Loreena Mckennitt

The old ways
The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.

On a dark new year's night
On the west coast of Clare
I hear your voice singing
Your eyes danced the song
Your hands played the tune
T'was a vision before me.

We left the music behind and the dance carried on
As we stole away to the seashore
We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair

With sadness you paused.

Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go
Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time

And I wondered why.

As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea
A vision came o'er me
Of thundering hooves and beating wings

In clouds above.

As you turned to go I heard you call my name.
You were like a bird in a cage, spreading its
Wings to fly
"The old ways are lost" you sang as you flew

And I wondered why.

The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.
The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.
The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you
The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you.

A clouded dream on an earthly night
Hangs upon the crescent moon
A voiceless song in an ageless light
Sings at the coming dawn
Birds in flight are calling there
Where the heart moves the stones
It's there that my heart is calling
All for the love of youA painting hangs on an ivy
Nestled in the emerald moss
The eyes declare a truce of trust
And then it draws me far away
Where deep in the desert twilight
Sand melts in pools of the sky
When darkness lays her crimson cloak
Your lamps will call me homeAnd so it's there my homage's due
Clutched by the still of the night
And now I feel you move
Every breath is full
So it's there my homage's due
Clutched by the still of the night
Even the distance feels so near
All for the love of you

When in the springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair
When owls call the breathless moon
In the blue veil of the night
The shadows of the trees appear
Amidst the lantern light
We've been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
Who will go down to those shady groves
And summon the shadows there
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
In the springtime of the year
The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
That when the fiddler plays
All their voices can be heard
Long past their woodland days
And so they linked their hands and danced
Round in circles and in rows
And so the journey of the night descends
When all the shades are gone
"A garland gay we bring you here
And at your door we stand
It is a sprout well budded out
The work of Our Lord's hand"

When in the springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair
When owls call the breathless moon
In the blue veil of the night
The shadows of the trees appear
Amidst the lantern light
We've been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
Who will go down to those shady groves
And summon the shadows there
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
In the springtime of the year
The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
That when the fiddler plays
All their voices can be heard
Long past their woodland days
And so they linked their hands and danced
Round in circles and in rows
And so the journey of the night descends
When all the shades are gone
"A garland gay we bring you here
And at your door we stand
It is a sprout well budded out
The work of Our Lord's hand"

And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

Who will go down to those shady groves
And summon the shadows there
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
In the springtime of the year

The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
That when the fiddler plays
All their voices can be heard
Long past their woodland days

And so they linked their hands and danced
Round in circles and in rows
And so the journey of the night descends
When all the shades are gone

"A garland gay we bring you here
And at your door we stand
It is a sprout well budded out
The work of our lord's hand"

The Lady of Shalott
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And trho' the field the road run by

To many-towered Camelot;

And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes disk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the beared barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot;

And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listing, whispers "'tis the fairy

The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot;

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The Knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,

The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and with lights

And music, went to Camelot;

Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am, half sick of shadow," she said,

The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves,

Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,

Beside remote Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

And from the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried -- photo

The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd Camelot; -- photo

Down she cam and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

Down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance -
With a glassy countenance

She looked to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and shown she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted slowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,

The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,

Silent into Camelot.

And out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And round the prow they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
They crossed themselves for fear,

The Knights at Camelot;

But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "she has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott

But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Part I
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

And over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
If they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me be the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)
He tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part II

He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching,
Marching, marching,
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
Hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say-
'Look for me by the moonlight;
Watch for me by the moonlight;
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way!'

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

'Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot!' Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
'Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot,' in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.

'Tlot-tlot,' in the frosty silence! 'Tlot-tlot,' in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.

He turned; He spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

And back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

'Still of a winter's night,

Upon a darkened night
the flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet restShrouded by the night
And by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
while all within lay quiet as the deadOh night thou was my guide
of night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
to the beloved one
transforming each of them into the otherUpon that misty night
in secrecy, beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
than that which burned so deeply in my heart
That fire t'was led me on
and shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where he waited still
it was a place where no one else could come
Within my pounding heart
which kept itself entirely for him
He fell into his sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave
From o'er the fortress walls
the wind would his hair against his brow
And with its smoothest hand
caressed my every sense it would allow
I lost myself to him
and laid my face upon my lover's breast
And care and grief grew dim
as in the morning's mist became the light
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
there they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
there they dimmed amongst the lilies fair

Upon a darkened night
the flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet restShrouded by the night
And by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
while all within lay quiet as the deadOh night thou was my guide
of night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
to the beloved one
transforming each of them into the otherUpon that misty night
in secrecy, beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
than that which burned so deeply in my heart
That fire t'was led me on
and shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where he waited still
it was a place where no one else could come
Within my pounding heart
which kept itself entirely for him
He fell into his sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave
From o'er the fortress walls
the wind would his hair against his brow
And with its smoothest hand
caressed my every sense it would allow
I lost myself to him
and laid my face upon my lover's breast
And care and grief grew dim
as in the morning's mist became the light
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
there they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
there they dimmed amongst the lilies fair

