H

* * * * * *1She kissd his mouth and she combd his hair,As she had done before, O,She belted him in his noble broun,Before he went to Yarrow.2O he’s gone up yon high, [high] hill—I wat it was with sorrow—In a den he spied nine weal armd men,On the bonny banks of Yarrow.3‘I see that you are nine for one,Which are of an unequal marrow;As lang’s I’m able to wield my bran,I’ll fight and be your marrow.’4O he has killed them a’ but one,Which bred to him great sorrow;For up and rose that stubborn lord,Made him sleep sound in Yarrow.5‘Rise up, rise up, my daughter Ann,Go tell your sister SarahShe may rise up go lift her lord;He’s sleeping sound in Yarrow.’6She’s gone up yon high, high hill—I wat it was with sorrow—And in a den she spied nine slain men,On the dowie banks o Yarrow.7O she kissed his mouth, and she combd his hair,As she had done before, O;She drank the bleed that from him ran,On the dowie banks o Yarrow.8‘Take hame your oxen, tak hame your kye,They’ve bred to me great sorrow;I wish they had all now gone madFirst when they came to Yarrow.’9‘O hold your tongue now, daughter dear,These words to me’s great sorrow;I’ll wed you on a better lordThan you have lost on Yarrow.’10‘O hold your tongue now, father dear,These words to me’s great sorrow;A brighter O shall there never spreadThan I have lost in Yarrow.’11This lady being big with child,And full of lamentation,She died unto her father’s arms,Among the stubborn nation.

* * * * * *

1She kissd his mouth and she combd his hair,As she had done before, O,She belted him in his noble broun,Before he went to Yarrow.

She kissd his mouth and she combd his hair,

As she had done before, O,

She belted him in his noble broun,

Before he went to Yarrow.

2O he’s gone up yon high, [high] hill—I wat it was with sorrow—In a den he spied nine weal armd men,On the bonny banks of Yarrow.

O he’s gone up yon high, [high] hill—

I wat it was with sorrow—

In a den he spied nine weal armd men,

On the bonny banks of Yarrow.

3‘I see that you are nine for one,Which are of an unequal marrow;As lang’s I’m able to wield my bran,I’ll fight and be your marrow.’

‘I see that you are nine for one,

Which are of an unequal marrow;

As lang’s I’m able to wield my bran,

I’ll fight and be your marrow.’

4O he has killed them a’ but one,Which bred to him great sorrow;For up and rose that stubborn lord,Made him sleep sound in Yarrow.

O he has killed them a’ but one,

Which bred to him great sorrow;

For up and rose that stubborn lord,

Made him sleep sound in Yarrow.

5‘Rise up, rise up, my daughter Ann,Go tell your sister SarahShe may rise up go lift her lord;He’s sleeping sound in Yarrow.’

‘Rise up, rise up, my daughter Ann,

Go tell your sister Sarah

She may rise up go lift her lord;

He’s sleeping sound in Yarrow.’

6She’s gone up yon high, high hill—I wat it was with sorrow—And in a den she spied nine slain men,On the dowie banks o Yarrow.

She’s gone up yon high, high hill—

I wat it was with sorrow—

And in a den she spied nine slain men,

On the dowie banks o Yarrow.

7O she kissed his mouth, and she combd his hair,As she had done before, O;She drank the bleed that from him ran,On the dowie banks o Yarrow.

O she kissed his mouth, and she combd his hair,

As she had done before, O;

She drank the bleed that from him ran,

On the dowie banks o Yarrow.

8‘Take hame your oxen, tak hame your kye,They’ve bred to me great sorrow;I wish they had all now gone madFirst when they came to Yarrow.’

‘Take hame your oxen, tak hame your kye,

They’ve bred to me great sorrow;

I wish they had all now gone mad

First when they came to Yarrow.’

9‘O hold your tongue now, daughter dear,These words to me’s great sorrow;I’ll wed you on a better lordThan you have lost on Yarrow.’

‘O hold your tongue now, daughter dear,

These words to me’s great sorrow;

I’ll wed you on a better lord

Than you have lost on Yarrow.’

