Tag Archive | lyrics

Poetry Month – Latha Math

By Manran

Latha Math air an Eilean

Chorus

Latha math air an Eilean

Eilean Leòdhais mo Ghràidh

Latha math air an Eilean

Dachaigh mo smuaintean gu bràth

Verse 1

Ag èirigh tràth anns a’ mhadainn

A’ ghrian a’ deàrrsadh sìos

Tha àile na mara a’ tighinn tron uinneig

Tha h-uile duin’ an àirde

Verse 2

Tha an abhainn làn le pailteas uisge

Tha am bradan a’ tighinn a-rithist

Tha na balaich bheaga shios air an drochaid

Feuch an glac iad aon no dhà

Verse 3

Tha an t-Earrach ann ‘s na làithean fada

Tha na h-uain a’ ruith mun cuairt

Tha na bodaich a-muigh a’ buain na mònach

Tha an t-àm sin air tighinn a-rithist

Verse 4

Tha a’ ghealach shuas ‘s a’ ghrian na cadal

Tha an oidhche nis air tighinn

Tha e sàmhach is ciùin tron an Eilean

Tha e math a bhith beò

Tha e math a bhith beò

Raise a cup o’ kindness and don’t sing zyne!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
in days of auld lang syne?

Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my dear
for auld lang syne
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pou’d the gowans fine
We’ve wandered mony a weary foot
Sin’ auld lang syne

We twa a sport’d i’ the burn
From morning sun ’til dine
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand me trusty friend
And gies a hand o’ thine
We’ll tak a good right willie-waught
For auld lang syne.

Robert Burns

And do me a favour, and don’t piss off me gran and sing ‘syne’ not ‘zyne’!

Posted via m.livejournal.com
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Yuletide Blogging Festival – Pagan Carols

image

SILVER MOON (to the tune of “Silver Bells”)

City witches, busy witches,
dressed in festival style
In the air there’s a feeling of ritual.

Women laughing, Chalice passing Sharing smile after smile,

And ’round every hearth fire you hear:
Silver moon, Mother moon,
It’s Goddess time in the city. Circling, hear them sing,
Soon it will be Solstice Day.

Strings of candles, held by handle With a flickering glow,
As the witches weave magickal treasures.
Touching changing, changing touching,
This is Diana’s scene,

And with all of the blessings you hear:
Silver moon, Mother moon,
It’s Goddess time in the city. Circling, hear them sing,
Soon it will be Solstice Day.

Another Comma special bastardization

My favourite patriotic and most pagan song

My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountainside
Let freedom ring!

2
My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills,
Like that above.

3
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom’s song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.

4
Our mothers’ God to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom’s holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.

5 (added to celebrate Washington’s Centennial)[4]

Our joyful hearts today,
Their grateful tribute pay,
Happy and free,
After our toils and fears,
After our blood and tears,
Strong with our hundred years,
O God, to Thee.

Additional verses by Henry van Dyke
6
We love thine inland seas,
Thy groves and giant trees,
Thy rolling plains;
Thy rivers’ mighty sweep,
Thy mystic canyons deep,
Thy mountains wild and steep,–
All thy domains.

Raise a cup o’ kindness yet… ps there is no z in syne!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
in days of auld lang syne?

Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my dear
for auld lang syne
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pou’d the gowans fine
We’ve wandered mony a weary foot
Sin’ auld lang syne

We twa a sport’d i’ the burn
From morning sun ’til dine
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand me trusty friend
And gies a hand o’ thine
We’ll tak a good right willie-waught
For auld lang syne.

Robert Burns

And do me a favour, and don’t piss off me gran and sing ‘syne’ not ‘zyne’!

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

another earworm

Grasshopppers three a- fiddling went
Hi ho never be still
They pay no money for their rent
And all day long with their elbows bent
Fiddle a tune called rilliby, rilliby
Fiddle a tune called rilliby rill.

For the new Duke and Duchess of Cambridge

Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in?
While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin?
There’s a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder.
And the thin wind crawls along your neck it’s just the old gods getting older.
And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high
come a Beltane.
Have you ever loved a lover of the old elastic truth?
And doted on the daughter in the ministry of youth?
Thrust your head between the breasts of the fertile innocent.
And taken up the cause of love, for the sake of argument.
Or while the kisses drop like a fall of shot from soft lips in the rain
come a Beltane.
Happy old new year to you and yours.
The sun’s up for one more day, to be sure.
Play it out gladly, for your card’s marked again.

Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly?
While the fires are burned on the hills upturned in far-off wild country.
And felt the chill on your window-sill as the green man comes around.
With his walking cane of sweet hazel brings it crashing down.
Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites. Well, it’s just your groaning pains.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.

Jethro Tull