intro

Words and Music by James Hope Brown

At Beltane in the aulden time, it was the custom gay,
To gather on the village green and hail the festal day.
Huntsmen gallant and shepherds grey, doughty and blythesome men,
And lassies blooming fresh and fair cam liltin' doon the glen.
Through the greenwood haste away, ...Sing aloud the festal lay,
Busk the Beltane banner gay, to Peblis and the play.

Auld Neidpath, grim and grey wi years, looks doon wi war-scarred face,
And sentinels our royal toun wi majesty and grace
Loyal sons of a fearless race, gather we here today.
And sing the auld-warld round-e-lay of "Peblis to the Play."
Wave the Beltane banner high, Ring the anthem to the sky,
While our silver stream rolls by, The Tweeddale glen for aye.

Across the wild foam crested-wave, in distant lands of fame,
The exile oft wi pride recalls the dear auld Border hame.
And while we crown our virgin queen 'mid flaming skies of June,
We pledge the leal hearts far awa and lilt our festal tune.
Honour is our watchword clear, Truth our dauntless halberdier,
Liberty's our herald's cheer, Long live our Beltane Queen.

Words by James Hope Brown Music by James Izett

All hail, thou bright and beauteous maid,
Our faithful homage, here we pay;
Let peace and joy thy Court attend.
On this thy royal festal day.
May virtue lead and love illume
And light thy path in glorious sheen,
Thy courtiers true with pride acclaim:
God bless our loyal Beltane Queen!

While rolling years with gracious touch
Shall dim the lustre that was thine,
Then through the mellow mists that rise,
The hallowed past will brighter shine.
In reverie thou will recall
The splendour of the festal scene
When gallant courtiers, brave and gay,
Acclaimed thee as their smiling Queen.

Words by James Hope Brown Music by James Izett

Ye lads frae Leithen, Lyne, an' Quair,
Hear borne across the moorland air
The muster call o' Beltane Fair,
Come ower the hills tae Peebles.
Ye herds frae Yarrow's dowie dens,
Quit clipping stools an' dipping pens,
Come, leave for aince your native glens,
An' ower the hills tae Peebles.

Ye maids o' high an' low degree,
Frae Meggetdale tae Thornielee,
Kilt up your coats abune the knee,
An' ower the hills tae Peebles
As Beltane time comes round each year.
The exile, stirred by mem'ries dear,
Wad gie a wealth o' gowd an' gear
Tae spend a day in Peebles.

Ye "Stoorie feet" frae fremit toons,
Sae gled tae pree oor social boons.
Like brithers meet the wabster loons,
The "Gutterbluids" o' Peebles.
An' as your hameward way ye take,
Oor words will be, as hands we shake,
Next year again for auld-time's sake,
Come ower the hills tae Peebles.