10‘O hold your tongue now, father dear,These words to me’s great sorrow;A brighter O shall there never spreadThan I have lost in Yarrow.’

‘O hold your tongue now, father dear,

These words to me’s great sorrow;

A brighter O shall there never spread

Than I have lost in Yarrow.’

11This lady being big with child,And full of lamentation,She died unto her father’s arms,Among the stubborn nation.

This lady being big with child,

And full of lamentation,

She died unto her father’s arms,

Among the stubborn nation.

Campbell MSS, II, 55.

1’Twas late at evening drinking wine,And early in the morning,He set a combat them among,And he fought it in the morning.* * * * * *2‘I have two swords by my side,They cost me both gold and money;Take ye the best, I’ll take the worst,Come man for man, I’ll try ye.’3He has foughten them all round,His equal man and marrow,While up bespake the stubborn lord,‘He’s made them sleep in Yarrow.’4He says, Go home, my daughter Ann,And tell your sister SarahTo come and lift her stubborn lord;The lad’s made him sleep in Yarrow.5As she gaed up yon high, high hill,I wot she gaed right sorrow,And in a den spied nine well armd men,In the dowie dens of Yarrow.6‘My love was dressd in the finest robes,And of the finest tartan,And now he’s a’ clad oer wi red,He’s bloody to the gartan!’7‘O hold yer tongue, daughter!’ he says,‘That would breed but sorrow;Ye shall be wed to a finer lordThan the one you’ve lost in Yarrow.’8‘Hold your tongue, father!’ she says,‘For that will breed but sorrow;A finer lord can neer be bornThan the one I’ve lost in Yarrow.9‘Take hame yer ox, and take hame yer kye,You’ve bred me muckle sorrow;I wish they’d a’ gane mad that day,That day they came to Yarrow.’10This woman being big wi child,And full of lamentation,She died into her father’s arms,Among that stubborn nation.

1’Twas late at evening drinking wine,And early in the morning,He set a combat them among,And he fought it in the morning.

’Twas late at evening drinking wine,

And early in the morning,

He set a combat them among,

And he fought it in the morning.

* * * * * *

2‘I have two swords by my side,They cost me both gold and money;Take ye the best, I’ll take the worst,Come man for man, I’ll try ye.’

‘I have two swords by my side,

They cost me both gold and money;

Take ye the best, I’ll take the worst,

Come man for man, I’ll try ye.’

3He has foughten them all round,His equal man and marrow,While up bespake the stubborn lord,‘He’s made them sleep in Yarrow.’

He has foughten them all round,

His equal man and marrow,

While up bespake the stubborn lord,

‘He’s made them sleep in Yarrow.’

4He says, Go home, my daughter Ann,And tell your sister SarahTo come and lift her stubborn lord;The lad’s made him sleep in Yarrow.

He says, Go home, my daughter Ann,

And tell your sister Sarah

To come and lift her stubborn lord;

The lad’s made him sleep in Yarrow.

5As she gaed up yon high, high hill,I wot she gaed right sorrow,And in a den spied nine well armd men,In the dowie dens of Yarrow.

As she gaed up yon high, high hill,

I wot she gaed right sorrow,

And in a den spied nine well armd men,

In the dowie dens of Yarrow.

6‘My love was dressd in the finest robes,And of the finest tartan,And now he’s a’ clad oer wi red,He’s bloody to the gartan!’

‘My love was dressd in the finest robes,

And of the finest tartan,

And now he’s a’ clad oer wi red,

He’s bloody to the gartan!’

7‘O hold yer tongue, daughter!’ he says,‘That would breed but sorrow;Ye shall be wed to a finer lordThan the one you’ve lost in Yarrow.’

‘O hold yer tongue, daughter!’ he says,

‘That would breed but sorrow;

Ye shall be wed to a finer lord

Than the one you’ve lost in Yarrow.’

8‘Hold your tongue, father!’ she says,‘For that will breed but sorrow;A finer lord can neer be bornThan the one I’ve lost in Yarrow.

‘Hold your tongue, father!’ she says,

‘For that will breed but sorrow;

A finer lord can neer be born

Than the one I’ve lost in Yarrow.

