Waters Of Tyne
I cannot get to my love if I would die;
The water of Tyne runs between her and me
And here I must stand with a tear in my 'ee,
Both sighing and sickly, my sweetheart to see
I cannot get to my love, if I would die;
The water of Tyne runs between her and me
And here I must stand with a tear in my 'ee,
Both sighing and sickly my sweetheart to see
Oh, where is the boatman, my bonny hinny?
Oh, where is the boatman? Bring him to me
To ferry me over the Tyne to my honey,
And I will remember the boatman and thee
Oh, bring me a boatman, I'll give any money,
And you for your troubles rewarded shall be
To ferry me over the Tyne to my honey
Or scull her across the rough river to me
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Ferry Me Across The Water
‘Ferry me across the water,
Do, boatman, do.’
‘If you've a penny in your purse
I'll ferry you.’
‘I have a penny in my purse,
And my eyes are blue;
So ferry me across the water,
Do, boatman, do.’
‘Step into my ferry-boat,
Be they black or blue,
And for the penny in your purse
I'll ferry you.’
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The singing Lagoon
An Otter and a Guppy they lived in an isolated lagoon.
They are very good friends.
In a moonlit night they hear a beautiful song.
A Nymph sings while combing her tress in the mangrove.
Once in a blue moon a slim and handsome boatman comes there and joins her singing.
Otter whispered to Guppy; 'My friend are they lovers? '
'I don't think so, if they are lovers then why the boatman comes very seldom? 'Guppy replied.
'Yes, how a boatman can loves a Nymph? 'Otter explained.
They saw the boatman goes into the mangrove.
And they heard the Nymph cries. 'How long I have to wait? And you promised that you take me to your shack soon.'
'Definitely I loose my job in due course as they are making a bridge.
I have already planned to go to the sea as fishing is more profitable.
Please do not worry my sweetheart and I fish you one day when my pocket is full.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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On The Island Of Lilitao
THE boatman says we will be here only for a short while
why? because this island of Lilitao shall soon disappear
we are not scared we think that the boatman is just joking
and so we take time stepping upon the golden sands
pit-patted on its green blue waters
wading our bodies feeling the salt and silt in our hands
soon, a huge cloud comes, bringing with it the rain and thunder
and then it becomes dark and the boatman serious as a man with the hood
of death signaled that we must rush to the boat at once and save ourselves
for indeed the island as predicted disappeared
the sea has swallowed it, but as the boatman says,
in the next hour, it too shall spit it out.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Lime Tree Arbour
The boatman calls from the lake
A lone dives upon the water
I put my hand over hers
Down in the lime tree arbour
The wind in the trees is whispering
Whispering low that I love her
She puts her hand over mine
Down in the lime tree arbour
Through every breath that I breathe
And every place I go
There is a hand that protects me
And I do love her so
There will always be suffering
It flows through life like water
I put my hand over hers
Down in the lime tree arbour
The boatman he has gone
And the loons have flown for cover
She puts her hand over mine
Down in the lime tree arbour
Through every word that I speak
And every thing I know
There is hand that protects me
And I do love her so
song performed by by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds from The Boatman's Call
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Greed Of The River
brown to its existence the river as usual is silent
it borrows the sound of the slashing boat and from the time to time talks
it asks. 'where to boatman? '
but the boatman does not answer
he does not know how this river works how this river feels
it has taken people away
it has taken people back to their places
it has swallowed lives
and then in silence it sleeps
its belly full
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Further Bank
I long to go over there to the further bank of the river.
Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with
ploughs on their shoulders to till their far-away fields;
Where the cowherds make their lowing cattle swim across to the
riverside pasture;
Whence they all come back home in the evening, leaving the
jackals to howl in the island overgrown with weeds.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferry when I am grown up.
They say there are strange pools hidden behind that high bank.
Where flocks of wild ducks come when the rains are over, and
thick reeds grow round the margins where water-birds lay their
eggs;
Where snipes with their dancing tails stamp their tiny
footprints upon the clean soft mud;
Where in the evening the tall grasses crested with while
flowers invite the moonbeam to float upon their waves.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
I shall cross and cross back from bank to bank, and all the
boys and girls of the village will wonder at me while they are
bathing.
