I first heard these tunes in an anchorage in Cape Breton Island many years ago. Two pipers were practicing them long enough for me to catch the shape of them. I didn't learn their names until years later. I learned Scarborough Settler's Lament from Ed Trickett. (GB)
Away with Canada's muddy creeks
And Canada's fields of pine;
Your land of wheat is a goodly land,
But oh, it is not mine.
The heathy hill, the grassy dale,
The daisy spangled lea,
The purling burn and the craggy linn,
Old Scotia's land give me.
How I'd love to hear again
The lark on Tinny's hill,
And see the wee bit gowany
That blooms beside the rill.
Like banished Swiss who views afar
His Alps, with longing e'e,
I gaze upon the morning star
That shines on my country.
No more I'll wend by Eskdale Pen
Or Pentland's craggy cone.
The days shall ne'er return again
Of thirty years that's gone.
But fancy oft at midnight hour
Will steal across the sea;
Yestre'en amidst a pleasant dream
I saw my own country.
Each well-known scene that met my view,
Brought childhood's joys to mind
The blackbird sand on Tushy Linn
The song he sang "Lang Syne."
But like a dream, steals away,
Then morning came.
And I awoke in Canada
Three thousand miles from home.