9‘Take hame yer ox, and take hame yer kye,You’ve bred me muckle sorrow;I wish they’d a’ gane mad that day,That day they came to Yarrow.’

‘Take hame yer ox, and take hame yer kye,

You’ve bred me muckle sorrow;

I wish they’d a’ gane mad that day,

That day they came to Yarrow.’

10This woman being big wi child,And full of lamentation,She died into her father’s arms,Among that stubborn nation.

This woman being big wi child,

And full of lamentation,

She died into her father’s arms,

Among that stubborn nation.

Buchan’s MSS, II, 161.

1Ten lords sat drinking at the wineIntill a morning early;There fell a combat them among,It must be fought, nae parley.2‘O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!O stay, my ain dear marrow!’‘Sweetest min, I will be thine,An dine wi you tomorrow.’3She kissd his lips, an combed his hair,As she had done before O,Gied him a brand down by his side,An he is on to Yarrow.4As he gaed oer yon dowey knowe,As he had dane before O,Nine armed men lay in a den,Upo the braes o Yarrow.5‘O came ye here to hunt or hawk,As ye hae dane before O?Or came ye here to wiel your brand,Upo the braes o Yarrow?’6‘I came nae here to hunt nor hawk,As I hae done before O;But I came here to wiel my brand,Upo the braes o Yarrow.’7Four he hurt, an five he slew,Till down it fell himsell O;There stood a fause lord him behin,Who thrust his body thorrow.8‘Gae hame, gae hame, my brother John,An tell your sister sorrow;Your mither woud come take up her son,Aff o the braes o Yarrow.’9As he gaed oer yon high, high hill,As he had dane before O,There he met his sister dear,Came rinnin fast to Yarrow.10‘I dreamd a dream last night,’ she says,‘I wish it binna sorrow;I dreamd I was puing the heather greenUpo the braes o Yarrow.’11‘I’ll read your dream, sister,’ he says,‘I’ll read it into sorrow;Ye’re bidden gae take up your luve,He’s sleeping sound on Yarrow.’12She’s torn the ribbons frae her head—They were baith thick an narrow—She’s kilted up her green claithing,An she’s awa to Yarrow.13She’s taen him in her arms twa,An gaen him kisses thorough,An wi her tears she bath’d his wounds,Upo the braes o Yarrow.14Her father, looking oer the castle-wa,Beheld his daughter’s sorrow;‘O had your tongue, daughter,’ he says,‘An lat be a’ your sorrow!I’ll wed you wi a better lordThan he that died on Yarrow.’15‘O had your tongue, father,’ she says,‘An lat be till tomorrow!A better lord there coudna beThan he that died on Yarrow.’16She kissd his lips, an combd his hair,As she had done before O,An wi a crack her head did brack,Upo the braes o Yarrow.

1Ten lords sat drinking at the wineIntill a morning early;There fell a combat them among,It must be fought, nae parley.

Ten lords sat drinking at the wine

Intill a morning early;

There fell a combat them among,

It must be fought, nae parley.

2‘O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!O stay, my ain dear marrow!’‘Sweetest min, I will be thine,An dine wi you tomorrow.’

‘O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!

O stay, my ain dear marrow!’

‘Sweetest min, I will be thine,

An dine wi you tomorrow.’

3She kissd his lips, an combed his hair,As she had done before O,Gied him a brand down by his side,An he is on to Yarrow.

She kissd his lips, an combed his hair,

As she had done before O,

Gied him a brand down by his side,

An he is on to Yarrow.

4As he gaed oer yon dowey knowe,As he had dane before O,Nine armed men lay in a den,Upo the braes o Yarrow.

As he gaed oer yon dowey knowe,

As he had dane before O,

Nine armed men lay in a den,

Upo the braes o Yarrow.

5‘O came ye here to hunt or hawk,As ye hae dane before O?Or came ye here to wiel your brand,Upo the braes o Yarrow?’

‘O came ye here to hunt or hawk,

As ye hae dane before O?

Or came ye here to wiel your brand,

Upo the braes o Yarrow?’

