Henry's Songbook

I hate that drum's discordant sound
Parading round and round and round
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields
And lures from cities and from fields
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace and glitt'ring arms
And, when ambition's voice commands
March, fight and fall in foreign lands

I hate that drum's discordant sound
Parading round and round and round
To me it talks of ravaged plains
And burning towns and ruined swains
And mangled limbs and dying groans
And widows' tears and orphans' moans
And all that misery's hand bestows
To swell the list of human woes

(as sung by The McCalmans)

[1970:] Born in Paisley, [Robert Tannahill (1774-1810)] became a weaver. He was a frail, shy person, morbidly sensitive. His 1807 volume of poems met with considerable success, but when Constable felt unable to print a collection of new songs, temporarily, he fell into a deep depression, burned the MSS of a hundred new songs, and his body was found in a nearby canal. (Penguin Book of Scottish Verse 16)