When the sun climbs the mid sky and morning wears on to noon,
I shall come running to you, saying, "Mother, I am hungry."
When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees,
I shall come back in the dust.
I shall never go away from you into the town to work like
father.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Annan Water
'Annan water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.
'Gar saddle me the bonny black,--
Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
And all to see my bonny ladye.'--
He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;
But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.
He has loupen on the bonny gray,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
O he has ridden o'er field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.
'Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
And never spur sall make you wearie.'
The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;
But when she wan the Annan water,
She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,
Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
'O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
Put off your boat for gowden monie!
I cross the drumly stream the night,
Or never mair I see my honey.'--
'O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
And not by ae aith, but by many;
And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,
I dare na take ye through to Annie.'
The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.
O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.
He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye.
'O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
And wae betide the bush of brier!
It brake into my true love's hand,
When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
'And wae betide ye, Annan water,
This night that ye are a drumlie river!
For over thee I'll build a bridge,
That ye never more true love may sever.'--
poem by Andrew Lang
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Love is as strict as acting. If you want to love somebody, stand there and do it. If you don't, don't. There are no other choices.
The Stormy Sea
that boat was too small
for this trip to the other island
the ladies sat next to me
and they were all silent
to the sounds of the waves
just beside us and i knew
that with just one mistake,
one mistake from the boatman
that boat would have sunk
but lo, how the boatman took
the boat was kind of a very
skilled skipper of the waves
of the stormy sea like he was one
surfer in California taking sides
with each wave with so much
art and beauty carefully scaling
where safety lied and where
danger waited for an ambush
i was looking at each side
of the huge waves until
we reached Crocodile Island
of course the ladies knew that
it was no longer a joke but
a matter of a skilled boatman
making a choice between
life and death.
we chose life and the ladies and
the boatmen very well knew it.
the waves were too big for the
small boat but our silence was
even bigger. we survived.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Boatman
Notes:
Jt on sony.com: boatman is my brother livingstons song.
Ive always assumed it was about how he and maggie saved their marriage but I never really asked. in my family we like to save the intimate stuff for the general public.
Hearts were exploding around us
As we drifted south down the bay
The gray up above and gray down below
Left us with nothing to say
So we drifted along in silence
til the tickle of life trickled in
And the rhythm began in the hiss of the sand
We were catching fire again
Chorus:
Oh boatman, I am the river
I am the mountain and the sea
Oh boatman, taker and giver
Can you deliver me
I would forever run free
Yeah we finally caught up with legends
We were walking along side by side
We worked out a plan
To go out hand in hand
But the long trail just wasnt that wide
The water around us was freezing
We just laughed and threw ourselves in
And although we were old
The sting of that cold
Pumped up the feeling, here it is again
Repeat chorus
Oh Im a message in a bottle
Drifting along on a deep blue sea
Waiting for some foreign shore
Ready for something to be
No longer afraid of falling
We cut the strings to the sky
We found level ground
And we put ourselves down
Amazing we all didnt die
We took each moment as given
By second by second they came
The ice and the sun and the thundering guns
Good God I was finally sane
Repeat chorus
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dannys Song
People smile and tell me Im a lucky one
Weve just begun
I think Im gonna have a son
And he will be like he and me as free as a dove
Conceived in love
The sun is gonna shine above
Even though we aint got money
Well Im so in love with you honey
And everything will bring a chain of love
And in the morning when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be all right
Love a boy who holds the world in a paper cup
Drink it up
Love him and hell bring you luck
And if you find he helps your mind
Sister take him home
Dont you live alone
Try to earn what lovers own
Even though we aint got money
Well Im so in love with you honey
And everything will bring a chain of love
And in the morning when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be all right
And even though we aint got money
Well Im so in love with you honey
And everything will bring a chain of love
And in the morning when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be all right
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pretty Whitehaven
Whitehaven, Britain, on the
Banks of the Mersey
Steeped in Industrial history...
Not 'The Fog on the Tyne is All Mine'
But Mersey sunshine makes
Whitehaven divine.
Where north-west breezes blow
Whitehaven Harbour lights are aglow.
