Now Westlin Winds

Session template

Drums & Guitar:

sbisio322 jams
Remix step #3 (playing)


WanHu59 jams Supporter
+ 7
This is a magnificent Robert Burns poem, written in 1775, so safely out of copyright. I've always thought that the passionate writing would make a good rock track. This is just an experiment, to set something like this on wikiloops. I hope to return to this and improve the vocals as there are some scary chord changes in Sbisio's terrific backing track, which I haven't managed to nail.


June 15 2015 00:08:28
Really nice vocals and lyrics! Good work, man!

June 08 2015 17:32:02
sounds really good!

June 08 2015 13:04:50
Man...!!I like your voice very much!Thanks for joining!!
+0 June 08 2015 15:19:15 sbisio WanHu
Thanks. I reaĺly enjoyed your track and was playing some guitar to it, when I got to wondering whether "westlin winds" might fit. It does, just. If you hit it with a hammer...
June 08 2015 01:21:19
Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather
The moorcock springs on whirring wings
Among the blooming heather
Now waving grain, wild o'er the plain
Delights the weary farmer
And the moon shines bright as I rove at night
To muse upon my charmer
The partridge loves the fruitful fells
The plover loves the mountain
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells
The soaring hern the fountain
Through lofty groves the cushat roves
The path of man to shun it
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush
The spreading thorn the linnet
Thus every kind their pleasure find
The savage and the tender
Some social join and leagues combine
Some solitary wander
Avaunt! Away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic man's dominion
The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry
The fluttering, gory pinion
But Peggy dear the evening's clear
Thick flies the skimming swallow
The sky is blue, the fields in view
All fading green and yellow
Come let us stray our gladsome way
And view the charms of nature
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn
And every happy creature
We'll gently walk and sweetly talk
Till the silent moon shines clearly
I'll grasp thy waist and, fondly pressed,
Swear how I love thee dearly
Not vernal showers to budding flowers
Not autumn to the farmer
So dear can be as thou to me
My fair, my lovely charmer

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