A farmer there lived in the north country
a hey ho bonny o
And he had daughters one, two, three
The swans swim so bonny o
These daughters they walked by the river's brim
a hey ho bonny o
The eldest pushed the youngest in
The swans swim so bonny oOh sister, oh sister, pray lend me your hand
with a hey ho a bonny o
And I will give you house and land
the swans swim so bonny o
I'll give you neither hand nor glove
with a hey ho a bonny o
Unless you give me your own true love
the swans swim so bonny oSometimes she sank, sometimes she swam
with a hey ho and a bonny o
Until she came to a miller's dam
the swans swim so bonny oThe miller's daughter, dressed in red
with a hey ho and a bonny o
She went for some water to make some bread
the swans swim so bonny oOh father, oh daddy, here swims a swan
with a hey ho and a bonny o
It's very like a gentle woman
the swans swim so bonny o
They placed her on the bank to dry
with a hey ho and a bonny o
There came a harper passing by
the swans swim so bonny oHe made harp pins of her fingers fair
with a hey ho and a bonny o
He made harp strings of her golden hair
the swans swim so bonny o
He made a harp of her breast bone
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And straight it began to play alone
the swans swim so bonny oHe brought it to her father's hall
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And there was the court, assembled all
the swans swim so bonny o
He laid the harp upon a stone
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And straight it began to play lone
the swans swim so bonny oAnd there does sit my father the King
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And yonder sits my mother the Queen
the swans swim so bonny o
And there does sit my brother Hugh
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And by him William, sweet and true
the swans swim so bonny o
And there does sit my false sister, Anne
with a hey ho and a bonny o
Who drowned me for the sake of a man
the swans swim so bonny o

A farmer there lived in the north country
a hey ho bonny o
And he had daughters one, two, three
The swans swim so bonny o
These daughters they walked by the river's brim
a hey ho bonny o
The eldest pushed the youngest in
The swans swim so bonny oOh sister, oh sister, pray lend me your hand
with a hey ho a bonny o
And I will give you house and land
the swans swim so bonny o
I'll give you neither hand nor glove
with a hey ho a bonny o
Unless you give me your own true love
the swans swim so bonny oSometimes she sank, sometimes she swam
with a hey ho and a bonny o
Until she came to a miller's dam
the swans swim so bonny oThe miller's daughter, dressed in red
with a hey ho and a bonny o
She went for some water to make some bread
the swans swim so bonny oOh father, oh daddy, here swims a swan
with a hey ho and a bonny o
It's very like a gentle woman
the swans swim so bonny o
They placed her on the bank to dry
with a hey ho and a bonny o
There came a harper passing by
the swans swim so bonny oHe made harp pins of her fingers fair
with a hey ho and a bonny o
He made harp strings of her golden hair
the swans swim so bonny o
He made a harp of her breast bone
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And straight it began to play alone
the swans swim so bonny oHe brought it to her father's hall
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And there was the court, assembled all
the swans swim so bonny o
He laid the harp upon a stone
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And straight it began to play lone
the swans swim so bonny oAnd there does sit my father the King
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And yonder sits my mother the Queen
the swans swim so bonny o
And there does sit my brother Hugh
with a hey ho and a bonny o
And by him William, sweet and true
the swans swim so bonny o
And there does sit my false sister, Anne
with a hey ho and a bonny o
Who drowned me for the sake of a man
the swans swim so bonny o

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats
There we've hid our faery vats
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.

Chorus:
Come away, O human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light
By far off furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles
Whilst the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.

Chorus

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.

Chorus

Away with us he's going
The solemn-eyed
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.

Chorus

For he comes, the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

In one of these lonely Orkney Isles
There dwelled a maiden fair.
Her cheeks were red, her eyes were blue
She had yellow, curling hair.
Which caught the eye and then the heart
Of one who could never be
A lover of so true a mind
Or fair a form as she.
Across the lake in Sandwick
Dwelled a youth she held most true,
And ever since her infancy
He had watched these eyes so blue.
The land runs out to the sea -
It's a narrow neck of land -
Where weird and grim the Standing Stones
In a circle where they stand.
One bonny moonlight Christmas Eve
They met at that sad place.
With her heart in glee and the beams of love
Were shining on her face
When her lover came and he grasped her hand
And what loving words they said
They talked of future's happy days,
As through the stones they strayed.
They walked toward the lovers' stone
And through it passed their hands.
They plighted there a constant troth
Sealed by love's steadfast bands
He kissed his maid and then he watched her
That lonely bridge go o'er.
For little, little did he think
He wouldn't see his darling more.
Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Gazing out to sea
Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Bring my love to me.
He turned his face toward his home
That home he did never see
And you shall have the story
As it was told to me.When a form upon him sprang
With a dagger gleaming bright
It pierced his heart and his dying screams
Disturbed the silent night.
This maid had nearly reached her home
When she was startled by a cry.
And she turned to look around her
And her love was standing by
His hand was pointing to the stars
And his eyes gazed at the light.
And with a smiling countenance
He vanished from her sight.
She quickly turned and home she ran
Not a word of this was said,For well she knew at seeing his form
That her faithful love was dead.
And from that day she pined away,
Not a smile seen on her face,
And with outstretched arms she went to meet him
In a brighter place

White are the far-off fields,
And white the fading forests grow;
The wind dies out amongst the tides
Denser still the snow,
A gathering weight on roof and tree
Falls down scarce audibly.

