The Kilkennys - "Wild Mountain Thyme"

I've told my sister that I want this song played at my wake if there is one (I'll be cremated, so no funeral). There's just something about it that sounds heavenly to me.

Anatomy Of The Song.

The Kilkennys refer to their version as "Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go." It's actually called "Wild Mountain Thyme." They also left out a verse. Francis McPeake wrote the song back in the 1950s. It was, however, based on a much older and more elegant Scottish song by Robert Tannahill called " The Braes o' Balquhidder." I'll post the lyrics to both below:

Wild Mountain Thyme


O the summer time is comein'
And the trees are sweetly bloomin'
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the bloomin' heather.
Will ye go, lassie, go?

And we'll all go together,
To pull wild mountain thyme,
All around the bloomin' heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?

I will build my love a tower
By yon clear crystal fountain,
Aye an' on it I will build
All the flowers of the mountain.
Will ye go, lassie, go?

And we'll all go together,
To pull wild mountain thyme,
All around the bloomin' heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?

If my true love she were gone,
I would surely find another,
To pull wild mountain thyme,
All around the bloomin' heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?

And we'll all go together,
To pull wild mountain thyme,
All around the bloomin' heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?

~~~~~

The Braes o' Balquhidder


Let us go, lassie, go
Tae the braes o' Balquhidder
Where the blaeberries grow
'Mang the bonnie bloomin' heather
Whar the deer and the rae
Lichtly bounding thegither
Sport the lang summer day
On the braes o' Balquhidder

I will twine thee a bower
By the clear silver fountain
And I'll cover it o'er
Wi' the flowers o' the mountain
I will range through the wilds
And the deep glens sae dreary
And return wi' their spoils
To the bower o' my dearie

When the rude wintry win'
Idly raves round our dwellin'
And the roar o' the linn
On the night breeze is swellin'
So merrily we'll sing
As the storm rattles o'er us
Till the dear shielin' rings
Wi' the light liltin' chorus

Now the summer is in prime
Wi' the flowers richly bloomin'
An' the wild mountain thyme
A' the moorlands is perfumin'
To our dear native scenes
Let us journey thegither
Where glad innocence reigns
'Mang the braes o' Balquhidder