Disbanded, by John Pettie

The Disbanded

The Traditionalist

It was a' for our Rightful King - By Robert Burns, Music by Jean Redpath

It was a' for our rightful king
That we left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightful king
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain!
My love, and native land, fareweel!
For I maun cross the main,
My dear,
For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him right and round about,
Upon the Irish shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
With, Adieu for evermore,
My dear!
And adieu for evermore!

The soldier frae the war returns,
And the merchant frae the main.
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear,
Never to meet again.

When day is gone and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that's far awa
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.

Sobre o 1º de Dezembro e o Circo Habitual das Reais Associações

A clan cameron piper in full 17th century battle dress plays the ultimate Jacobite lament Lochaber No More, a haunting tune from the 17th century. This is the original melody, known to very few pipers but often played on harp and flute. Lochaber was the area where Charles Edward Stuart, better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, landed and gathered the first clans to fight for his cause, thus starting the Jacobite Rebellion which culminated in defeat on Culloden Moor in 1746. The title says it all. These are the mournful words of the song:

Farewell to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean,
Where heartsome wi' thee.. I ha'e mony days been;
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We'll may be return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear,
And no for the dangers attending on weir,
Tho' borne on rough seas to a far distant shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

Though hurricanes rise, though rise ev'ry wind,
No tempest can equal the storm in my mind;
Though loudest of thunders, on louder waves roar,
There's naething like leavin' my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me, my heart is sair pain'd;
But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be gain'd;
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave;
And I maun deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse;
Since honour commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it, I ne'er can have merit for thee;
And losing thy favour, I'd better not be.
I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame:
And if I should chance to come glorious hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er.
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.