A trooper lad came here at night with riding he was weary, a trooper lad came here at night, when the moon shone bright and clearly She's taken the
the shore Follow they will not dare Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep Ocean's a royal bed Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep Watch by your weary
earth are to be seen. Don't you see the little lambs by the dams a-playing? The cuckoo is singing in the shady grove. The flowers they are springing, the maids
, they sang so low They sang so sweet, so very very sweet They stole away the heart of the lady-o She came stepping down the stairs With all her maids
ye richt, gang ne'er at nicht, Tae the weaver's gin ye go. My mither sent me tae the toon Tae warp a plaiden wab; But the weary weary warpin o't Has
you right, gang ne'er at night, To the weaver's gin ye go. My mither sent me to the town, To warp a plaiden wab; But the weary, weary warpin o't Has
sweet maid, Three years I in my place abode And three more must be stayed The three that I am bound so fast O fairest wait for me And when the weary years
Over yonder far from time Lived a maid widowed by war Astray her home burdened her life A netherland of discontent Free of joy and bliss Believe in nothing
down your weary head Let the blue stars darken" O silence, if in thy cradle I could sway Like a child, heart the amending song, The sighing of the shades Maid
dream an' there's no compromisin' I know there's one certain laddie for me. One day he'll come walkin' o'er the horizon: But should he not, then an old maid
step I onward stray'd, My heart rejoic'd in Nature's joy, When, musing in a lonely glade, A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy. Her look was like the
you right, gang ne'er at night, To the weaver's gin ye go. My mither sent me to the town, To warp a plaiden wab; But the weary, weary warpin
d in the deep Flora will keep watch o'er your weary head. (chorus) Burned are our homes, exile and death, Scattered the loyal man. Yet ere the sword
corn on the earth are seen Don't you see the little lambs by the dams a-playing? The cuckoo is singing in the shady grove The flowers they are springing, the maids