The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snowfall hoods me around;
In wood and water, earth and air,
Silence is everywhere.

Save when at lonely spells
Some farmer's sleigh is urged on,
With rustling runners and sharp bells,
Swings by me and is gone;
From the empty space I hear
A sound remote and clear;

The barking of a dog,
To cattle, is sharply pued,
Borne, echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent and the snow
Falls settling soft and slow

The evening deepens and the grey
Folds closer Earth to sky
The world seems so shrouded, so far away.
Its noises sleep, and I
As secret as yon buried stream
Plod dumbly on and dream.

I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream

White are the far-off fields,
And white the fading forests grow;
The wind dies out amongst the tides
Denser still the snow,
A gathering weight on roof and tree
Falls down scarce audibly.

The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snowfall hoods me around;
In wood and water, earth and air,
Silence is everywhere.

Save when at lonely spells
Some farmer's sleigh is urged on,
With rustling runners and sharp bells,
Swings by me and is gone;
From the empty space I hear
A sound remote and clear;

The barking of a dog,
To cattle, is sharply pued,
Borne, echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent and the snow
Falls settling soft and slow

The evening deepens and the grey
Folds closer Earth to sky
The world seems so shrouded, so far away.
Its noises sleep, and I
As secret as yon buried stream
Plod dumbly on and dream.

I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream

White are the far-off fields,
And white the fading forests grow;
The wind dies out amongst the tides
Denser still the snow,
A gathering weight on roof and tree
Falls down scarce audibly.

The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snowfall hoods me around;
In wood and water, earth and air,
Silence is everywhere.

Save when at lonely spells
Some farmer's sleigh is urged on,
With rustling runners and sharp bells,
Swings by me and is gone;
From the empty space I hear
A sound remote and clear;

The barking of a dog,
To cattle, is sharply pued,
Borne, echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent and the snow
Falls settling soft and slow

The evening deepens and the grey
Folds closer Earth to sky
The world seems so shrouded, so far away.
Its noises sleep, and I
As secret as yon buried stream
Plod dumbly on and dream.

I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream
I dream

O light the candle, John
The daylight has almost gone
The birds have sung their last
The bells call all to massAnd sit here by my side
For the night is very long
There's something I must tell
Before I pass along
I joined the brotherhood
My books were all to me
I scribed the words of God
And much of history
Many a year was I
Perched out upon the sea
The waves would wash my tears,
The wind, my memory
I'd hear the ocean breathe
Exhale upon the shore
I knew the tempest's blood
Its wrath I would endure
And so the years went by
Within my rocky cell
With only a mouse or bird
My friend; I loved them well
And so it came to pass
I'd come here to Romani
And many a year it took
Till I arrived here with thee
On dusty roads I walked
And over mountains high
Through rivers running deep
Beneath the endless sky
Beneath these jasmine flowers
Amidst these cypress trees
I give you now my books
And all their mysteries
Now take the hourglass
And turn it on its head
For when the sands are still
'Tis then you'll find me dead
O light the candle, John
The daylight is almost gone
The birds have sung their last
The bells call all to mass

My love said to me
My mother won't mind
And me father won't slight you
For your lack of kind
Then she stepped away from me
And this she did say,
"It will not be long, love
Till our wedding day"

She stepped away from me
And she moved through the fair
And fondly I watched her
Move here and move there
And she went her way homeward
With one star awake
As the swans in the evening
Move over the lake

The people were saying
No two e'er were wed
But one has a sorrow
That never was said
And she smiled as she passed me
With her goods and her gear
And that was the last
That I saw of my dear.

I dreamed it last night
That my true love came in
So softly she entered
Her feet made no din
she came close beside me
And this she did say,
"It will not be long, love
Till our wedding day."

