But, ab, his manfu' heart was bent
To stir in feats of strife;
And he in many a venturous deed,
His courage bauld wad try,
And now this gars my heart to bleed
For my dear Gilderoy.
And when of me his leave he took,
The tears they wat mine ee;
I gave him a love-parting look,
My benison gang wi' thee!
God speed thee weel, mine ain dear heart,
For gane is all my joy ;
My heart is rent, sith we maun part,
My handsome Gilderoy.
My Gilderoy, baith far and near,
Was fear'd in ilka toun,
And bauldly bare away the gear
Of mony a Lawland loun:
Nane e'er durst meet him hand to hand,
He was sae brave a boy;
At length wi' numbers he was ta'en,
My handsome Gilderoy !
The Queen of Scots possessit nocht,
That my luve let me want;
For cow and ewe he to me brocht,
And e'en when they were scant :
All those did honestly possess,
He never did annoy, Who never fail'd to pay To my love Gilderoy.
Wae worth the loun that made the laws
To hang a man for gear!
To reave of life for ox or ass,
For sheep, or horse, or mear!
Had not their laws been made so strict,
I ne'er had lost my joy;
Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheik
For my dear Gilderoy.
Gif Gilderoy had done amiss,
He micht have banish'd been ;
Ah, what sair cruelty is this,
To hang sie handsome men !
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae sweit and fair a boy!
Nae lady had sae white a hand
As thee, my Gilderoy !
Of Gilderoy sae fear'd they were,
They bound him meikle strong;
Tull Edinburgh they led him there,
And on a gallows hung:
They hung him high abune the rest,
He was sae trim a boy;
There died the youth whom I loo'd best,
My handsome Gilderoy.
Thus having yielded up his breath,
I bare his corpse away;
Wi' tears that trickled for his death,
I wash'd his comely clay;
And sicker in a grave sae deep
I laid the dear-loo'd boy;
And now for ever maun I weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.*
First published in D'Urfey's Pills to purge Melancholy. 1719.
Gilderoy, or more properly Gilleroy, [red-haired boy,] was one of the broken clan Gregor, who, taking advantage of the disorders of the times, distinguished themselves during the first years of the great Civil War, by their extensive depredations upon the Low Country. He was hanged, with some of his accomplices, at the Gallowlee, between Leith and Edinburgh, in the year 1638.
TUNE-Lord Balgonie's Favourite.
GLOOMY winter's now awa,
Saft the westlin breezes blaw:
'Mang the birks o' Stanley shaw,
The mavis sings fu' cheerie, O.
Sweet the craw-flower's early bell,
Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell,
Blooming like thy bonnie sell,
My young, my artless dearie, O.
Come, my lassie, let us stray,
O'er Glenkilloch's sunny brae;
Blythely spend the gowden day,
Midst joys that never wearie, O.
Tow'ring o'er the Newton woods,
Lav'rocks fan the snaw-white clouds ;
I have seen, upon an old broad-side, a more ancient, and probably the original, version of "Gilderoy." It ran thus:
My love he was as brave a man
As ever Scotland bred;
Descended from a Highland clan,
A kateran to his trade.
No woman, then, or womankind,
Had ever greater joy,
Than we two, when we lodged alone,
I and my Gilderoy.
First, when I and my love met,
With joy he did me crown;
He gave me a new petticoat,
And then a tartan gown, &c.
There is something touching in the conclusion:
And now he is in Edinburgh town;
'Twas long ere I came there;
They hang'd him upon a-hie,
And he wagg'd in the air.
His relics they were more esteem'd
Than Hector's were at Troy;
I never love to see the face
That gazed on Gilderoy !
Silken saughs, wi' downie buds,
Adorn the banks sae brierie, O.
Round the sylvan fairy nooks
Feath'ry breckans fringe the rocks;
'Neath the brae the burnie jouks;
And ilka thing is cheerie, O.
Trees may bud, and birds may sing,
Flow'rs may bloom, and verdure spring,
Joy to me they canna bring,
Unless wi' thee, my dearie, O.
TUNE-My Bonnie Mary.
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie,
That I may drink, before I go,
A service to my bonnie lassie.
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,
Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick Law
And I maun lea' my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly;
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar;
The battle closes thick and bloody:
But it's not the roar of sea or shore,
Would mak me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shouts of war, that's heard afar;
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
ROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT.
GUDE day, now, bonnie Robin,
How lang hae ye been here?
I've been a bird about this bush
This mair than twenty year.
But now I am the sickest bird
That ever sat on brier;
And I wad mak my testament,
Gudeman, if ye wad hear.
Gar tak this bonnie neb o' mine,
That picks upon the corn;
And gie't to the Duke o' Hamilton,
To be a hunting-horn.
Gar tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my neb;
And gie to the Lady Hamilton,
To fill a feather bed.
Gar tak this gude richt leg of mine,
And mend the brig o' Tay;
It will be a post and pillar gude,
It will neither bow nor [gae].
And tak this other leg of mine,
And mend the brig o' Weir;
It will be a post and pillar gude,
It will neither bow nor steer.
Gar tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my tail;
And gie to the lads o' Hamilton
To be a barn-flail.
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