RM CD Cover
Rachel Milne: Lead Vocals
Christopher Grundke: Piano
Keyboard Accordion on The Weaving Song

Bruce Timmins: Guitar
John Chiasson:Bass
Scott Ferguson: Drums, Percussion,
Keyboards, Strings, Background Vocals, Programming

Shannon Quinn: Fiddle and Accordion
Jennifer Wyatt: Irish Harp

All Arrangements by Scott Ferguson, Bruce Timmins and Rachel Milne
Vocal Consulting: Lisa MacDougall and Background Vocals
CD Graphics: Ian Sherwood
Photographer: Andrew Tench at Metro Visually Creative Artists Society

Recorded, Mixed and Mastered by Scott Ferguson
at Ferguson Music Productions, Dartmouth, Nova Scotia

Produced by: Scott Ferguson



Spanish Lady

As I went down to Dublin city, at the hour of twelve at night, Who should I see but a Spanish Lady washing her feet by candle light. First she washed them, then she dried them over a fire of amber coal. In all my life I ne’er did see a maid so sweet about the sole. Whack for the Toora loora, laddie, Whack for the Toora loora lay.


Whack for the Toora loora laddie, Whack for the Toora loora lay. As I came back through Dublin city, at the hour of half past eight, Who should I spy but a Spanish lady brushing her hair in broad day light. First she tossed it, then she brushed it, on her lap was a silver comb. In all my life a ne’er did see a maid so fair since I did roam.


As I went down to Dublin city, as the sun began to set, Who should I spy but a Spanish lady catching a moth in a golden net. When she saw me, then she fled me, lifting her petticoat oe’er her knee. In all my life I ne’er did see a maid so shy a Spanish lady.


Repeat first Verse
Chorus (x2)

Dark Island

Away to the westward I’m longing to be,
Where the beauties of heaven unfold by the sea;
Where the sweet purple heather blooms fragrant and free,
On a hill top high above the dark island.
Oh isle of my childhood I’m dreaming of thee,
As the steamer leaves Oban and passes Tiree;
Soon I’ll capture the magic that lingers for me,
When I’m back once more upon the dark island.
So gentle the sea breeze, that ripples the bay,
Where the stream joins the ocean, and young children play;
On the strand of pure silver, I’ll welcome each day,
And I’ll roam forever more the dark island.
True gem of the Hebrides, Bathed in the light,
Of the mid-summer dawning, that follows the night;
How I yearn for the cries, of the seagulls in flight,
As they circle high above the dark island.

Bonnie Mary of Argyle

I have heard the Mavis singing his love song to the morn; I have seen the dew drop clinging to the rose just newly born. But a sweeter song has cheered me at the evening’s gentle close; And I’ve seen an eye still brighter than the dew drop an the rose; ‘twas thy voice, my gentle Mary, and thine art less winning smile. That made this world an Eden, Bonnie Mary of Argyle. Tho’ thy voice may lose it’s sweetness and thine eye it’s brightness too; Tho’ thy step may lack it’s fleetness and thy hair it’s sunny hue. Still to me wilt thou be dearer than all the world shall own; I have loved thee for they beauty but not for that alone; I have watched thy heart, dear Mary, and it’s goodness was the wile, That has made thee mine forever, Bonnie Mary of Argyle.

Farewell to Nova Scotia

From “Traditional songs of Nova Scotia”
By: Helen Creighton

The sun was setting in the west,
The birds were singing in every tree,
All nature seemed inclined for a rest,
But still there was no rest for me.
Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea bound coast!
Let your mountains dark and dreary be,
(chorus) For when I am far away on the briny ocean tossed,
Will you ever heave a sigh and a wish for me.

I grieve to leave my native land,
I grieve to leave my comrades all,
And my parents whom I hold dear,
And the bonny bonny laddie that I do adore.
The drums they do beat and the wars do alarm,
My captain calls I must obey,
So farewell, farewell to Nova Scotia’s charms,
For it’s early in the morning I am far, far away.
I have three brothers and they are at rest,
Their arms are folded on their chest,
But a poor and simple sailor like me,
Must be tossed and driven on the deep blue sea.


I don’t know if you can see the changes that have come over me. These last few days I’ve been afraid that I might drift away I’ve been telling old stories singing songs that made me think about where I’ve come from and that’s the reason why I seem so far away today. Oh and let me tell you that I love you and I think about you
all the time Caledonia you’re calling me and now I’m going home for if I should become a stranger you know that it would make me more than sad Caledonia’s been everything I’ve ever had I have moved and I’ve kept on moving proved the points that I needed Proving lost the friends that I need losing found others on the way I have tried and I’ve kept on trying stolen dreams yes there’s no denying I’ve travelled far sometimes with conscience flying somewhere with the wind
Now I’m sitting here before the fire the empty room the forest choir The flames that couldn’t get any high’r they’ve withered now they’ve gone But I’m steadying thinking my way is clear and I know what I will do tomorrow when the hands have shaken and kisses flowed well I will disappear

Willie’s Gane to Melville Castle

O Willie’s Gane to Melville Castle,
Boots and spurs an’ a’,
To bid the lasses a’ fare weel
Before he ga’ed awa’
Oh Willie’s young and blithe and bonnie,
Lo’ed by ane an’ a,
Oh! What will all the lasses do
When Willie gaedes awa”?
The first he met was Lady Kate,
She led him through the ha’,
And wi’ a sad and sorry heart
She loot the tear drop fa’.
Beside the fire stood Lady Grace,
Said ne’er a word ava;
She thocht that she was sure o’ him
Before he gaed awa’.
When on his horse he rade awa’
They gathered round the door,
He gaily waved his bonnet blue,
They set up sic a roar,
Their cries, their tears brought Willie back,
He kissed them ane an’ a,
“ O lasses bide till I come hame
And then I’ll wed ye a’.

