Ive been watching and listening to Bagpipe music a good part of the day. I find it sadly sweet when I am sad. This one in particular as is was written after the battle of Flodden Field where my 14th great grandfather died along with his son, my 13th great grand uncle. There are probably more, I am still researching. Accompanied by the music of The Scots Guards ( Flowers of the Forest ). Id like to dedicate this video to all the men and women who have fallen in conflicts past and present. God bless and may they Rest In Peace The Flowers of the Forest A lament for the army of James IV, the flower of Scottish manhood, slain with their king on the field of Flodden, September 1513. The composition of this song began with a fragment of a very old ballad. Mrs Patrick Cockburn of Ormiston drew on this fragment to write a full song. Then in the mid 18th century Miss Jane Elliot, daughter of Sir Gilbert Elliot of Minto, Lord Chief Justice Clerk of Scotland, drew on Mrs Cockburns work to make this lyric a much finer piece of work. The pipe tune is well known to anyone who has attended a Remembrance Day service in Scotland, but the song is all too seldom heard nowadays. The Scots had in 1513 invaded England to support their allies, the French. On 9 September 1513 the Scots army, under King James IV, faced the English forces of King Henry VIII under the command of Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey. The battle was ferocious and bloody - men were felled by artillery, arrows, pikes, bills and swords. Around 14,000 men died, including James IV, the last British king to die in battle. Flowers of the Forest as written after the Battle of Flodden Field (Bransbridge Moor) in 1513.There are lyrics to this; as haunting as are the pipes themselves (Thanks to my friend Ian K) : Ive heard the lilting, at our yowe-milking, Lasses a-lilting, before the dawn o day; But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning: The Flowers o the Forest are a wede away. At buchts in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae; Nae daffin, nae gabbin, but sighing and sabbing, Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies away. In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering The bandsters are lyart, and runkled and grey At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — The Flowers o the Forest are a wede away. At een, at the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming Bout stacks wi the lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie The Flowers o the Forest are a wede away. Dule and wae to the order, sent our lads to the border The English, for aince, by guile wan the day: The Flowers o the Forest, that foucht aye the foremost The pride o our land, are cauld in the clay. We hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking, Women and bairns are heartless and wae; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning The Flowers o the Forest are a wede away. https://youtube/watch?v=rfsasAlICo8&list=PL6499DBDAA30F63A7
Posted on: Thu, 13 Nov 2014 04:48:07 +0000
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