I sowed the seeds of love
I sowed them in the spring
I gathered them up in the morning so clear
When the small birds so sweetly sing
When the small birds so sweetly sing

The gardener was standing by
I asked him to choose for me
He chose for me the violet, the lily and the pink
But those I refused all three
But those I refused all three

The violet I did not like
Because it bloomed so soon
The lily and the pink I really over-think
So I thought I would wait till June
So I thought I would wait till June

In June there was a red rose bud
That is the flower for me
I often times have plucked that red rose bud
Till I gained the willow tree
Till I gained the willow tree

The willow tree will twist
The willow tree will twine
I often have wished I was in the young man's arms
Who once had the arms of mine
Who once had the arms of mine

I sowed the seeds of love
I sowed them in the spring
I gathered them up in the morning so soon
When the small birds so sweetly sing
When the small birds so sweetly sing

I sowed the seeds of love
I sowed them in the spring
I gathered them up in the morning so clear
When the small birds so sweetly sing
When the small birds so sweetly sing

The gardener was standing by
I asked him to choose for me
He chose for me the violet, the lily and the pink
But those I refused all three
But those I refused all three

The violet I did not like
Because it bloomed so soon
The lily and the pink I really over-think
So I thought I would wait till June
So I thought I would wait till June

In June there was a red rose bud
That is the flower for me
I often times have plucked that red rose bud
Till I gained the willow tree
Till I gained the willow tree

The willow tree will twist
The willow tree will twine
I often have wished I was in the young man's arms
Who once had the arms of mine
Who once had the arms of mine

I sowed the seeds of love
I sowed them in the spring
I gathered them up in the morning so soon
When the small birds so sweetly sing
When the small birds so sweetly sing

January, 1992 - Just performed in Santiago de Compostella in the Galician area
of Spain...misty and lush as we arrived from more arid areas of the country;
clearly Celtic territory in the language and music, and a place I must visit
again soon...We arrived a day early; band et al went for a wonderful Sunday
lunch and then wandered over to the cathedral to observe the wonderful faces on
the Portico.
May, 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (St. James in the Field of Stars)...had
occasion to return to Galicia and Santiago sooner than I'd thought...I learned
the story behind the city. Supposedly the remains of St. James arrived
mysteriously in the village of Padron (which we visited...lovely line of trees
along the waterway leading to the place where the relics were found) and
interred here in Santiago...I picked up a CD collection of music emanating from
the pilgrimage route to Santiago, as well as a CD by Spanish group Els
Trobadors...wonderful feeling to this music.
May, 1993 - Now studying liner notes, books and pieces of music, putting
together a clearer picture of Santiago in the years 900 to 1500 when it
rivalled Jerusalem and Rome as a pilgrimage destination, playing host to a
motley tide of humanity pursuing both religious and more earthy goals. It was
also the site of unprecedented cross-cultural fertilization between the
Christian, Jewish and Moorish communities. When I heard this piece, I was
struck by its Semitic tone, and realised that, even in the area of music, the
three communities were influencing each other.
Janvier 1992 - Je viens de donner un spectacle a Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle,
en Galice, dans le nord de l'Espagne...brumeux et luxuriant en comparaison des
contrees plus arides du reste du pays; un territoire nettement celtique par sa
langue et sa musique, un endroit que je dois revenir visiter bientot...Nous
sommes arrives une journee a l'avance; toute l'equipe s'est retrouvee pur un
magnifique dejeuner du dimanche, pous s'est promenee jusqu'a la cathedrale pour
admirer le splendic portique.
Mai 1992 - Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle (Saint-Jacques das le Champ des
etoiles)...j'ai eu l'occasion de revenir en Galice et a Siant-Jacques plus vite
que je ne l'esperais...J'ai appris l'histoire de la fondation de cette ville.
Selon la legende, le corps de Saint-Jacques serait arrive mysterieusement dans
la ville de Padron (que nous avons visitee... une belle rangee d'arbres le long
du cours d'eau menant jusqu'a la place ou les reliques furent decouvertes) et
aurait ete enterre ici a Saint-Jacques...J'ai achete une collection de disques
compacts de musique de la route du pelerinage vers Compostelle, et un disque du
groupe espagnol Els Troubadors.
Mai 1993 - J'etudie maintenant des notes, des livres et des oeuvres musicales,
pour me forger une image plus claire de Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle dans les
annees 900 a 1500, quand la cite rivalisait avec Jerusalem et Rome comme lieu
de pelerinage; elle etait l'hote de vagues humaines bigarrees, motivees par des
aspirations religieuses mais egalement plus terre a terre. Elle etait aussi le
centre d'echanges d'une fecondite sans precedent entre les communautes
chretiennes, juives et musulmanes. Quand j'ai entendu cette oeuvre, j'ai ete
frappee par sa tonalite semitique et j'ai realise que, meme dans le domaine
musical, les trois civilisations s'influencaient les unes les autres.
Januar 1992 - Bin gerade in Santiago de Compostella, im galizischen Teil
Spaniens, aufgetreten...dunstig und ueppig im Vergleich zu den mehr duerren
Gegenden Spaniens, aus denen wir gerade kamen; ganz eindeutig sprachlich und
musikalisch keltisch beeinflusstes Gebiet, eine Gegend, die ich bald wieder
besuchen moechte...Wir kamen einen Tag zu frueh an, die Band und ich gingen


