Robert Louis Stevenson - Heather Ale,

Am
 
C
 
G
 
Am
 x2  
Am

Am
                         
C
From the bonny bells of heather
      
G
                 
Am
They brewed a drink long-syne,
                      
C
Was sweeter far then honey,
         
G
             
Am
Was stronger far than wine.
Am
They brewed it and they drank it,
     
G
                 
Am
And lay in a blessed swound
Am
For days and days together
C
             
G
            
Am
  
Am
In their dwellings underground.

 
Am
                    
C
There rose a king in Scotland,
  
G
                
C
A
 fell man to his foes
                        
C
He smote the Picts in battle,
     
G
               
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He hunted them like roes.
                          
C
Over miles of the red mountain
    
G
              
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He hunted as they fled,
                            
C
And strewed the dwarfish bodies
        
G
             
Am
  
Am
Of the dying and the dead.

F
                       
C
Summer came in the country,
  
G
                  
Am
Red was the heather bell;
      
F
                 
C
But the manner of the brewing
     
G
             
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Was none alive to tell.
                           
C
In graves that were like children's
    
G
               
Am
On many a mountain head,
                         
C
The Brewsters of the Heather
Am
    
C
                
Am
 
Lay numbered with the dead.

Am
 
Am

Am
                       
C
The king in the red moorland
 
G
                 
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Rode on a summer's day;
                              
C
And the bees hummed, and the curlews
  
G
               
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Cried beside the way.
                       
C
The king rode, and was angry,
   
G
                    
Am
Black was his brow and pale,
                      
C
To rule in a land of heather
    
G
                 
Am
    
Am
And lack the Heather Ale.

  
F
                      
C
It fortuned that his vassals,
  
G
                 
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Riding free on the heath,
A
   
F
                      
C
Came on a stone that was fallen
    
G
            
Am
And vermin hid beneath.
                             
C
Rudely plucked from their hiding,
   
G
                 
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Never a word they spoke;
                      
C
A
 son and his aged father --
 
A
        
G
           
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Last of the dwarfish folk.
 
Am
 
Am
 

Am
                         
C
The king sat high on his charger,
     
G
                  
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He looked on the little men;
                               
C
And the dwarfish and swarthy couple
 
G
                   
Am
Looked at the king again.
                     
A
Down by the shore he had them;
      
G
                 
Am
And there on the giddy brink --
                            
C
"I will give you life, ye vermin,
         
G
             
Am
For the secret of the drink."

F
                        
C
There stood the son and father,
     
G
                  
Am
And they looked high and low;
A
    
F
                      
C
The heather was red around them,
    
G
             
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The sea rumbled below.
                      
C
And up and spoke the father,
   
G
                     
Am
Shrill was his voice to hear:
                     
C
"I have a word in private,
   
A
                
Am
    
A
 word for the royal ear.

Am
 
Am

 
Am
                    
C
"Life is dear to the aged,
     
G
                
Am
And honour a little thing;
                           
C
I would gladly sell the secret,"
G
                      
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Quoth the Pict to the king.
                             
C
His voice was small as a sparrow's,
    
G
                      
Am
And shrill and wonderful clear:
                            
C
"I would gladly sell my secret,
        
Am
             
Am
Only my son I fear.

 
F
                      
C
"For life is a little matter,
      
G
                    
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And death is nought to the young;
A
     
F
                 
C
And I dare not sell my honour
   
G
                
Am
Under the eye of my son.
                        
A
Take him, O king, and bind him,
    
G
                  
Am
And cast him far in the deep;
                           
C
And it's I will tell the secret
A
            
G
        
Am
 
That I have sworn to keep."

Am
 
Am

   
Am
                      
C
They took the son and bound him,
 
G
                   
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Neck and heels in a thong,
                         
C
And a lad took him and swung him,
      
G
                  
Am
And flung him far and strong,
                           
C
And the sea swallowed his body,
      
G
                 
Am
Like that of a child of ten; --
                                  
C
And there on the cliff stood the father,
 
A
           
G
        
Am
     
Am
Last of the dwarfish men.

  
F
                   
C
"True was the word I told you:
      
G
         
Am
Only my son I feared;
    
F
                     
C
For I doubt the sapling courage
     
G
                 
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That goes without the beard.
                        
C
But now in vain is the torture,
  
G
                
Am
Fire shall never avail:
                 
A
Here dies in my bosom
 
Am
           
G
       
Am
The secret of Heather Ale."

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Am
 
C
 
G
 
Am
 x2  
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