“No, no!” the handsome young Roman cried.
“No wife have I in the world so wide;
And you my wedded wife shall be,
If you will share my lot with me.”
GIPSY SONG
Up, up, brothers,
Cease your revels!
The Gentile’s coming—
Run like devils.
I do not like your way of life
Ye men of Christian creed;
I’d rather live the kind of life
Which forest foxes lead.
OUR HEART IS HEAVY, BROTHER
The strength of the ox,
The wit of the fox,
And the leveret’s speed;
All, all to oppose
Their numerous foes
The Romany need.
Our horses they take,
Our wagons they break,
And us they seize
In their prisons to coop,
Where we pine and droop
For want of breeze.
When the dead swallow
The fly shall follow
Across the sea,
We’ll then forget
The wrongs we have met,
And forgiving be—
Brother, of that be certain.