essen und nach einem wunderbaren Sonntags-Mittagessen sind wir zur Kathedrale
hinueber gebummelt, um uns das wundervolle Gesicht auf dem Portikus anzusehen.
Mai 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (der heilige Jakob im Feld der
Sterne)...Hatte schneller die Gelegenheit, nach Galizien und Santiago
zurueckzukehren, als ich dachte...Ich erfuhr die Geschichte, die der Stadt
anhaengt. Anscheinend gelangten die Ueberreste des heiligen Jakob auf
mysterioese Weise in die Stadt Padron (welche wir auch besuchten...eine
huebsche Baumreihe zieht sich entlang des Wasserweges, der zu dem Fundort
fuehrt) und wurden dann hier in Santiago begraben. Ich fand eine CD-Sammlung
mit Musik, die von der Pilgerfahrt nach Santiago stammt und noch eine CD der
spanischen Gruppe Els Trobadors.
Mai 1993 - Beschaftige mich jetzt mit Notizen, Buechern und Musikstuecken, um
mir ein klares Bild von Santiago aus der Zeit 900 - 1500 machen zu koennen, das
zu der Zeit mit Jerusalem und Rom als Pilgerziel rivalisierte, und zu der Zeit
eine kunterbunte Welle der Menschlichkeit beherbergte, die sich religioese wie
auch irdische Ziele gesetzt hatte. Es war ausserdem der Schauplatz einer bisher
nie dagewesenen interkulturellen Befruchtung zwischen den Christen, Juden und
der maurischen Bevoelkerung. Als ich dieses Stueck hoerte, erstaunte mich der
semitische Klang, und mir wurde klar, dass sich diese drei Gruppen auch in der
Musik gegenseitig beeinflussten.
Enero de 1992 - acabo de actuar en Santiago de Compostela, Galicia...region
mistica y excuberante sobre todo llegando de zonas mas aridas del pais;
claramente es territorio celta por su lenguaje y su musica. y un sitio al que
tengo que volver pronto...Llegamos temprano; el grupo y yo nos fuimos a tomar
una esplendida comida de domingo y luego vagamos por la catedral para ver el
maravilloso Portico de la Gloria.
Mayo de 1992 - Santiago de Compostela...tuve la oportunidad de volver a Galicia
y a Santiago antes de lo que esperaba...Aprendi la historia de la ciudad.
Supuestamente los restos de Santiago llegaron misterisamente a la ciudad de
Padron y fueron enterrados en la ciudad de Santiago...Cogi una recopilacion en
CD de musica del camino de Santiago y un CD de un grupo espanol llamado Els
Trobadors.
Mayo de 1993 - estoy estudiando notas, libros y piezas musicales, intentado
reunir una imagen mas clara de Santiago desde el ano 900 hasta el 1500, cuando
rivalizaba con las peregrinaziones a Jerusalem y a Roma, ofreciendo a sus
huespedes vertientes humanas mas varidas, persiguiendo al mismo tiempo metas
religiosas y terrenales. Fue tambien un fertilismo emplazamiento de cruce de
culturas sin ningun precedente: las comunidades cristinas, judias y musulmanas.
Cuando escuche esta pieza, quede atrapada por su tono semitico, y fui
consciente de que, incluso en el campo de la musica, las tres comunidades se
habian influido entre ellas.
Traditional music arranged and adapted by L.M.
L.M. - vocals, accordion, synthesizer
Brian Hughes - balalaika, guitars
Rick Lazar - drums, percussion
George Koller - cello, bass
Hugh Marsh - fiddle
Nigel Eaton - hurdy-gurdy
Donal Lunny - bouzouki

