Lyrics by Robert Tannahill, melody by Les
Wilson
| It would be a little remiss of us not to
include a Robert Tannahill song on an album and, once again, Les shoulders
the responsibility with his usual aplomb.
Robert Tannahill, though every bit as romantic as his
predecessor and literary role model Robert Burns had, by comparison, a
very unhappy love life. In fact he had no love life at all, which along
with poor health contributed to his unhappy state of mind.
According to J. W. Tannehill, an ancestor of Robert
Tannahill's brother John, "Whilst delighting all classes of his
countrymen with his native songs, the poet fell into a state of morbid
despondency, aggravated by his bodily weakness and a tendency to
consumption. He had prepared a new edition of his poems for the press and
sent the manuscript to Mr. Constable, the publisher, but it was returned
by that gentleman in consequence of his having more new works on hand than
he could undertake that season. This disappointment preyed on the spirits
of the sensitive poet and his melancholy became deep and habitual. On the
17th of May 1810, the unhappy poet retired to rest; but suspicion having
been excited, in about an hour afterward, it was discovered that he had
stolen out unperceived. Search was made in every direction and by the dawn
of the morning, the coat of the poet was discovered lying at the side of a
neighboring stream, pointing out to surely where his body was to be
found."
Robert Tannahill was 36 when he died.
|
LYRICS:
Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o' Glennifer
The auld castle's turrets are covered wi' snaw
How changed frae the time when I met wi' my lover
Amang the brume bushes by Stanley green shaw
The wild flowers o' simmer were spread a' sae bonnie
The Mavis sang sweet frae the green birkin tree
But far to the camp they ha'e marched my dear Johnnie
And now it is winter wi' nature and me
Then ilk thing aroun' us was blythsome and cheery
Then ilk thing aroun' us was bonnie and braw
Now naething is heard but the win' whistlin' dreary
And naething is seen by the wide spreadin' snaw
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie
'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me
Yon caul sleety could skiffs alang the bleak mountain
And shakes the dark firs on the stey rocky brae
While doun the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain
That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie an' me
'Tis no' its loud roar, on the wintry win' swellin'
'Tis no' the caul' blast brings the tear to my e'e
For, oh, gin I saw my bonnie Scots callan
The dark days o' winter war simmer tae me
|
|