Skip to main content

‹‹‹ prev (363) Page 355Page 355

(365) next ››› Page 357Page 357

(364) Page 356 -
' Flows Yarrow sweit 1 as sweit flows Tweed ;
As green its grass ; its gowan as yellow ;
As sweit smells on its braes the birk ;
The apple from its rocks as mellow !
' Fair was thy love ! fair, fair, indeed, thy love !
In flowery bands thou didst him fetter ;
Though he was fair, and well-beloved again,
Than me he never loved thee better.
' Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride !
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow !
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed,
And think nae mail on the braes of Yarrow.'
C. ' How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ?
How can I busk a winsome marrow ?
How can I lo'e him on the banks of Tweed
That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ?
' Oh, Yarrow fields, may 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 of green,
His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewin' ;
Ah, wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd
He was in these to meet his ruin.
' The boy took out his milk-white steed,
Unmindful of my dule and sorrow :
But, ere the too-fa' of the nicht, 1
He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow !
1 Ere the fall of the evening.

Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence