Anonymous

From Tea-Table Miscellany

O, WALY, waly up the bank,

And waly, waly down the brae,

And waly, waly yon burn-side,

Where I and my love wont to gae.

I leaned my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree;

But first it bowed, and syne it brak,—

Sae my true love did light by me!

O, waly, waly, but love be bonny,

A little time while it is new;

But when ’tis auld it waxeth cauld,

And fades away like the morning dew.

O, wherefore should I busk my head?

Or wherefore should I kame my hair?

For my true love has me forsook,

And says he’ll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed;

The sheets shall ne’er be fyled by me;

St. Anton’s well shall be my drink,

Since my true love has forsaken me.

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves off the tree?

O gentle death, when wilt thou come?

For of my life I’m weary.

’Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing thaw’s inclemency;

’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my love’s heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town,

We were a comely sight to see;

My love was clad in the black velvet,

And I mysel in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kissed,

That love had been sae ill to win,

I’d locked my heart in a case of gold,

And pinned it with a silver pin.

O, O, if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse’s knee,

And I mysel were dead and gane

And the green grass growin’ ower me!