Sarah Brightman - Trees They Grow So High (1988) by Sarah Brightman (보컬) on maniadb.com

Early one morning, just as the sun was rising,
I heard a maid singing in the valley below;
"O don't deceive me,
O do not leave me!
How could you use a poor maiden so?"

"O gay is the garland, fresh are the roses
I've culled from the garden to bind on thy brow.
O don't deceive me,
O do not leave me!
How could you use a poor maiden so?"


"Remember the vows that you made to your Mary,
Remember the bow'r where you vow'd to be true;
O don't deceive me,
O never leave me!
How could you use a poor maiden so?"


Thus sung the poor maiden, her sorrow bewailing,
Thus sung the poor maiden in the valley below;
"O don't deceive me,
O do not leave me!
How could you use a poor maiden so?"

As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed,
A sudden strange fancy came into her head.
"Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove,
I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love."

So early next morning she softly arose,
And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes.
She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown,
And went for a soldier to fair London Town.


Then up spoke the sergeant one day at his drill,
"Now who's good for nursing? A captain, he's ill."
"I'm ready," said Polly. To nurse him she's gone,
And finds it's her true love all wasted and wan.


The first week the doctor kept shaking his head,
"No nursing, young fellow, can save him," he said.
But when Polly Oliver had nursed him back to life
He cried, "You have cherished him as if you were his wife".


O then Polly Oliver, whe burst into tears
And told the good doctor her hopes and her fears,
And very shortly after, for better or for worse,
The captain took joyfully his pretty soldier nurse.

The trees they grow so high and the leaves they do grow green,
And many a cold winter's night my love and I have seen.
Of a cold winter's night, my love, you and I alone have been,
Whilst my bonny boy is young, he's a-gowing.
Growing, growing,
Whilst my bonny boy is young, he's a-gowing.

O father, dearest father, you've done to me great wrong,
You've tied me to a boy when you know he is too young.
O daughter, dearest daughter, if you wait a little while,
A lady you shall be while he's growing.
Growing, growing,
A lady you shall be while he's growing.


I'll send your love to college all for a year or two
And then in the meantime he will do for you;
I'll buy him white ribbons, tie them round his bonney waist
To let the ladies know that he's married.
Married, married,
To let the ladies know that he's married.


I went up to the college and I looked over the wall,
Saw four and twenty gentlemen playing at bat and ball.
I called to my true love, but they would not let hime come,
All because he was a young boy and growing.
Growing, growing,
All because he was a young boy and growing.


At the age of sixteen, he was a married man
And at the age of seventeen he was a father to a son,
And at the age of eighteen the grass grew over him,
Cruel death soon put an end to his growing.
Growing, growing,
Cruel death soon put an end to his growing.


And now my love is dead and in his grave doth lie,
The green grass grows o'er him so very, very high.
I'll sit and I'll mourn his fate until the day I die,
And I'll watch o'er his child while he's growing.
Growing, growing,
And I'll watch o'er his child while he's growing.

Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading, I pensively rove,
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander
Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash grove.

'Twas there while the blackbird was joyfully singing,
I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart;
Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,
Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.


Still grows the bright sunshine o'er valley and mountain,
Still warbles the blackbird his note from the tree;
Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain,
But what are the beauties of nature to me.


With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden,
All day I go mourning in search of my love.
Ye echoes, O tell me, where is the sweet maiden?
She sleeps 'neath the green turf down by the Ash grove.

The water is wide, I can't cross over
And neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I

There is a ship and she sails to sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not as deep as the love I'm in
I know not how I sink or swim

Oh, love is gentle and love is kind
The sweetest flower when first it's new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like morning dew

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night;
When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes,
And faw away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light.

Yet love hath echoes truer far,
And far more sweet,
Then e'er beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,
The songs repeat.


'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,
And only then,
The sigh, that's breath'd for one to hear,
Is by that one, that only dear,
Breath'd back again.
Again, again, again, ...

A flaxen-headed cowboy, as simple as may be,
And next a merry plough boy, I whistled o'er the lea;
But now a saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace,
And soon I'll be a butler, and whey my jolly face.

When steward I'm promoted I'll snip the tradesmen's bill,
My master's coffers empty, my pockets for to fill.
When lolling in my charlot so great a man I'll be,
So great a man, so great a man, so great a man I'll be,
You'll forget the little plough boy who whistled o'er the lea.
You'll forget the little plough boy who whistled o'er the lea.


I'll buy votes at elections, and when I've made the pelf,
I'll stand poll for the parliament, and then vote in myself.
Whetever's good for me, sir, I never will oppose:
When all my ayes are sold off, why then I'll sell my noes.


I'll joke, harangue and paragraph, with speeches charm the ear,
And when I'm tired on my legs, then I'll sit down a peer.
In court or city honour so great a man I'll be,
So great a man, so great a man, so great a man I'll be,
You'll forget the little plough boy who whistled o'er the lea.
You'll forget the little plough boy who whistled o'er the lea.

'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions are faded and gone;
No flow'r of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them;
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie senseless and dead.


So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie wither'd,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long;
When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song!

The warm lay of love and the light tone of gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;
But so oft has thou echo'd the deep sigh of sadness,
That e'en in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.


Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers.
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine;
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine.


If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own!

Easter day was a holiday
Of all days of the year,
And all the little schoolfellows went out to play
But Sir William was not there.

Mamma went to the School wife house
And knocked at the ring,
Saying, "Little Sir William, if you are there,
Pray let your mother in."


The School wife open'd the door and said:
"He is not here today.
He is with the little schoolfellows out on the green
Playing some pretty play."


Mamma went to the Boyne water
That is so wide and deep,
Saying, "Little Sir William, if you are there,
Oh pity your mother's weep."


"How can I pity your weep, mother,
And I so long in pain?
For the little pen knife sticks close to my heart
And the School wife hath me slain.


"Go home, go home, my mother dear,
And prepare my winding sheet,
For tomorrow morning before eight o'clock,
You with my body shall meet.


"And lay my Prayer Book at my head,
And my grammar at my feet,
That all the little schoolfellows as they pass by
May read them for my sake."

Oft in the stilly night
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Mem'ry brings the light
Of other days around me:
The smiles, the tears of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm'd and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus in the stilly night
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Mem'ry brings the light
Of other days around me.

When I remember all
The friends, so link'd together,
I've seen around me fall
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus in the stilly night
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Mem'ry brings the light
Of other days around me.

There's none to soothe my soul to rest,
There's none my load of grief to share
Or wake to joy this lonely breast,
Or light the gloom of dark despair.

The voice of joy no more can cheer,
The look of love no more can warm
Since mute for aye's that voice so dear,
And closed that eye alone could charm.

Oliver Cromwell lay buried and dead,
Hee-haw, buried and dead,
There grew an old apple-tree over his head,
Hee-haw, over his head.

The apples were ripe and ready to fall,
Hee-haw, ready to fall,
There came an old woman to gather them all,
Hee-haw, gather them all.


Oliver rose and gave her a drop,
Hee-haw, gave her a drop,
Which made the old woman go hippety hop,
Hee-haw, hippety hop.


The saddle and bridle, they lie on the shelf,
Hee-haw, lie on the shelf,
If you want any more your can sing it yourself,
Hee-haw, sing it yourself.