac! 'Twas heretic, damnable error.
3. Town of Ayr! town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare, To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing, Provost John is still deaf to the Church's relief, And Orator Bob is its ruin, Town of Ayr! Yes, Orator Bob is its ruin.
4. D'rymple mild! D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's like a child, And your life like the new-driven snaw, Yet that winna save you, auld Satan must have you, For preaching that three's ane an' twa, D'rymple mild! For preaching that three's ane an' twa.
5. Rumble John! rumble John, mount the steps with a groan, Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd; Then out wi' your ladle, deal brimstone like aidle, And roar ev'ry note of the damn'd. Rumble John! And roar ev'ry note of the damn'd.
6. Simper James! simper James, leave your fair Killie dames, There's a holier chase in your view: I'll lay on your head, that the pack you'll soon lead, For puppies like you there's but few, Simper James! For puppies like you there's but few.
7. Singet Sawnie! singet Sawnie, are ye huirdin the penny, Unconscious what evils await? With a jump, yell, and howl, alarm ev'ry soul, For the foul thief is just at your gate. Singet Sawnie! For the foul thief is just at your gate.
8. Poet Willie! poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley, Wi' your "Liberty's Chain" and your wit; O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride, Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t. Poet Willie! Ye but smelt man, the place where he sh-t.
9. Barr Steenie! Barr Steenie, what mean ye, what mean ye? If ye meddle nae mair wi' the matter, Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense, Wi' people that ken ye nae better, Barr Steenie! Wi'people that ken ye nae better.
10. Jamie Goose! Jamie Goose, ye made but toom roose, In hunting the wicked Lieutenant; But the Doctor's your mark, for the Lord's holy ark, He has cooper'd an' ca'd a wrang pin in't, Jamie Goose! He has cooper'd an' ca'd a wrang pin in't.
11. Davie Bluster! Davie Bluster, for a saint ye do muster, The corps is no nice o' recruits; Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast, If the Ass were the king o' the brutes, Davie Bluster!2 If the Ass were the king o' the brutes.
12. Irvine Side! Irvine Side, wi' your turkey-cock pride Of manhood but sma' is your share: Ye've the figure, 'tis true, ev'n your foes will allow, And your friends they dare grant you nae mair, Irvine Side! And your friends they dare grant you nae mair.
13. Muirland Jock! muirland Jock, when the Lord makes a rock, To crush common-sense for her sins; If ill-manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit To confound the poor Doctor at ance, Muirland Jock! To confound the poor Doctor at ance.
14. Andro Gowk! Andro Gowk, ye may slander the Book, An' the Book nought the waur, let me tell ye; Tho' ye're rich, an' look big, yet, lay by hat an' wig, An' ye'll hae a calf's-had o' sma' value, Andro Gowk! Ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma value.
15. Daddy Auld! daddy Auld, there'a a tod in the fauld, A tod meikle waur than the clerk; Tho' ye do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death, For gif ye canna bite, ye may bark, Daddy Auld! Gif ye canna bite, ye may bark.
16. Holy Will! holy Will, there was wit in your skull, When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; The timmer is scant when ye're taen for a saunt, Wha should swing in a rape for an hour, Holy Will! Ye should swing in a rape for an hour.
17. Calvin's sons! Calvin's sons, seize your spiritual guns, Ammunition you never can need, Your hearts are the stuff will be powder enough, And your skulls are a storehouse o' lead, Calvin's sons! Your skulls are a storehouse o' lead.
18. Poet Burns! poet Burns, wi" your priest-skelpin turns, Why desert ye your auld native shire? Your muse is a gipsy, yet were she e'en tipsy, She could ca'us nae waur than we are, Poet Burns! She could ca'us nae waur than we are.
19. Factor John! Factor John, whom the Lord made alone, And ne'er made anither, thy peer, Thy poor servant, the Bard, in respectful regard, He presents thee this token sincere, Factor John! He presents thee this token sincere.
20. Afton's Laird! Afton's Laird, when your pen can be spared, A copy of this I bequeath, On the same sicker score as I mention'd before, To that trusty auld worthy, Clackleith, Afton's Laird! To that trusty auld worthy, Clackleith. Robert Burns, 1789 My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strade he on the plain; But now he's banish'd far away, I'll never see him back again. Chorus: |: O for him back again! :| I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land For Highland Harry back again. 2. When a' the lave gae to their bed, I wander dowie up the glen; I set me down and greet my fill, And aye I wish him back again. Chorus: 3. O were some villains hangit high, And ilka body had their ain! Then I might see the joyfu' sight, My Highland Harry back again.