January, 1992 - Just performed in Santiago de Compostella in the Galician area
of Spain...misty and lush as we arrived from more arid areas of the country;
clearly Celtic territory in the language and music, and a place I must visit
again soon...We arrived a day early; band et al went for a wonderful Sunday
lunch and then wandered over to the cathedral to observe the wonderful faces on
the Portico.
May, 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (St. James in the Field of Stars)...had
occasion to return to Galicia and Santiago sooner than I'd thought...I learned
the story behind the city. Supposedly the remains of St. James arrived
mysteriously in the village of Padron (which we visited...lovely line of trees
along the waterway leading to the place where the relics were found) and
interred here in Santiago...I picked up a CD collection of music emanating from
the pilgrimage route to Santiago, as well as a CD by Spanish group Els
Trobadors...wonderful feeling to this music.
May, 1993 - Now studying liner notes, books and pieces of music, putting
together a clearer picture of Santiago in the years 900 to 1500 when it
rivalled Jerusalem and Rome as a pilgrimage destination, playing host to a
motley tide of humanity pursuing both religious and more earthy goals. It was
also the site of unprecedented cross-cultural fertilization between the
Christian, Jewish and Moorish communities. When I heard this piece, I was
struck by its Semitic tone, and realised that, even in the area of music, the
three communities were influencing each other.
Janvier 1992 - Je viens de donner un spectacle a Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle,
en Galice, dans le nord de l'Espagne...brumeux et luxuriant en comparaison des
contrees plus arides du reste du pays; un territoire nettement celtique par sa
langue et sa musique, un endroit que je dois revenir visiter bientot...Nous
sommes arrives une journee a l'avance; toute l'equipe s'est retrouvee pur un
magnifique dejeuner du dimanche, pous s'est promenee jusqu'a la cathedrale pour
admirer le splendic portique.
Mai 1992 - Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle (Saint-Jacques das le Champ des
etoiles)...j'ai eu l'occasion de revenir en Galice et a Siant-Jacques plus vite
que je ne l'esperais...J'ai appris l'histoire de la fondation de cette ville.
Selon la legende, le corps de Saint-Jacques serait arrive mysterieusement dans
la ville de Padron (que nous avons visitee... une belle rangee d'arbres le long
du cours d'eau menant jusqu'a la place ou les reliques furent decouvertes) et
aurait ete enterre ici a Saint-Jacques...J'ai achete une collection de disques
compacts de musique de la route du pelerinage vers Compostelle, et un disque du
groupe espagnol Els Troubadors.
Mai 1993 - J'etudie maintenant des notes, des livres et des oeuvres musicales,
pour me forger une image plus claire de Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle dans les
annees 900 a 1500, quand la cite rivalisait avec Jerusalem et Rome comme lieu
de pelerinage; elle etait l'hote de vagues humaines bigarrees, motivees par des
aspirations religieuses mais egalement plus terre a terre. Elle etait aussi le
centre d'echanges d'une fecondite sans precedent entre les communautes
chretiennes, juives et musulmanes. Quand j'ai entendu cette oeuvre, j'ai ete
frappee par sa tonalite semitique et j'ai realise que, meme dans le domaine
musical, les trois civilisations s'influencaient les unes les autres.
Januar 1992 - Bin gerade in Santiago de Compostella, im galizischen Teil
Spaniens, aufgetreten...dunstig und ueppig im Vergleich zu den mehr duerren
Gegenden Spaniens, aus denen wir gerade kamen; ganz eindeutig sprachlich und
musikalisch keltisch beeinflusstes Gebiet, eine Gegend, die ich bald wieder
besuchen moechte...Wir kamen einen Tag zu frueh an, die Band und ich gingen


essen und nach einem wunderbaren Sonntags-Mittagessen sind wir zur Kathedrale
hinueber gebummelt, um uns das wundervolle Gesicht auf dem Portikus anzusehen.
Mai 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (der heilige Jakob im Feld der
Sterne)...Hatte schneller die Gelegenheit, nach Galizien und Santiago
zurueckzukehren, als ich dachte...Ich erfuhr die Geschichte, die der Stadt
anhaengt. Anscheinend gelangten die Ueberreste des heiligen Jakob auf
mysterioese Weise in die Stadt Padron (welche wir auch besuchten...eine
huebsche Baumreihe zieht sich entlang des Wasserweges, der zu dem Fundort
fuehrt) und wurden dann hier in Santiago begraben. Ich fand eine CD-Sammlung
mit Musik, die von der Pilgerfahrt nach Santiago stammt und noch eine CD der
spanischen Gruppe Els Trobadors.
Mai 1993 - Beschaftige mich jetzt mit Notizen, Buechern und Musikstuecken, um
mir ein klares Bild von Santiago aus der Zeit 900 - 1500 machen zu koennen, das
zu der Zeit mit Jerusalem und Rom als Pilgerziel rivalisierte, und zu der Zeit
eine kunterbunte Welle der Menschlichkeit beherbergte, die sich religioese wie
auch irdische Ziele gesetzt hatte. Es war ausserdem der Schauplatz einer bisher
nie dagewesenen interkulturellen Befruchtung zwischen den Christen, Juden und
der maurischen Bevoelkerung. Als ich dieses Stueck hoerte, erstaunte mich der
semitische Klang, und mir wurde klar, dass sich diese drei Gruppen auch in der
Musik gegenseitig beeinflussten.
Enero de 1992 - acabo de actuar en Santiago de Compostela, Galicia...region
mistica y excuberante sobre todo llegando de zonas mas aridas del pais;
claramente es territorio celta por su lenguaje y su musica. y un sitio al que
tengo que volver pronto...Llegamos temprano; el grupo y yo nos fuimos a tomar
una esplendida comida de domingo y luego vagamos por la catedral para ver el
maravilloso Portico de la Gloria.
Mayo de 1992 - Santiago de Compostela...tuve la oportunidad de volver a Galicia
y a Santiago antes de lo que esperaba...Aprendi la historia de la ciudad.
Supuestamente los restos de Santiago llegaron misterisamente a la ciudad de
Padron y fueron enterrados en la ciudad de Santiago...Cogi una recopilacion en
CD de musica del camino de Santiago y un CD de un grupo espanol llamado Els
Trobadors.
Mayo de 1993 - estoy estudiando notas, libros y piezas musicales, intentado
reunir una imagen mas clara de Santiago desde el ano 900 hasta el 1500, cuando
rivalizaba con las peregrinaziones a Jerusalem y a Roma, ofreciendo a sus
huespedes vertientes humanas mas varidas, persiguiendo al mismo tiempo metas
religiosas y terrenales. Fue tambien un fertilismo emplazamiento de cruce de
culturas sin ningun precedente: las comunidades cristinas, judias y musulmanas.
Cuando escuche esta pieza, quede atrapada por su tono semitico, y fui
consciente de que, incluso en el campo de la musica, las tres comunidades se
habian influido entre ellas.
Traditional music arranged and adapted by L.M.
L.M. - vocals, accordion, synthesizer
Brian Hughes - balalaika, guitars
Rick Lazar - drums, percussion
George Koller - cello, bass
Hugh Marsh - fiddle
Nigel Eaton - hurdy-gurdy
Donal Lunny - bouzouki

