Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch's destinie! M'Pherson's time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree.
Chorus.-Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he; He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round, Below the gallows-tree.
O, what is death but parting breath? On many a bloody plain I've dared his face, and in this place I scorn him yet again! Sae rantingly, &c.
Untie these bands from off my hands, And bring me to my sword; And there's no a man in all Scotland But I'll brave him at a word. Sae rantingly, &c.
I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife; I die by treacherie: It burns my heart I must depart, And not avenged be. Sae rantingly, &c.
Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky! May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die! Sae rantingly, &c.
Сама баллада:
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly Sae dauntingly gaed he He played a tune and he danced it aroon' Alow the gallows tree
Fareweel, ye dungeons dark and strang Fareweel, fareweel, said he MacPherson's time will no' be lang Alow the gallows tree
It was by a woman's treacherous hand That I was condemned tae dee Aboon a ledge at a windae she stood And a blanket she threw o'er me
Untie these bands frae aff o' my hands And gie tae me my sword There's no a man in a' Scotland But I'll brave him at his word
There's some come here tae see me hang And some tae buy my fiddle But afore that I dae part wi' her I'd brak' her through the middle
He took his fiddle into both of his hands And he brak' it o'er a stone Said, Nae ither hands shall play on thee When I am deid and gane
Ach, little did my mother think When first she cradled me That I would turn a roving boy And die on the gallows tree
The reprieve it was coming o'er the Brig o' Banff Tae set MacPherson free But they put the knock tae a quarter past four And they hanged him tae the tree