The Bonnie Lass of the Gypsies

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The Bonnie Lass of the Gypsies

Postby Bronagh » Thu Jul 16, 2009 6:39 pm

A song I've heard being sung in the taverns of Banchory recently;

The Bonnie Lass of the Gypsies
(based on 'The Bonnie Lass of Fyvie')

There once was a boat o' McFinn sailors
Came sailing down from Islay-o
And the captain's fa'en in love wi' a very bonnie lass
And her name it was call'd pretty Jessie-o

There's many a bonnie lass in the way to Trotternish
There's many a bonnie lass beside Loch Aber
There's many a bonnie Jean in the streets of Banchory
But the flower o' them lies with the gypsies-o

O come down the stairs, Pretty Jessie, my dear
Come down the stairs, Pretty Jessie-o
Come down the stairs, comb back your yellow hair
Bid a last farewell to your mammy-o

It's braw, aye it's braw, a captain's lady for to be
And it's braw to be a captain's lady-o
It's braw to sail around and to follow the tide
And to sail when your captain he is ready-o

O I'll give you ribbons, love, and I'll give you rings
I'll give you a necklace of amber-o
I'll give you a silken petticoat with flounces to the knee
If you'll convey me down to your chamber-o

What would your mother think if she heard the gold coins clink
And saw the MacFinns posing all before you o
O little would she think if she heard the gold coins clink
If I followed a sailor laddie-o

I never did intend a sailor's lady for to be
A sailor shall never enjoy me-o
I never did intend to gae tae a foreign land
And I never will marry a sailor-o

I'll drink nae more o your claret wine
I'll drink nae more o your glasses-o
Tomorrow is the day when we maun sail away
So farewell tae your gypsie lasses-o

The admiral he cried, sail, boys, sail, boys, sail
The captain, he cried, tarry-o
O tarry yet a while, just another day or two
Til I see if the bonnie lass will marry-o

Twas in the early morning, when we marched away
And O but the captain he was sorry-o
The drums they did beat o'er the bonnie braes o' the Forth
And the band played to bonnie lass of gypsies-o

Long ere we came to the Bay of Trotternish
We had our captain to carry-o
And long ere we won into the streets of Vatternish
We had our captain to bury-o

Green grow the birch on bonnie Islay
And low lie the lowlands of gypsies-o
The captain's name was James and he died for a maid
He died for the bonnie lass of gypsies-o
Bronagh Mac Cinaed
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