Most times the Dark Island is listed as ‘Scottish Traditional’ though in fact
it was written as the theme music of a 1960’s BBC TV series of the same
name. No one remembers the series but the music lived and grew into
the body of Scottish folksong. Incidentally, the Dark Island (An t-Eilean
Dorcha) in question is Benbecula in the Outer Hebrides.
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’in 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 a strand of pure silver, I’ll welcome each day
And I’ll roam forever more, the Dark Island
Oh Isle of my childhood I’in 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
.
True gem of the hebrides, bathed in the light
Like a midsummer dawning, that follows the night
How I long for the cry, of the seagulls in flight
As they circle 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.
Although not Celtic, I’d also recommend ‘Linden Lea’ - the poem by
Barnes set to music by Vaugh Williams. I think it is one of the most
beautiful of rural English folksongs:
Within the woodlands, flowery gladed,
By the oak tree’s mossy moot,
The shining grass-blades, timber-shaded,
Now do quiver under foot;
And birds do whistle overhead,
And water’s bubbling in its bed,
And there for me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
When leaves that lately were a-springing
Now do fade within the copse,
And painted birds do hush their singing
Up upon the timber tops;
And brown-leaved fruit’s a-turning red,
In cloudless sunshine, overhead,
With fruit for me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Let other folk make money faster
In the air of dark-roomed towns,
I don’t dread a peevish master;
Though no man do heed my frowns,
I be free to go abroad,
Or take again my homeward road
To where, for me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Aderyn_du, I wish your friend peace on her journey.
Colin