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(366) next ››› Page 358Page 358Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate

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BUSK YE, BUSK YE. 357
' Much I rejoiced, that waefu' day ;
I sang, my voice the woods returning ;
But, lang ere nicht, the spear was flown
That slew my love, and left me mourning.
' What can my barbarous father do,
But with his cruel rage pursue me 1
My lover's blude is on thy spear —
How canst thou, barbarous man, then, woo me ?
' My happy sisters may be proud,
With cruel and ungentle scoffing,
May bid me seek, on Yarrow braes,
My lover nailed in his coffin.
' My brother Douglas may upbraid,
And strive, with threat'ning words, to move me ;
My lover's blude is on thy spear —
How canst thou ever bid me love thee ?
' Yes, yes, prepare the bed of love !
With bridal-sheets my body cover !
TJnbar, ye bridal-maids, the door !
Let in th' expected husband-lover !
' But who the expected husband is ?
His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter I
Ah, me ! what ghastly spectre 's yon,
Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after ?
' Pale as he is, here lay him down ;
lay his cold head on my pillow !
Take off, take off these bridal-weids,
Aid crown my careful head with willow.
' Pale though thou art, yet best beloved,
Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee !
Yet lie all night between my breasts —
No youth lay ever there before thee !

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