Page 76
This fantastic tune is never heard, but should be. I found it in a book called “Seventy Scottish Songs” by Helen Hopekirk.
I decided to play this tune in D, though it used to be written out in G - much too high for me. Its far more complicated than most of the simple songs we sing at events.
Far Over Yon Hills
by James Hogg
Far [D] over yon [G] hills o’ the [A] heather so [D] green
and [D] down by the [G] corrie that [A] sings by the [D] sea
The [D] bonnie young [G] Flora sat [A] sighing her [D] lane
The [D] dew on her [G] plaid and the [A] tear in her [D] eye
She [D] look’ed at the [A] boat with the [A] breezes that [Em] swung
a [D] way on the [A] waves like a [Em] bird on the [G] main
an [A] ay as it lessed she [D] sighed as she [Em] sung
“Fare [D] well to the [G] lad I shall [A] never see [D] again!
“Fare thee [A] well to my hero, the [D] gallant and [Em] young
Fare [D] well to the [G] lad I shall [A] never see [D] again!”
The moorcock that crows on the brows of Ben Connal
he kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame
The eagle that soars on the cliffs of Clan Ronald
unawed and unhunted, his eyie can claim
The solan can sleep on the shelf of the shores
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea
But ah! there is one whose hard fate I deplore
Nor house, hall nor home in his country has he
The conflict is past and our name is no more
There’s nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me
The target is torn from the arm of the just
The helmet is cleft from the brow of the brave
The claymore forever in darkness must rust
but red is the sword of the stranger and slave.
The hoof of the horse and the foot of the proud
have trode o’er the plumes on his bonnet of blue
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud
when tyranny reveled in blood of the true?
Farewell my young hero, the gallant and good
The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow.
and [D] down by the [G] corrie that [A] sings by the [D] sea
The [D] bonnie young [G] Flora sat [A] sighing her [D] lane
The [D] dew on her [G] plaid and the [A] tear in her [D] eye
She [D] look’ed at the [A] boat with the [A] breezes that [Em] swung
a [D] way on the [A] waves like a [Em] bird on the [G] main
an [A] ay as it lessed she [D] sighed as she [Em] sung
“Fare [D] well to the [G] lad I shall [A] never see [D] again!
“Fare thee [A] well to my hero, the [D] gallant and [Em] young
Fare [D] well to the [G] lad I shall [A] never see [D] again!”
The moorcock that crows on the brows of Ben Connal
he kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame
The eagle that soars on the cliffs of Clan Ronald
unawed and unhunted, his eyie can claim
The solan can sleep on the shelf of the shores
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea
But ah! there is one whose hard fate I deplore
Nor house, hall nor home in his country has he
The conflict is past and our name is no more
There’s nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me
The target is torn from the arm of the just
The helmet is cleft from the brow of the brave
The claymore forever in darkness must rust
but red is the sword of the stranger and slave.
The hoof of the horse and the foot of the proud
have trode o’er the plumes on his bonnet of blue
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud
when tyranny reveled in blood of the true?
Farewell my young hero, the gallant and good
The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow.