'For she has tint her lover, lover dear, Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow; And I ha'e slain the comeliest swain That e'er pu'ed birks on the braes of Yarrow. 'Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholeous weeds, Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow? 'What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood? Upon the duleful braes of Yarrow! 'Wash, oh, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, 'Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, And weep around in waeful wise, His helpless fate on the braes of Yarrow. 'Curse ye, curse ye his useless, useless shield, 'Did I not warn thee not to love, And warn from fight? but, to my sorrow, O'er-rashly bold, a stronger arm Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. 'Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan'. 'Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, As green its grass, its gowan yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk, The apple frae the rock as mellow. 'Fair was thy love! fair, fair indeed thy love! 'Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride, C. How can I busk, a bonnie, bonnie bride? That slew my Love on the braes of Yarrow? 'O Yarrow fields! may never, never rain, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, My Love, as he had not been a lover! 'The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewin': Ah, wretched me! I little, little knew, He was in these to met his ruin. 'The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, But, ere the toofal of the night, He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. 'Much I rejoiced that waeful, waeful day, 'What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, My lover's blood is on thy spear; How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? 'My happy sisters may be, may be proud; With cruel and ungentle scoffing May bid me seek on Yarrow's braes My lover nailèd in his coffin. 'My brother Douglas may upbraid, And strive with threatening words to move me; How canst thou ever bid me love thee? 'Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected husband-lover!' LADY ANNE LINDSAY. Born 1750. Died 1825. AULD ROBIN GRAY. HEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye come hame, WHE When a' the world to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; But saving a crown, he had naething else beside. To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea; And the crown and the pound were baith for me. He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa'; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e, Said, Jennie, for their sakes, oh marry me! My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me? My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break : I hadna been a wife a week but only four, O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn 's there, Jean, To the land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, Jean, In the land o' the leal. Sae dear that joy was bought, Jean, Sae free the battle fought, Jean, That sinfu' man e'er brought To the land o' the leal. Oh! dry your glistening e'e, Jean, To the land o' the leal. |