| |
| LATE at een, drinkin the wine, | |
| Or early in a mornin, | |
| The 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 1 houms 2 o Yarrow.” | |
| |
| “O fare ye weel, my lady gaye! | |
| O fare ye weel, my Sarah! | 10 |
| For I maun gae, tho I neer return | |
| Frae the dowy banks o Yarrow.” | |
| |
| She kissed his cheek, she kaimd 3 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— | |
| And in a den spied nine armd men, | |
| I the dowy houms o Yarrow. | 20 |
| |
| “O ir 4 ye come to drink the wine, | |
| As ye hae doon before, O? | |
| Or ir ye come to wield the brand, | |
| On the bonny banks o Yarrow?” | |
| |
| “I im no come to drink the wine, | 25 |
| As I hae don before, O, | |
| But I im come to wield the brand, | |
| On the dowy houms o Yarrow.” | |
| |
| Four he hurt, and 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, | |
| And tell your sister Sarah | |
| To come and lift her noble lord, | 35 |
| Who’s sleepin sound on Yarrow.” | |
| |
| “Yestreen 5 I dreamed a dolefu dream; | |
| I kend 6 there wad be sorrow; | |
| I dreamd 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 spy’d nine dead men, | |
| On the dowy houms o Yarrow. | |
| |
| She kissed his cheek, she kaimd 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, 7 tak hame your kye, 8 | |
| For they hae bred our sorrow; | |
| I wiss that they had a’ gane mad | |
| Whan they cam first to Yarrow.” | 60 |