January, 1992 - Just performed in Santiago de Compostella in the Galician area
of Spain...misty and lush as we arrived from more arid areas of the country;
clearly Celtic territory in the language and music, and a place I must visit
again soon...We arrived a day early; band et al went for a wonderful Sunday
lunch and then wandered over to the cathedral to observe the wonderful faces on
the Portico.
May, 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (St. James in the Field of Stars)...had
occasion to return to Galicia and Santiago sooner than I'd thought...I learned
the story behind the city. Supposedly the remains of St. James arrived
mysteriously in the village of Padron (which we visited...lovely line of trees
along the waterway leading to the place where the relics were found) and
interred here in Santiago...I picked up a CD collection of music emanating from
the pilgrimage route to Santiago, as well as a CD by Spanish group Els
Trobadors...wonderful feeling to this music.
May, 1993 - Now studying liner notes, books and pieces of music, putting
together a clearer picture of Santiago in the years 900 to 1500 when it
rivalled Jerusalem and Rome as a pilgrimage destination, playing host to a
motley tide of humanity pursuing both religious and more earthy goals. It was
also the site of unprecedented cross-cultural fertilization between the
Christian, Jewish and Moorish communities. When I heard this piece, I was
struck by its Semitic tone, and realised that, even in the area of music, the
three communities were influencing each other.
Janvier 1992 - Je viens de donner un spectacle a Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle,
en Galice, dans le nord de l'Espagne...brumeux et luxuriant en comparaison des
contrees plus arides du reste du pays; un territoire nettement celtique par sa
langue et sa musique, un endroit que je dois revenir visiter bientot...Nous
sommes arrives une journee a l'avance; toute l'equipe s'est retrouvee pur un
magnifique dejeuner du dimanche, pous s'est promenee jusqu'a la cathedrale pour
admirer le splendic portique.
Mai 1992 - Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle (Saint-Jacques das le Champ des
etoiles)...j'ai eu l'occasion de revenir en Galice et a Siant-Jacques plus vite
que je ne l'esperais...J'ai appris l'histoire de la fondation de cette ville.
Selon la legende, le corps de Saint-Jacques serait arrive mysterieusement dans
la ville de Padron (que nous avons visitee... une belle rangee d'arbres le long
du cours d'eau menant jusqu'a la place ou les reliques furent decouvertes) et
aurait ete enterre ici a Saint-Jacques...J'ai achete une collection de disques
compacts de musique de la route du pelerinage vers Compostelle, et un disque du
groupe espagnol Els Troubadors.
Mai 1993 - J'etudie maintenant des notes, des livres et des oeuvres musicales,
pour me forger une image plus claire de Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle dans les
annees 900 a 1500, quand la cite rivalisait avec Jerusalem et Rome comme lieu
de pelerinage; elle etait l'hote de vagues humaines bigarrees, motivees par des
aspirations religieuses mais egalement plus terre a terre. Elle etait aussi le
centre d'echanges d'une fecondite sans precedent entre les communautes
chretiennes, juives et musulmanes. Quand j'ai entendu cette oeuvre, j'ai ete
frappee par sa tonalite semitique et j'ai realise que, meme dans le domaine
musical, les trois civilisations s'influencaient les unes les autres.
Januar 1992 - Bin gerade in Santiago de Compostella, im galizischen Teil
Spaniens, aufgetreten...dunstig und ueppig im Vergleich zu den mehr duerren
Gegenden Spaniens, aus denen wir gerade kamen; ganz eindeutig sprachlich und
musikalisch keltisch beeinflusstes Gebiet, eine Gegend, die ich bald wieder
besuchen moechte...Wir kamen einen Tag zu frueh an, die Band und ich gingen


