Luyện nghe bài hát Chylde Owlet

CHYLDE
Lady Erskine in her bower
A sewing her silken
A bonnie for Chylde Owlet
As he oot and in
His face was fair, was his hair
She's ca'd him to come
Oh ye maun Lord Ronald
For a' his and kye
Oh lady, hold your tongue for
That such a e'er be done
How could I Lord Ronald
And me his son
Then ta'en oot a wee penknife
lay beside her bed
And pricked hersel below her
Which made her bleed
Lord come into her bower
Whaur she did mak' her
Oh, wha's is a' blood, he says
That on your hearth stane?
Chylde Owlet, your sister's son
Is new frae my bower
Gin I hadnae a good woman
I'd hae been Chylde whore
Then he has ta'en Chylde Owlet
him in prison strang
And a his men a held
To work Owlet wrang
Some said Chylde should be hung
Some that he should burn
Some said they hae Chylde Owlet
Between wild torn
There are horses in my stand
Can rin richt
It's ye tae my stable gang
And wile oot far me
They've put a horse to ilka
and ain tae hand
And sent them oot ower Elkin
As fast as they gang
There wasnae nor heather knowe
Nor broom nor bonnie
But drappit wi' Chylde Owlet's
And o' his skin
There stane on Elkin Moor
Nor yet a piece o'
But drappit wi' Chylde blood
And o' his flesh
#291
recorded by Peggy Seeger and Ewan on Blood & Roses
CHDOWLET
SF
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