The Gypsy Rover (The Highwaymen)

This is a beautiful song, recorded by The Highwaymen in 1961. If anybody knows how to upload a song onto this blog, it would be really nice to have this song uploaded.

Chorus
"Ah-di-do, ah-di-do-da-dayAh-di-do, ah-di-day-dee. He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang and he won the heart of the lady.

The gypsy rover came over the hill,
Down through the valley shady,
He whistled and he sang ‘til the green woods rang
And he won the heart of the lady.

She left her father's castle gate, left her own fond lover. She left her servants and her states to follow the gypsy rover.

Her father saddled his fastest steed and roamed the valleys all over. He searched for his daughter at great speed and the whistlin' gypsy rover.

He came at last to a mansion fine, down by the river Clady and there was music, and there was wine for the gypsy and his lady.

He's no gypsy, my Father, she said,But Lord of these lands all over and I will stay 'til my dyin' day with my whistlin' gypsy rover.

Eye of the Gypsy

Look for a gypsy in the eye of every stranger,
Take nothing that's yours to avoid uncertain danger,
For the trap on the road is to lose sight of your heart,
To fatten on certainty, comfort and untruthful art,
To be afraid of taking risks, wrong turns and lost pride,
To feed a guarded heart on dirt from yesterday's stride.
Posession is 9/10 of irrelevance and your dreams hold the key,
To the darkness that you are, and the sun that you can be.

Zaryana's Journal

Late last night I wandered down to the Gypsy Camp to see my old friend Zaryana. As I approached the camp I heard the simple beat of a drum, possibly a tabor. Ticka ticka, tic tic tic. I edged nearer. The roaring fire blocked my vision at first. Then off to the side I saw a few dancers, long skirts waving to the drumbeat. I looked for my old gypsy friend and saw her at the edge of the group, ready to join in the dance. Easing onto a log next to a young girl, I sat and watched.

Ticka ticka tic tic tic. The drums were joined by zils flirting with the beat. Dancers now whirled onto the makeshift stage, their skirts and scarves whirling together as watercolors flowing onto a painting. The drums quickened as the dancers moved. Zaguareets, high pitched trills, honored the dancers as the audience showed their approval. What joy!

As the dance was ending, my friend saw me and motioned for me to stay. It seemed she had something to tell me. A few minutes later she rushed over to me. “Come with me my friend,” she whispered, still out of breath from the dance. “I have something to show you!”

We hastened off to her wagon. As I entered the scent of sandalwood and myrrh greeted my nose. Candles everywhere, shadows flickering off each other. No other lights. It was warm inside even though I had been cold outside and I looked around to find the source of the heat. Before I could find it, my attention was brought back to my friend as she handed me a parcel.

“I found this the other day,” Zaryana told me. “I thought you might like to read it.”

I opened the brown paper wrapping and found Zaryana’s very own journal from years past. My heart leapt with excitement as I turned the pages. Drawings, collages, poems, all written in her exotic handwriting. A running narrative wove through the pages explaining and detailing her many adventures over the years. I was in visual heaven!

I must have been so caught up in the book I had not noticed she had made tea and poured me a cup. She laughed as she thrust one of her delicious Russian tea cakes under my nose. “A little treat to warm the night?” she asked.

We sat and enjoyed the Russian Caravan tea and cakes. She told me I could keep the journal for as long as I wanted and urged me to share some of it with my new friends at Riversleigh Manor. I promised her I would guard this treasure with my life and hurried back to my room to read.

Gypsy Dancers

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Gypsies in the Woods

My mother said
That I never should
Play with the gypsies
In the wood
Of if I did she would say
Naughty girl to disobey
Your hair shan't curl,
Your shoes shan't shine
You naughty girl
You shan't be mine

Well I have never been fussed about curly hair and shining shoes and my poor old Mum has long given up on the idea of disowning me for doing naughty things. These days she is naughtier than me and willing to come on any of my insane adventures. That is her up in the tree and me dancing for Lavengro.