essen und nach einem wunderbaren Sonntags-Mittagessen sind wir zur Kathedrale
hinueber gebummelt, um uns das wundervolle Gesicht auf dem Portikus anzusehen.
Mai 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (der heilige Jakob im Feld der
Sterne)...Hatte schneller die Gelegenheit, nach Galizien und Santiago
zurueckzukehren, als ich dachte...Ich erfuhr die Geschichte, die der Stadt
anhaengt. Anscheinend gelangten die Ueberreste des heiligen Jakob auf
mysterioese Weise in die Stadt Padron (welche wir auch besuchten...eine
huebsche Baumreihe zieht sich entlang des Wasserweges, der zu dem Fundort
fuehrt) und wurden dann hier in Santiago begraben. Ich fand eine CD-Sammlung
mit Musik, die von der Pilgerfahrt nach Santiago stammt und noch eine CD der
spanischen Gruppe Els Trobadors.
Mai 1993 - Beschaftige mich jetzt mit Notizen, Buechern und Musikstuecken, um
mir ein klares Bild von Santiago aus der Zeit 900 - 1500 machen zu koennen, das
zu der Zeit mit Jerusalem und Rom als Pilgerziel rivalisierte, und zu der Zeit
eine kunterbunte Welle der Menschlichkeit beherbergte, die sich religioese wie
auch irdische Ziele gesetzt hatte. Es war ausserdem der Schauplatz einer bisher
nie dagewesenen interkulturellen Befruchtung zwischen den Christen, Juden und
der maurischen Bevoelkerung. Als ich dieses Stueck hoerte, erstaunte mich der
semitische Klang, und mir wurde klar, dass sich diese drei Gruppen auch in der
Musik gegenseitig beeinflussten.
Enero de 1992 - acabo de actuar en Santiago de Compostela, Galicia...region
mistica y excuberante sobre todo llegando de zonas mas aridas del pais;
claramente es territorio celta por su lenguaje y su musica. y un sitio al que
tengo que volver pronto...Llegamos temprano; el grupo y yo nos fuimos a tomar
una esplendida comida de domingo y luego vagamos por la catedral para ver el
maravilloso Portico de la Gloria.
Mayo de 1992 - Santiago de Compostela...tuve la oportunidad de volver a Galicia
y a Santiago antes de lo que esperaba...Aprendi la historia de la ciudad.
Supuestamente los restos de Santiago llegaron misterisamente a la ciudad de
Padron y fueron enterrados en la ciudad de Santiago...Cogi una recopilacion en
CD de musica del camino de Santiago y un CD de un grupo espanol llamado Els
Trobadors.
Mayo de 1993 - estoy estudiando notas, libros y piezas musicales, intentado
reunir una imagen mas clara de Santiago desde el ano 900 hasta el 1500, cuando
rivalizaba con las peregrinaziones a Jerusalem y a Roma, ofreciendo a sus
huespedes vertientes humanas mas varidas, persiguiendo al mismo tiempo metas
religiosas y terrenales. Fue tambien un fertilismo emplazamiento de cruce de
culturas sin ningun precedente: las comunidades cristinas, judias y musulmanas.
Cuando escuche esta pieza, quede atrapada por su tono semitico, y fui
consciente de que, incluso en el campo de la musica, las tres comunidades se
habian influido entre ellas.
Traditional music arranged and adapted by L.M.
L.M. - vocals, accordion, synthesizer
Brian Hughes - balalaika, guitars
Rick Lazar - drums, percussion
George Koller - cello, bass
Hugh Marsh - fiddle
Nigel Eaton - hurdy-gurdy
Donal Lunny - bouzouki

When the moon on a cloud cast night
Hung above the tree tops' height
You sang me of some distant past
That made my heart beat strong and fast
Now I know I'm home at last
You offered me an eagle's wing
That to the sun I might soar and sing
And if I heard the owl's cry
Into the forest I would fly
And in its darkness find you by.
And so our love's not a simple thing
Nor our truths unwavering
But like the moon's pull on the tide
Our fingers touch our hearts collide
I'll be a moonsbreath by your side

And now my charms are all o'erthrown
And what strength I have's mine own
Which is most faint; now t'is true
I must here be released by youBut release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayerWhich pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults
As you from your crimes would pardon'd be
Let your indulgence set me free

Ride on Through the night Ride on
Ride on Through the night Ride on
There are visions, there are memories
There are echoes of thundering hooves
There are fires, there is laughter
There's the sound of a thousand doves
In the velvet of the darkness
By the silhouette of silent trees
they are watching waiting
They are witnessing life's mysteries
Cascading stars on the slumbering hills
They are dancing as far as the sea
Riding o'er the land, you can feel its gentle hand
Leading on to its destiny
Take me with you on this journey
Where the boundaries of time are now tossed
In cathedrals of the forest
In the words of the tongues now lost
Find the answers, ask the questions
Find the roots of an ancient tree
Take me dancing, take me singing
I'll ride on till the moon meets the sea