And the pretty Cumbrian town
Lives on, recalling coalfields of
Long ago, when imported tobacco
Was the status quo.
'Ferry Cross The Mersey' -
A popular song; this song worldwide
Could do no wrong! Jerry and the
Pacemakers turned up the heat
Whilst The Beatles & Rolling Stones
Turned on the beat.
Whitehaven, Britain, on the
Banks of the Mersey is steeped
In Industrial history...
Not 'The Fog on the Tyne is All Mine'
But Mersey sunshine makes
Whitehaven divine.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Honey Would You Stand By Me
(bob mcdill)
If I quit my job for the simple life
Honey would you stand by me
If I bought a little cabin on a mountainside
Honey would you stand by me
Would you be my one true friend
Stick with me through thick and thin
If the roof was old and the rain came in
Honey would you stand by me
If I tried my luck in hollywood
Honey would you stand by me
If my break never came like I thought it would
Honey would you stand by me
Would you be my heart of gold
And never complain when the money was low
If your coat was thin and your shoes were old
Honey would you stand by me
And if I joined up with the rodeo
Honey would you stand by me
If we traveled around from show to show
Honey would you stand by me
Would you be a cowboys dream
And smile right on when times got lean
If you didnt have nothin but boots and jeans
Honey would you stand by me
Honey would you stand
Honey would you stand by me
Honey would you stand
Honey would you stand by me
Honey would you stand
Honey would you stand by me
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rainy Day
Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the
forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads
against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are
silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river
is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes
as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is
running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who
has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry
is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the
water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home
early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is
slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo
branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Queen of Fairy Land
"I have a thousand men," said he,
"To wait upon my will;
And towers nine upon the Tyne,
And three upon the Till."
"And what care I for your men? " said she,
"Or towers from Tyne to Till?
Sith you must go with me," said she,
"To wait upon my will.
And you may lead a thousand men
Nor ever draw the rein,
But before you lead the Fairy Queen
'Twill burst your heart in twain."
He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar,
The bridle from his hand,
And he is bound by hand and foot
To the Queen of Fairy Land.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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By my sweetheart
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When birds are on the wing,
When bee and bud and babbling flood
Bespeak the birth of spring,
Come, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
And wear this posy-ring!
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
In the mellow golden glow
Of earth aflush with the gracious blush
Which the ripening fields foreshow;
Dear sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
As into the noon we go!
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When falls the bounteous year,
When fruit and wine of tree and vine
Give us their harvest cheer;
Oh, sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
For winter it draweth near.
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When the year is white and old,
When the fire of youth is spent, forsooth,
And the hand of age is cold;
Yet, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
Till the year of our love be told!
poem by Eugene Field
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Be My Sweetheart
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When birds are on the wing,
When bee and bud and babbling flood
Bespeak the birth of spring,
Come, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
And wear this posy-ring!
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
In the mellow golden glow
Of earth aflush with the gracious blush
Which the ripening fields foreshow;
Dear sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
As into the noon we go!
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When falls the bounteous year,
When fruit and wine of tree and vine
Give us their harvest cheer;
Oh, sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
For winter it draweth near.
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When the year is white and old,
When the fire of youth is spent, forsooth,
And the hand of age is cold;
Yet, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
Till the year of our love be told!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lord Ullin's Daughter
A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."
"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?"
"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?"
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief--I'm ready;
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
"And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,--
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they row'd amid the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismay'd through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:--
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,
"Across this stormy water:
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!--oh my daughter!"
'Twas vain the loud waves lashed the shore,
Return or aid preventing;--
The waters wild went o'er his child,--
And he was left lamenting.
poem by Thomas Campbell
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Karma
I drop a stone into the ocean
Every choice another turn of the screw
Another wheel set in motion
With every single thing I do
Its there in the air that I breathe
Its in my whisper and scream
Inside everything I believe
And its all gonna come around someday
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
There is no absolution whether Im the garden or the rose
If I aint part of the solution, yeah you know how that goes
You can always leave but you bring it all back home someday
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
Every single thing I say, everyone that I betray
Any love that I take when I do not make it in return
Every thing I do and every time Ive been unfaithful too
All the things that I believe are lessons I must learn
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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