Ballads Vol. I

by Iona Fyfe

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1.
At Mill o’ Tifty, there bade a man In the neighbourhood o’ Fyvie He had a bonny dother fair, An’ they ca’d her bonny Annie Her bloom wis like the springin’ flooer That greets the rosy morning, Her innocence and graceful mien, Her beauteous face adornin’ Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter, An’ his name wis Andra Lammie An’ he hid the airt tae win the hairt O’ Mill o Tifty’s Annie Lord Fyvie he rade by the door Far dwelt sweet Tifty’s Annie His trumpeter rode him afore And his name wis Andra Lammie Her mither ca’ed her tae the door Come here tae me, my Annie Did ye iver see sic a bonny man Than the trumpeter o Fyvie? Naething she said, but sighing sore, Twas alas for bonnie Annie For she durst not own that her hairt wis won By the trumpeter o’ Fyvie The first time that this couple met, It was in the wids o’ Fyvie And his handsome face and flatterin tongue Seen won the hairt o’ Annie Her faither cam tae hear o this And a letter wrote tae Fyvie Tae tell his dother had been bewitched By his servant Andra Lammie Faan Fyvie hid the letter read He ca’ed for Andra Lammie Pray tell me fit is this ye’ve daen Tae Tifty’s bonnie Annie In wicked airt, I’ve play nae pairt Nor thocht tae injure ony It’s honest love, that won the hairt O’ Tifty’s bonnie Annie But tae Edinburgh, he wis sent Tae brak his tie wi Annie For they tocht that she wid seen forget Her love for Andra Lammie The next time that Lord Fyvie passed He caught a sicht o Annie An said “If ye cam o higher kin, I wid maak ye my ain lady” Says she “yer lands are far and wide And they are wonderous bonny But I widna leave my ain true love For aa the lands o’ Fyvie” Then her faither struck her wonderous sore And also did her mither, Her sisters also took their score, But wae be tae her brither For her brither struck her wonderous sair Wi cruel strokes and mony And he’s broke her back across a stane Jist for lovin Andra Lammie Oh mither dear, mak me my bed An’ lay my face tae Fyvie It’s there I’ll lie and it’s there I’ll die A’ for loving Andra lammie Noo people here baith far and near They pity Tifty’s Annie Wha died for lovin one peer lad, For lovin Andra Lammie
2.
It fell aboot the Martinmas Time Fan the green leaves they were fa’in That young John Graeme, fae the north countrie Fell in love wi Barbara Allan Fell in love wi Barbara Allan He’s coortit her for seiven lang years till he could coort nae langer For he fell sick and his hairt wis sair So he sent for his true lover Aye he sent for his true lover He sent his man doon through the toon Tae the place far she wis dwellin Sayin haste ye cam tae my maisters side Gin yer name bees Barbara Allan Gin yer name bees Barbara Allan Sae hooly hooly she rose up And sae slowly she’s gaed wi him And fan she pulled the curtains roon She said young man I think yer dyin Young man I think yer dyin Aye surely I am dyin love but a kiss fae you micht cure me A kiss fae me that’ll niver dee Gin yer hairts blid wis a-spillin Gin yer hairts blid wis a-spillin For mind ye no young man she said Fan we sat in yonder tavern Ye gart the healths gae roon an roon But ye forgot yer Barbara Allan Ye forgot yer Barbara Allan O look ye doon tae my bed fit It’s there ye’ll find a token A china vase that’s ful o tears Gae that tae Barbara Allan Gae that tae Barbara Allan He’s tirnt his face untae the waa For daith wis wi him dealin And he’s bid fareweel tae aa his freens And adieu tae Barbara Allan And adieu tae Barbara Allan Noo she hid scarcely walked a mile Fan she heard the deid bell tollin And ivry strike, it seemed tae say Hard-hairted Barbara Allan Hard-hairted Barbara Allan O mither, mither maak my bed For I am broken hairted For young John Graeme his died fir me But we winna lang be pairted No we winna lang be pairted The pair wis laid in yon kirk-yaird Aye she wis laid aside him And frae her hairt there grew a rose And frae his hairt a briar And frae his hairt a briar They grew up tae the bell tower tap Till they could grow nae higher And there they made a lovers knot The rose amang the briar The rose amang the briar
3.
