| |
| “BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride! | |
| Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! | |
| Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bourne bride, | |
| And think nae mair of the Braes of Yarrow.” | |
| |
| “Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride, | 5 |
| Where gat ye that winsome marrow?” | |
| I gat her where I daurna weel 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 daur 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 wi’ dule and sorrow; | |
| And lang maun I nae mair 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 hae slain the comeliest swain | |
| That e’er pu’d birks on the Braes of Yarrow. | |
| |
| “Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red? | 25 |
| Why on thy braes 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 |
| ’T is he, the comely swain I slew | |
| Upon the dulefu’ Braes of Yarrow. | |
| |
| “Wash, O, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, | |
| His wounds in tears o’ dule and sorrow; | |
| And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, | 35 |
| And lay him on the banks of Yarrow. | |
| |
| “Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, | |
| Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi’ sorrow; | |
| And weep around, in waeful wise, | |
| His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow! | 40 |
| |
| “Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, | |
| The 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, | |
| Thou met’st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow. | |
| |
| “Sweet smell 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 flowan! | |
| |
| “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 frae its rock 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 I 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 love 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,—’t was my ain sewing; | |
| Ah, wretched me! I little, little kenned | 75 |
| He was in these to meet his ruin. | |
| |
| “The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, | |
| Unmindful of my dule and sorrow; | |
| But ere the too fa’ of the night, | |
| He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow! | 80 |
| |
| “Much I rejoiced that waefu’, waefu’ 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 Braes, | |
| My lover nailéd in his coffin. | |
| |
| “My brother Douglas may upbraid, | |
| And strive, with threatening words, to move me; | |
| My lover’s blood is on thy spear,— | 95 |
| How can 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 off, take off these bridal weeds, | |
| And crown my careful head with willow. | |
| |
| “Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved, | |
| O, 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 naught of thy sighs, | |
| He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. | 120 |
| |
