Little Brown Cot on the Hill (OT2003-3012-009)
Dublin Core
Title
Little Brown Cot on the Hill (OT2003-3012-009)
Description
Song excerpted from audio recording OT2003-3012, part of VFC2003-0007 Margaret MacArthur Collection.
Creator
Source
Margaret MacArthur Collection -- VFC2003-0007. Vermont Folklife Center Archive, Vermont Folklife Center, Middlebury, Vermont, United States of America.
Date Created
1964-07-15
Contributor
Is Part Of
Language
en
Type
Identifier
VFC2003-0007 OT2003-3012-009
Rights Holder
Vermont Folklife Center
Song Item Type Metadata
Local Title
Little Brown Cot on the Hill
Transcription
I remember that little brown cot on the hill
That I lived in the bright long ago
And the musical sound of that murmuring rill
That beside that brown cot used to flow
To others no beauty in it might appear
[Though caught?] in their bosoms a thrill
But there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
It was lonely and old and in winter twas drear
And the winds could assail it at will
Yet there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
Years ago in that little brown cot I was born
There I spent all my boyhood away
On its porch I would sit from the first blush of morn
Til the close of the light summer day
Or I'd play in the cool shady grove that were near
My chant would be merry and shrill
Til fatigued I'd return to my mother so dear
In the little brown cot on the hill
It was lonely and old and in winter twas drear
And the winds could assail it at will
Yet there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
Many [unintelligible] when I parted my friends at its door
And I left them to wander away
And I know that on earth I'll not meet them again
For they sleep neath the churchyard today
Although in this world I'll not meet them again
I cherish their memories still
And remembrance forever with me will remain
Of that little brown cot on the hill
It was lonely and old and in winter twas drear
And the winds could assail it at will
Yet there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
References:
That I lived in the bright long ago
And the musical sound of that murmuring rill
That beside that brown cot used to flow
To others no beauty in it might appear
[Though caught?] in their bosoms a thrill
But there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
It was lonely and old and in winter twas drear
And the winds could assail it at will
Yet there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
Years ago in that little brown cot I was born
There I spent all my boyhood away
On its porch I would sit from the first blush of morn
Til the close of the light summer day
Or I'd play in the cool shady grove that were near
My chant would be merry and shrill
Til fatigued I'd return to my mother so dear
In the little brown cot on the hill
It was lonely and old and in winter twas drear
And the winds could assail it at will
Yet there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
Many [unintelligible] when I parted my friends at its door
And I left them to wander away
And I know that on earth I'll not meet them again
For they sleep neath the churchyard today
Although in this world I'll not meet them again
I cherish their memories still
And remembrance forever with me will remain
Of that little brown cot on the hill
It was lonely and old and in winter twas drear
And the winds could assail it at will
Yet there's no place on earth to my heart is more dear
Than that little brown cot on the hill
References:
- "01 Little Brown Cot On The Hill." Traditional Music Library. 2013. http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/songster/01-little-brown-cot-on-the-hill.htm
Location
Duration
4:00
Collection
Citation
Atwood, Fred, “Little Brown Cot on the Hill (OT2003-3012-009),” Vermont Folklife Center Digital Collections, accessed November 24, 2024, https://vtfolklifearchive.org/collections/items/show/1128.
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