The Caller
| The Caller | |
|---|---|
| Text & Melodie | Edward “Ned” Corvan |
| Urheberrecht | |
| Melodie und Liedtext sind Gemeinfrei. Sie können beliebig vervielfältigt und weitergegeben werden.
Mehr dieser Lieder findest du in unserem JuLiBu. | |
| Liederbücher | |
| Codex | x |
| Bulibu I | x |
| Bulibu II | x |
| Liederbock | x |
| Schwarzer Adler | x |
| Wandervogel | x |
| Zupfgeigenhansl | x |
| Jurtenburg | x |
![\version "2.12.3"
\language "deutsch"
\header {
tagline = ""
}
\layout {
indent = #0
}
akkorde = \chordmode {
\germanChords
\set chordChanges = ##t
f1*3/4 c:7 c:7 f f c:7 c:7 f f c:7 c:7 f
}
global = {
\language "english"
\key d \major
\time 4/4
\autoBeamOff
\tempo "Andante."
}
melodie = \relative c' {
\global
fs4.\p e8 d8.[ e16] fs8. g16 |
a4 a2 a4 |
b4 fs8. fs16 fs4 b |
a2. r4 |
a4.\mf gs8 fs8. gs16 a8. b16 |
cs4 cs2 a8 b |
cs4. fs,8 fs4 gs4 |
fs2~ fs4 r4 |
d'2\f cs8 cs8 a8. fs16 |
b4 b a fs8\p e8 |
d4^\markup { \italic rall. } e8. fs16 g4 fs8. e16 |
a2\dim a2 |
a1~\> |
a2\pp r2 \bar "|."
}
text = \lyricmode {
Why sweet slum -- ber now dis -- tur -- bing,
Why break the mid -- night peace,
Why the sons of toil per -- tur -- bing,
Have their hours of rest to cease?
Ho! mar -- rows, 'tis the Cal -- ler cries,
And his voice in the gloom of the night mist dies.
}
\score {
<<
% \new ChordNames { \akkorde }
\new Voice = "Lied" { \melodie }
\new Lyrics \lyricsto "Lied" { \text }
>>
\midi {}
\layout {}
}](/wiki/images/lilypond/8/1/8107srcxkb5y3uark2oqv3nnp7maepd/8107srcx.png)
2. The twinkling stars, through night shade peering,
Blink above with heavenly light
On the sleeping world, as a voice calls clear,
In the stilly air of the sable night.
Ho ! marrows, 'tis the Caller cries,
And his voice in the gloom of the night mist dies.
3. The collier sleeps, e'en now he's dreaming
Of a pure bright world and loved ones there,
He basks in the rays of fortune beaming
In some far land, full and fair.
Ho ! marrows, 'tis the Caller cries,
And his voice in the gloom of the night mist dies.
4. Dream on, thou poor and ill-used collier,
For slaves should aye have visions bright,
There's one above who deems thee holier
Than the wealthiest in his sight.
Ho ! marrows, 'tis the Caller cries,
And his voice in the gloom of the night mist dies.
5. Speed, thee, old man, let him slumber
When happy thoughts are in his breast;
Why should the world his peace encumber?
Go, let the weary collier rest.
Ho ! marrows, 'tis the Caller cries,
And his voice in the gloom of the night mist dies.