THY banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream,
When first on thee I met my lover;
Thy banks how dreary, Yarrow stream,
When now thy waves his body cover!
For ever now, O Yarrow stream,
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
For never on thy banks shall I
Behold my love-the flower of Yarrow!
He promised me a milk-white horse,
To bear me to his father's bowers;
He promised me a little page,
To squire me to his father's towers.
He promised me a wedding-ring,
The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow;
Now he is wedded to his grave,
Alas! a watery grave in Yarrow!
Sweet were his words when last we met;
My passion as I freely told him;
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought
That I should never more behold him.
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost-
It vanished with a shriek of sorrow;
Thrice did the Water Wraith ascend,
And give a doleful groan through Yarrow!
His mother from the window looked,
With all the longing of a mother;
His little sister, weeping, walked
The greenwood path to meet her brother.
They sought him east, they sought him west
They sought him all the forest thorough;
They only saw the clouds of night—
They only heard the roar of Yarrow!
No longer from thy window look-
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother!
No longer walk, thou lovely maid—
Alas! thou hast no more a brother!
No longer seek him east or west,
No longer search the forest thorough,
For, murdered in the night so dark,
He lies a lifeless corpse in Yarrow!
The tears shall never leave my cheek
No other youth shall be my marrow;
I'll seek thy body in the stream,
And there with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow!
The tear did never leave her cheek,
No other youth became her marrow;
She found his body in the stream,
And with him now she sleeps in Yarrow.
F. Logan.
O WALY waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn-side
Where I and my Love were wont to gae!
I leant my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd and syne it brake,
Sae my true Love did lichtly me.
O waly waly, but love be bonny
A little time while it is new;
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed;
The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town
We were a comely sight to see;
My Love was clad in the black velvét,
And I mysell in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd
And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
And, O! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!
WHEN the sheep are in the fauld and the kye's come hame,
And a' the weary warld to rest are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.
Young Jamie lo'ed me weel and sought me for his bride,
But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside;
To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea,
And the crown and the pound, they were baith for me.
He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day,
When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away; My mither she fell sick-my Jamie was at sea,
And auld Robin Gray came a courting me.
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