| |
| LATE 1 at e’en, drinkin’ the wine, | |
| And ere they paid the mornin’ | |
| They set a combat them between, | |
| To fight it in the dawnin’. | |
| |
| ‘O stay at hame, my noble lord! | 5 |
| O stay at hame, my marrow! | |
| My cruel brother will you betray, | |
| On the dowy houms o’ Yarrow.’ | |
| |
| ‘O fare ye weel, my lady gaye! | |
| O fare ye weel, my Sarah! | 10 |
| For I maun gae, tho’ I ne’er return | |
| Frae the dowy banks o’ Yarrow.’ | |
| |
| She kiss’d his cheek, she kaimd his hair, | |
| As she had done before, O; | |
| She belted on his noble brand, | 15 |
| An’ he’s awa to Yarrow. | |
| |
| O he’s gane up yon high, high hill— | |
| I wat he gaed wi’ sorrow— | |
| An’ in a den spied nine arm’d men, | |
| I’ the dowy houms o’ Yarrow. | 20 |
| |
| ‘O are ye come to drink the wine, | |
| As ye hae doon before, O? | |
| Or are ye come to wield the brand, | |
| On the dowy banks o’ Yarrow?’ | |
| |
| ‘I am no come to drink the wine, | 25 |
| As I hae doon before, O, | |
| But I am come to wield the brand, | |
| On the dowy houms o’ Yarrow.’ | |
| |
| Four he hurt, an’ five he slew, | |
| On the dowy houms o’ Yarrow, | 30 |
| Till that stubborn knight came him behind, | |
| An’ ran his body thorrow.’ | |
| |
| ‘Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, | |
| An’ tell your sister Sarah | |
| To come an’ lift her noble lord, | 35 |
| Who’s sleepin’ sound on Yarrow.’ | |
| |
| ‘Yestreen I dream’d a dolefu’ dream; | |
| I ken’d there wad be sorrow; | |
| I dream’d I pu’d the heather green, | |
| On the dowy banks o’ Yarrow.’ | 40 |
| |
| She gaed up yon high, high hill— | |
| I wat she gaed wi’ sorrow— | |
| An’ in a den spied nine dead men, | |
| On the dowy houms o’ Yarrow. | |
| |
| She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his hair, | 45 |
| As oft she did before, O; | |
| She drank the red blood frae him ran, | |
| On the dowy houms o’ Yarrow. | |
| |
| ‘O haud your tongue, my douchter dear, | |
| For what needs a’ this sorrow? | 50 |
| I’ll wed you on a better lord | |
| Than him you lost on Yarrow.’ | |
| |
| ‘O haud your tongue, my father dear, | |
| An’ dinna grieve your Sarah; | |
| A better lord was never born | 55 |
| Than him I lost on Yarrow. | |
| |
| ‘Tak hame your ousen, tak hame your kye, | |
| For they hae bred our sorrow; | |
| I wiss that they had a’ gane mad | |
| Whan they cam first to Yarrow.’ | 60 |
