Margie Butler`s lullabies

Margie Butler is a harper and vocalist. The soothing tones of the harp have long been considered magical and many have found it to be a salve for the soul. Margie Butler makes this more than evident on her recordings. Enjoy the Magic of the Celtic Harp and other lullaby music on our site and download your favorite bedtime songs for free.

Favorite Lullabies

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Baloo Baleerie (Scottish lullaby )
Margie Butler

Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie

Baloo baleerie, baloo balee

Gang awa' peerie faeries,
Gang awa' peerie faeries,
Gang awa' peerie faeries,
Frae oor ben noo.

Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie
Baloo baleerie, baloo balee

Doon come the bonny angels,
Doon come the bonny angels,
Doon come the bonny angels,
Tae oor ben noo.

Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie
Baloo baleerie, baloo balee

Sleep saft my baby,
Sleep saft my baby,
Sleep saft my baby,
In oor ben noo.

Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie
Baloo baleerie, baloo balee

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Suo-Gan (Welsh lullaby)
Margie Butler

Hunan blentyn, are fy mynwes
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon
Breichiau mam sy'n dyn amdanat
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron
Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun
Ni wna undyn a thi gam
Huna'n dawel, annwyl bientyn
Huna'n fwyn are fron dy fam

Huna'n dawel hana huna
Huna'n fwyn why del ei lun
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenum
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu
Arnat yno'n gwenu'n lion
Titha'you'n gwenu'n ol a huno
Huno'n dawel are fy mron

Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen
Gura, gura are why ddor
Paid aga ofni ton fach unig
Sua, sua are lan why mor
Huna blentyn nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw
Gwena'n dawel are fy mynwes
are yr engyl gwynion draw.

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October Winds (The Castle of Dromore)
Margie Butler

The October winds lament
Around the Castle of Dromore,
Yet peace is in its lofty halls,
My loving treasure store.
Though autumn leaves may droop and die
A bud of spring are you.
Sing hush-a-bye loo, la loo, lo lan,
Sing hush-a-bye loo, la lo.

Bring no ill winds to hinder us,
My helpless babe and me,
Dread spirit of Blackwater banks,
Clan Owen's wild banshee.
And Holy Mary pitying us
In heav'n for grace doth sue.
Sing hush-a-bye loo, la loo, lo lan,
Sing hush-a-bye loo, la lo.

Take time to thrive, my rose of hope,
In the garden of Dromore.
Take heed, young eagle, till your wings
Are feathered fit to soar.
A little rest and then the world
Is full of work to do
Sing hush-a-bye loo, la loo, lo lan,
Sing hush-a-bye loo, la lo.


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Manx Lullaby
Margie Butler

Oh hush thee my dove, oh hush thee my rowan,
Oh hush thee my lapwing, my little brown bird.

Oh fold thy wings and seek thy nest now,
Oh shine the berry on the bright tree,
The bird is home from the mountain and valley.
Oh horo hi ri ri. Cadul gu lo

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Suantrai (Celtic lullaby)
Margie Butler

Seóthín, seóthó, mo stóirín, mo leanbh, 
Mo sheoid gan chealg, mo chuid den tsaol mhór. 
Seóthín, seóthó, nach mór é a taithneamh, 
Mo stóirín ina leaba, ‘na chodladh gan brón. 
A leanbh mo chléibh, go n-éiri do chodladh leat, 
Séan agus sonas a choice ‘do chomhair. 
Seo beannacht Mhic Dé agus téagar a Bhuime leat. 
Téir a chodladh gan bíogadh go ló. 

Ar mhullach a tSí tá síoga geala, 
Fá chaoinré an earraigh ag imirt a spóirt 
Seo iad aniar chun glaoch ar mo leanbh 
Le mian é a tharraing isteach sa Lios Mór. 
Goirm thú, a chroí! Ní bhfaighidh said do mhealladh 
Le brí a gcleas, ná le binneas a gceol. 
Tá mise led’ thaobh ag guí ort na mbeannacht, 
Seóthín, a leanbh, ní imeoidh tú leo. 

Os comhair mo lao go míochair ceanúil, 
Tá dílroisc aingeal ag faire ina threo, 
Le mórghrá dian á’ iarraidh chun bealaigh 
Mar b’aoibhne Flaithis dá rachadh sé leo. 
A stór mo chroí, luigh siar i do leaba, 
Le taobh do mhama is ea fhanfair go fóill. 
Ní mór liom ag Día mo shiamsa ‘gus m’aiteas, 
Mo ríocht ar talamh i dteannta mo bhróid. 

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Gartan mother's lullaby
Margie Butler

Sleepbabefor the red-bee hums
The silent twilight's fall:
Aibheall fromt he Grey Rock comes
To wrap the world in thrall.
leanbhan omy childmy joy,
My love and heart's-desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby
Beside the dying fire.


Dusk is drawnand the Green Man's Thorn
Is wreathed in rings of fog:
Siabhra sails his boat till morn
Upon the Starry Bog.
leanbhan o, the pale half moon
Hath brimmed her cusp in dew,
And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune
singloveto you.

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