Langue   

The Blantyre Explosion

Ewan MacColl
Langue: anglais


Ewan MacColl


By Clyde’s bonny banks as I sadly did wander,‎
Amang the pit heaps, as evening drew nigh,‎
I spied a fair maiden all dressed in deep mourning,‎
A weeping and wailing, with many a sigh.‎
‎ ‎
I stepped up beside her, and thus I addressed her,‎
Pray tell me, fair maid, of your trouble and pain.‎
Sobbing and sighing, at last she did answer.‎
Johnny Murphy, kind sir, was my true lover’s name.‎
‎ ‎
Twenty one years of age, full of youth and good looking,‎
To work down the mines of High Blantyre he came.‎
The wedding was fixed, all the guests were invited,‎
That calm summer’s evening young Johnny was slain.‎
‎ ‎
The explosion was heard, all the women and children
With pale anxious face made haste to the mine.‎
The news was made known, the hills rang with their mourning.‎
Two hundred and ten young miners were slain.‎
‎ ‎
Now children and wives, and sweethearts and parents,‎
That Blantyre explosion they’ll never forget.‎
And all you young miners who hear my sad story,‎
Shed a tear for the victims who’re laid to their rest.‎



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