Ballad "Rob Roy"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 ROB ROY

(Ballad)

Author: Marina Shchigoleva

Who was a Scottish noble robber,

In his affairs brave and sober,

With burning look and steadfast hand,

That lived once on unfair land?

Rob Roy ‘s his name and bide awee

I’ll make my granddad’s story free.

So listen ‘bout the life of hero,

Whose fight for justice was being’s marrow.

Rob Roy came from the clan MacGregor –

One of the ancient Highlands’ clans –

They would have never started war,

But neighbours wanted their lands.

They were deprived of all they had,

That’s why they got used to bloodshed.

The enemies pushed clan to limit,

But no one never broke their spirit.

MacGregors stayed banded, linked together,

Although so cruel was land of heather,

That at the government’s desire

Proud clan was pursued with sword and fire.

And in this tribe, one day in March,

When coming into leaf was larch,

On the banks of Katrin Loch

Robert Roy was born.

In Highlands Rob’d grown up,

His business he set up-

With friend they traded in cattle,

But friendship proved to be just prattle.

Disloyal partner ran away,

With clients’ money, by the way,

Rob rendered totally insolvent

So had to leave in a rash moment.

Duke of Montrose, whose was that sterling,

Conceived himself cheated and hit the ceiling!

Roy’s landed property was seized,

With gain from stock’s sale Duke was pleased.

Offended Scott vowed to vengeance,

Over the land hung eerie silence.

Before I’ll tell you what then happened,

Let me some words on portrait spend.

Roy’s stature was not of the tallest,

But build he had the finest:

Broad-shouldered, incredibly strong,

He masterly used the sword lifelong.

For friends his look was open, frank,

But stern when heard he weapon clank.

Dark red, thick hair curled ‘round the face.

He was as firm, as was his pace.

Thus, our robber, called Rob Roy,

Resolved duke’s welfare to destroy,

He took only from the rich

And wanted needy to enrich.

The formidable man,

In spite of the ban,

Found way to help widows,

Respond to orphan’s bellows.

Revenge was duty, not a crime,

So Rob made forays from time to time,

He robbed livestock and corn

Then gave away it, pouring scorn

On Duke Montrose, who lost his sleep,

All he could do was just to weep.

‘Cause his attempts to catch Rob Roy

Failed like some foolish childish ploy.

In old age died this singular man

Beloved with all MacGregor clan,

Lamented in wild Scottish country

His name to eternity made an entry

I, Katriona MacGregor, am proud

Of being Rob’s grandchild

And can declare it aloud

In front of giant crowd.

In legends now his sagacity, boldness and prudence,

The kind soul- to his good-deeds guidance,

How he made the villains carry penance.

His image is etched in mind of Scotland’s tenants

And in our hearts we still feel his presence.