| |
| ‘BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride! | |
| Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! | |
| Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride! | |
| And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow!’ | |
| |
| ‘Where got ye that bonnie, bonnie bride? | 5 |
| Where got ye that winsome marrow?’ | |
| ‘I got her where I durst not well be seen— | |
| Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.’ | |
| |
| ‘Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride! | |
| Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! | 10 |
| Nor let thy heart lament to leave | |
| Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.’ | |
| |
| ‘Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride? | |
| Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? | |
| And why dare ye nae mair weel be seen | 15 |
| Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow?’ | |
| |
| ‘Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, | |
| Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow; | |
| And lang maun I nae weel be seen | |
| Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. | 20 |
| |
| ‘For she has tint her lover, lover dear— | |
| Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow; | |
| And I have slain the comeliest swain | |
| That ever pu’ed birks on the braes of Yarrow. | |
| |
| ‘Why runs thy stream O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid? | 25 |
| Why on thy braes is heard the voice of sorrow? | |
| And why yon melancholious weeds | |
| Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow. | |
| |
| ‘What’s yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood? | |
| What’s yonder floats? O dule and sorrow! | 30 |
| ’Tis he, the comely swain I slew | |
| Upon the duleful braes of Yarrow. | |
| |
| ‘Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, | |
| His wounds in tears of dule and sorrow; | |
| And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, | 35 |
| And lay him on the braes of Yarrow. | |
| |
| ‘Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, | |
| Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow: | |
| And weep around, in woeful wise, | |
| His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow. | 40 |
| |
| ‘Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, | |
| My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, | |
| The fatal spear that pierced his breast— | |
| His comely breast on the braes of Yarrow! | |
| |
| ‘Did I not warn thee not to, not to love, | 45 |
| And warn from fight? But, to my sorrow, | |
| Too 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; | 50 |
| Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, | |
| Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowing!’ | |
| |
| ‘Flows Yarrow sweet? As sweet, as sweet flows Tweed; | |
| As green its grass, its gowan as yellow; | |
| As sweet smells on its braes the birk, | 55 |
| 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. | 60 |
| |
| ‘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 mair on the braes of Yarrow!’ | |
| |
| ‘How can I busk, a bonnie, bonnie bride? | 65 |
| 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! | 70 |
| 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 | 75 |
| He was in these to meet his ruin! | |
| |
| ‘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. | 80 |
| |
| ‘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, | 85 |
| 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’ | 90 |
| 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, | 95 |
| 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! | 100 |
| |
| ‘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; | 105 |
| O lay his cold head on my pillow: | |
| Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, | |
| And crown my careful head with willow. | |
| |
| ‘Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved! | |
| Oh! could my warmth to life restore thee, | 110 |
| Ye’d lie all night between my breasts! | |
| No youth lay ever there before thee. | |
| |
| ‘Pale, pale indeed! O lovely, lovely youth! | |
| Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter; | |
| And lie all night between my breasts! | 115 |
| No youth shall ever lie there after.’ | |
| |
| 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.” | 120 |
| |
