|Lidové písně - Anglické||[-] Transpozice [+] Tisk textu  |
The Lass of Lochroyan
Lidové písně - Anglické
O gin I had a bonny ship, And men to sail with me, It's I would go to my true love, Since he will not come to me. Her father's gi'en her a bonny ship And sent her to the strand, And she's ta'en her young son in her arms, And turned her back to the land. O row your boat, my mariners, And bring me to the land, For there I see my love's castle Close by the salt-sea strand. Long stood she at her true love's door, And long tirled at the pin. At length up got his false mother, Says, Who's that would be in ? Open the door Lord Gregory, she says, Open and let me in, For the wind blows through my yellow hair, And the rain drops o'er my chin. If you be the lass of Lochroyan As I trow not you be, You will tell me some of the love tokens That passed between you and me. Do you not mind, Lord Gregory, When we sat at the wine, We changed the rings off our fingers, And ay the worst fell mine. For mine was of the good red gold, But yours was of the tin, And mine was true and trusty, both, But yours was false within. Do you not mind, Lord Gregory, When we sat at the wine, We changed the smocks off our two backs, And ay the worst fell mine. For mine was of the Holland fine, And yours was coarse and thin, So many blocks have we two made, And ay the worst was mine. And do you not mind, Lord Gregory, When in my father's hall, 'Twas there you got your will of me, And that was worst of all. So open the door, Lord Gregory, And open it with speed, Or your young son, that is in my arms, For cold, will soon be dead. Away, away, you ill woman, For here you shall not win in, Go drown you in the raging sea, Or hang on the gallows pin. O who will shoe my bonny foot, And who will glove my hand, And who will bind my middle, so jimp, With the broad lily band ? And who will comb my yellow hair, With the new made silver comb, And who will father my young son, Till Lord Gregory come home ? Your father will shoe your bonny foot, Your mother will glove your hand, Your sister will lace your middle, so jimp, With the broad lily band. Your brother will comb your yellow hair, With the new made silver comb, And God will be your bairn's father, Till Lord Gregory come home. O slowly, slowly went she back, As day began to peep. She set her foot on good ship board, And sore, sore did she weep. Lord Gregory started from his sleep, And to his mother did say, I dreamed a dream this night, mother, That makes my heart right wae. I dreamed that Annie of Lochroyan, The flower of all her kin, Was standing, mourning, at my door, But none would let her in. Lie still, lie still, my own dear son, Lie still and take your sleep, For it's neither an hour, nor yet a half, Since she went from the gate. So quickly, quickly rose he up, And fast ran to the strand, And there he saw her, Fair Annie Was sailing from the land. And, Heigh Annie ! and Ho Annie ! O, Annie speak to me ! But ay the louder that he cried The louder roared the sea. The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough And dashed the boat on shore. Fair Annie floats upon the tide, But her young son rose no more. He catched her by her yellow hair, And drew her to the strand, But cold and stiff was every limb Before he reached the land. O first he kissed her cherry cheek, And then he kissed her chin, And sore he kissed her ruby lips But there was no breath within. O woe betide my cruel mother, An ill death may she die, For she turned my true love from my door When she came so far to me.