Carrick Fergus

I wish I was in Carrickfergus,
only for nights in Ballygrant.
I would swim over the deepest ocean,
only for nights in Ballygrant.
But the sea is wide and I can’t swim over,
nor have I the wings to fly.
If I could find me a handsome boats man to
ferry me over to my love and die.
Now in Kilkenny it is reported,
they’ve marble stones as black as ink.
With gold and silver I would transport her,
But I’ll sing no more until I get a drink.
I’m drunk today, but then I’m seldom sober,
A handsome rover from town to town.
Ah, but I’m sick now, my days are over.
Come all ye young lads, and lay me down.

The Weaving Song

Twine weel the bonnie tweel,
Twist weel the plaidie,
For O! I lo’e the laddie weel,
That wears the tartan plaidie.
Gae owre the muir, gae doun the brae,
Gae busk my bower to mak’ it ready;
I’m gaun there to wed the day,
The bonnie lad that wears the plaidie.
Content his lowly cot I’ll share,
I ask nae mair to mak’ life cheerie;
Wi’ heart sae leal and love sae true
The langest day can neer seem eerie.
Weel sheltered in his Hieland plaid
Frae worldly cares I’ll aye be ease;
It’s storms I’ll hear like blasts that blaw
Owre heather bell and mountain daisy.
Repeat first verse

Far Over Yon Hills

Far over yon hills o’ the heather sae green,
And down by the corrie that sings by the sea,
The bonnie young Flora sat sighing her lane,
The dew on her plaid, an’ the tear in her e’e.
She look’d at a boat wi’ the breezes that swung,
Away on the waves like a bird on the main;
An’ ay as it lessen’d she sigh’d as she sung,
“Fare weel to the lad I shall ne’er see again!
Fare weel to my hero, the gallant and young,
Fare weel to the lad I shall ne’er see again!”
The Moorcock that crows on the brows o’ Ben Connal,
He kens o’ his bed in a sweet mossy hame;
The eagle that soars on the cliffs o’ Clan Ronald,
Unaw’d and unhunted his eyrie 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, ha’, nor hame in his country has he,
The conflict is past and our name is no more,
There’s not left but sorrow for Scotland and me!
The target is torn from the arm of the just,
The helmet is cleft on 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 trod o’er the plumes on the bonnet of blue;
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud
When tyranny revell’d in blood of the true?
Fare weel my young hero, the gallant and good!
The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow!

Loch Lomond

By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes Where the sunshines bright on Loch Lomon, Where me and my true love were ever won’t to gae,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon’
(CHORUS) Oh you tak’ the high road, and I’ll tak’ the low road,
I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon’
Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen
On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomon’,
Where in purple hue, the hielan’ hills we view,
An the moon comin’ out in the gloamin’
The wee birdies sing, and the wild flowers spring,
While in sunshine the waters are sleepin’
The broken heart it kens nae second spring again,
Tho’, the waefu’ may cease frae their greetin’

Highland Cathedral

Piano Arrangement by Alan Kitchen
Words by Moira Kerr

Land of the thistle and the rowan tree,
Scotland a nation, proud and free.
Under the Saltire, flying high for me,
Leading us onward into victory.
Aiming high for all to see,
Together we stand with faith in our land.
(CHORUS) In times of trial and in victory,
Scotland we will be there.
High in the mountains the die was cast,
By our fore fathers in the past.
Vows of unity and peace were made,
In a Highland Cathedral, where the pipers played.
Land of the thistle and the rowan tree,
Scotland a nation, proud and free.
Under the Saltire, flying high for me,
Leading us onward into victory.

Will Ye No Come Back Again

Bonnie Charlie’s now awa
Safely o’er the friendly main
But mony a heart will break in twa
Should he ne’er come back again.
(CHORUS) Will ye no’ come back again?
Will ye no’ come back again?
Better lo’ed ye canna be
Will ye no’ come back again?
Ye trusted in your Hielan’ men
They trusted you, dear Charlie
They kent you hiding in the glen
Dealth or exile braving.
English bribes were a’ in vain
Tho’ puir, and puirer, we maurn be
Siller canna buy the heat
That beats for thine an aine an thee.
Sweets the laverock’s note and lang,
lilting wildly up the glen,
But aye to me he sings ae sang
Will ye no come back again?

Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling.
It’s you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow,
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow.
‘ Tis I’ll be there in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh, Danny boy, Oh, Danny boy, I love you so!
But if ye come, when all the flow’rs are dying,
And I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye’ll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Ave there for me;
And I shall hear, tho’ soft your tread above me,
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be.
If you will not fail to tell me that you love me,
Then I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!