'Busk ye then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride! 'How can I busk, a bonnie, bonnie bride? How can I busk, a winsome marrow? How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow! 'O Yarrow fields, may never, never rain Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover! For there was basely slain my love 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 sewing: Ah, wretched me! I little, little knew 'The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unheedful of my dule and sorrow; But ere the to-fall of the night He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. 'Much I rejoiced, that woeful, woeful day; I sang, my voice the woods returning; But lang ere night the spear was flown That slew my love and left me mourning. 'What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, But with his cruel rage pursue me? 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 scoffin' May bid me seek, on Yarrow's braes, My lover nailed in his coffin. 'My brother Douglas may upbraid, And strive with threat'ning words to move me: My lover's blood is on thy spear, How canst thou ever bid me love thee? 'Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love! With bridal sheets my body cover! Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door; Let in the expected husband lover! 'But who the expected husband, husband is? His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter. Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon, Comes in his pale shroud bleeding after? 'Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down; 'Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved! 'Pale, pale indeed! O lovely, lovely youth! 'Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride! Return, and dry thy useless sorrow! Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow." 342 HECTOR MACNEIL [1746-1818] I LO'ED NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE I LO❜ED ne'er a laddie but ane, And a pair o' mittens o' green; Let ithers brag weel o' their gear, For he's ilka thing lordly to me. Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa'! 'Dear lassie,' he cries wi' a jeer, 'Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say: 'O Menie, the heart that is true Has something mair costly than gear; Ilk e'en it has naething to rue, Ilk morn it has naething to fear. + Bought. 2 A short cloak. Possessions. • Each. 'Pining. 343 Ye warldlings, gae hoard up your store, He ends wi' a kiss and a smile- He's free aye to daut' and to kiss. Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife, COME UNDER MY PLAIDIE 'COME under my plaidie, the night's gaun to fa'; 'Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, auld Donald, gae 'wa! 'Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa'; Be frank now and kindly: I'll busk' ye aye finely, 'My father's aye tauld me, my mither an a', I ha'e little tocher: you've made a good offer: She crap in ayont him, aside the stane wa'. 344 SIR WILLIAM JONES [1746-1794] AN ODE In Imitation of Alcaeus WHAT Constitutes a State? Not high-raised battlement or laboured mound, Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; Dress. 10 Throbbed violently. 12 Lost. • Comfortable. • Dowry. |