O, a beggar a beggar cam' ower yon lea, He wiz seeking oot for charity And he said guid wife for yer courtesy, Will ye lodge a beggar man? CHORUS: Lassie tae ma tow row rey The nicht been cauld, and the carle been wat, Its in ayont the ingle he sat, And he’s flung his meal-pocks aff his back And aye hes ranted and sang, "Oh gin I were black as l am white, Like yonder snaw that lies on yonder dyke, I wad dress mysel' some beggar-like? And awa' wi' you I’d gang." "0 lassie, 0 lassie, you’re far ower young, And ye dinnae hae the cant o’ the beggin’ tongue, Nah ye dinnae hae the cant o' the beggin' tongue And wi' me ye canna gang." "Oh I'II bend my back and I’ll boo my knee, And I'II pit a black patchie ower my e'e, Aye and mony’s a fine tale I’ll tell ye, and awa' wi' you I’ll gang." Syne atween the twa they hae set the plot Tae rise twa hoors afore the cock Sae cannily as she slipped the lock And its ower the fields they’ve ran Noo In the mornin' the auld wife rose, And eagerly pittin’ on her clothes Straight to the servant's bed she goes To speir for the silly auld man. Noo the servants gaed where the auld man lay Bit the staw was cauld and he wis away Then its straight tae the auld wife she did say Is ony o' oor guid gear gane?" Some ran to the coffer, and some tae the kist Bit nocht was taken or yet was missed And she’s lifted up her airms, crying Lord Be Blessed We’ve Iodged an honest old man. Noo the servant gaed where the dochter lay, But the sheets were cauld and she was away, Then its straight tae the auld wife he did say "She's awa' wi' the beggar man." Some rode on horseback, some ran on fit, A' but the auld wife cause she wasna fit, She hobbled aboot frae hip to hip An' aye she’s cursed and banned. Oh a few years later, maybe twa or three That same old beggar cam' ower yon lea, And he says "Gudewife, for your courtesie, Wid ye lodge a beggin’ man?" "A beggar, a beggar I'II ne'er lodge again, For l had ae dochter but ane o' my ain, And awa' wi' the beggin’ man she's gane And l dinna ken whence nor whar." "0, yonder she's coming, and yonder she stands Wi' a comb and glass intae her hand Aye and servants aw at her command Since she went with the beggin’ man "0, yonder she's comin' to your bower, Wi silks an' satins wi' monys a flower," She's lifted up her airms and she's blest the hour That she went wi’ the beggin man.
4.
Johnnie rose up on a May morning Caad fir water tae wash his hauns Sayin “Gae lowse tae me my twa grey dugs That lie bound in iron bands, bands That lie bound in iron bands” Fan Johnnie’s mither heard o this Her hauns fir dule she wrang, Sayin “Johnnie, fir yer venison, Tae the greenwood dinna gang, gang Tae the greenwood dinna gang” But he has taen his guid bend-bow His arras one by one And he’s awa tae the greenwood gane, Tae ding the dun deer doon, doon Tae ding the dun deer doon Johnnie shot and the dun deer lap, And he wounded her on the side; And atween the water and the wids, The grey dugs laid her pride, pride The grey dugs laid her pride They ate sae much o’ the venison, And drank sae much o’ the bleed That Johnnie and his twa grey dugs, Fell asleep as they’d been deid, deid Fell asleep as they’d been deid By there cam’ a silly auld man, And an ill daith may he dee; And he’s awa tae Esslemont The seiven foresters for tae see see, The seiven foresters for tae see “As I cam’ doon by Monymusk, And doon amang yon scrogs, Wha did I spy, but the bonniest loon Lyin sleepin atween twa dugs, dugs Lyin sleepin atween twa dugs “The buttons that were on his sleeves Were o’ the gowd sae guid And the twa dugs that he lay atween Their moo’s were dyed wi bleed, bleed Their moo’s were dyed wi bleed” Then up and spak’ the first forester He wis heidsman ower them aa “Gin this be Jock o’ Breadislie, Then unto him we will draw, draw Then unto him we will draw” The first shot that the forester fired, It wounded him in the knee’ But the seicond shot that the forester fired His hairts blid blint his e’e, e’e His hairts blid blint his e’e Up rose Johnnie oot o’ his sleep, And an angry man wis he; “Ye micht hae waukened me frae my sleep, For ma hairts blid blins my e’e e’e Ma hairts blid blins my e’e He his leant his back against an oak, His fit against a stane, And he has fired at the seiven foresters, And he’s kil’t them aa’ but ane, ane He’s kil’t them aa’ but ane He has broken fower o’ this man’s ribs, His airm an’ his collar bone, And he has set him tae his horse, Tae cairry the tidings home, home For tae cairry the tidings home Johnnies guid bend-bow is broke, His twa grey dugs are slain; And his body lies in Monymusk, And his huntin’ days are dane, dane His huntin’ days are dane
5.
It fell aboot the Martinmas time When the wind blew shrill and cauld Cried Edom o' Gordon tae his men "We maun draw tae some hauld" "Whit hauld, whit hauld," cried his merry men "Whit hauld sal we gang tae?" "It's tae Towie's Hoose that we maun ride And see yon fair lady" She thocht it was her ain dear lord That she saw ridin' hame But was the traitor Edom o' Gordon That hid nae sin nor shame "Come doon, come doon, Lady Campbell," he cried "And gie yer hoose tae me Or else this nicht I swear I'll burn Ye an' yer bairnies three" "I winna come doon," the lady cried "For laird nor yet for loon Nor yet for any rank robber That comes frae Auchendoon" The lady frae the battlements Twa bullets she let flee But it missed its mark wi' Gordon For it scarcely grazed his knee "Lady Campbell," the Gordon cried "That shot will cost you dear" An' he has ca'ed tae his ain Jock Tae bring the faggots near "I winna come doon, ye fause Gordon I winna gie up tae ye I winna forsake ma ain dear lord That is sae far frae me" Then up and spak her youngest son Sat on the nooris's knee "Oh open the door and let me oot For this reek is choking me" "I wid gie up ma gowd," she cried "Ma siller and ma fee For a blast o' the whistling wind Tae blaw this reek frae me" Then up an' spak her dother dear She wis baith jimp and sma' "Oh row me in a pair o' sheets And throw me ower the wa'" They rowed her in a pair o' sheets Aye and threw her ower the wa' But on the point o' the Gordon's sword She got a deidly fa' Then Gordon turned her ower and ower And oh her face was white Ah micht had spared that bonny face Tae be some man's delight Oh pity on yon fair castle That was biggit wi' stane and lime And wae for Lady Campbell herself Burnt wi' her bairnies nine Oh three o' them were mairried wives And three o' them were bairns And three o' them were leal maidens That ne'er lay in young men's airms
6.
Why weep ye by the tide lady, Why weep ye by the tide, Ill wed ye tae my youngest son, And ye shall be his bride. And ye shall be his bride lady, Sae comely tae be seen, But aye she let the tears down fa For Jock o Hazeldean. Noo let this willfu greif be done, And dry that cheek sae pale. Young Frank is Chief o Errington, And Lord o langleydale, His step is first in peacefull ha, His sword in battle keen, But aye she lets the tears down fa For Jock o Hazeldean. A chain of gold ye shall not lack, Nor braid tae bind your hair, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfry fresh and fair, And you the foremost o them a, Shall ride our forest Queen, But aye she let the tears down fa For Jock o Hazeldean. The kirk was decked at morning tide, The taper glimmered fair, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and night are there, They sought her baith by bower and ha The lady was not seen, She's ower the border and awa, Wi Jock o Hazeldean

about

Ballads Vol. I is a six-track unaccompanied release featuring classic traditional ballads in their rawest form, from award-winning folksinger, Iona Fyfe. Proceed only if you are fond of protracted narrative songs of death and despair...

Download the accompanying lyric and background booklet here: 1drv.ms/b/s!AjcKmp0KFiKFi3rnA3iKK8_MoNBC?e=2uzolj

Photo by Martin Venherm Photography - www.martinvenherm.com

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released July 22, 2020

Iona Fyfe: vocals

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Iona Fyfe Scotland, UK

Aberdeenshire folksinger, Iona Fyfe, has become one of Scotland’s finest young folk singers, rooted deeply in the singing traditions of the North East of Scotland.The youngest ever winner of Scots Singer of the Year at the MG ALBA Scots Trad Music Awards 2018, Iona has been described as “one of the best Scotland has to offer.” (Global-Music.de)

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