6‘I came nae here to hunt nor hawk,As I hae done before O;But I came here to wiel my brand,Upo the braes o Yarrow.’

‘I came nae here to hunt nor hawk,

As I hae done before O;

But I came here to wiel my brand,

Upo the braes o Yarrow.’

7Four he hurt, an five he slew,Till down it fell himsell O;There stood a fause lord him behin,Who thrust his body thorrow.

Four he hurt, an five he slew,

Till down it fell himsell O;

There stood a fause lord him behin,

Who thrust his body thorrow.

8‘Gae hame, gae hame, my brother John,An tell your sister sorrow;Your mither woud come take up her son,Aff o the braes o Yarrow.’

‘Gae hame, gae hame, my brother John,

An tell your sister sorrow;

Your mither woud come take up her son,

Aff o the braes o Yarrow.’

9As he gaed oer yon high, high hill,As he had dane before O,There he met his sister dear,Came rinnin fast to Yarrow.

As he gaed oer yon high, high hill,

As he had dane before O,

There he met his sister dear,

Came rinnin fast to Yarrow.

10‘I dreamd a dream last night,’ she says,‘I wish it binna sorrow;I dreamd I was puing the heather greenUpo the braes o Yarrow.’

‘I dreamd a dream last night,’ she says,

‘I wish it binna sorrow;

I dreamd I was puing the heather green

Upo the braes o Yarrow.’

11‘I’ll read your dream, sister,’ he says,‘I’ll read it into sorrow;Ye’re bidden gae take up your luve,He’s sleeping sound on Yarrow.’

‘I’ll read your dream, sister,’ he says,

‘I’ll read it into sorrow;

Ye’re bidden gae take up your luve,

He’s sleeping sound on Yarrow.’

12She’s torn the ribbons frae her head—They were baith thick an narrow—She’s kilted up her green claithing,An she’s awa to Yarrow.

She’s torn the ribbons frae her head—

They were baith thick an narrow—

She’s kilted up her green claithing,

An she’s awa to Yarrow.

13She’s taen him in her arms twa,An gaen him kisses thorough,An wi her tears she bath’d his wounds,Upo the braes o Yarrow.

She’s taen him in her arms twa,

An gaen him kisses thorough,

An wi her tears she bath’d his wounds,

Upo the braes o Yarrow.

14Her father, looking oer the castle-wa,Beheld his daughter’s sorrow;‘O had your tongue, daughter,’ he says,‘An lat be a’ your sorrow!I’ll wed you wi a better lordThan he that died on Yarrow.’

Her father, looking oer the castle-wa,

Beheld his daughter’s sorrow;

‘O had your tongue, daughter,’ he says,

‘An lat be a’ your sorrow!

I’ll wed you wi a better lord

Than he that died on Yarrow.’

15‘O had your tongue, father,’ she says,‘An lat be till tomorrow!A better lord there coudna beThan he that died on Yarrow.’

‘O had your tongue, father,’ she says,

‘An lat be till tomorrow!

A better lord there coudna be

Than he that died on Yarrow.’

16She kissd his lips, an combd his hair,As she had done before O,An wi a crack her head did brack,Upo the braes o Yarrow.

She kissd his lips, an combd his hair,

As she had done before O,

An wi a crack her head did brack,

Upo the braes o Yarrow.

Taken down from the singing of Marion Miller, in Threepwood, in the parish of Melrose. In Thomas Wilkie’s handwriting, “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 107, Abbotsford. Another copy in Thomas Wilkie’s MS., 1813–15, p. 57, No 67 of “Scotch Ballads,” etc.

1In Thoro town there lives a maid,I am sure she has no marrow;For she has forsaken both lords and knights,And loved a servant-lad in Galla.2Evening and morning her page he ran,Her page he ran wi sorrow,With letters bound, just frae the town,To the servant-lad in Galla.3Her father he got word of that,And he’s bred all her sorrow;He sent him forth to fight wi nine,In the dowie glens of Yarrow.4She washd his face, she combd his hair,She thought he had no marrow;Wi a thrusty rapier by his side,She sent him forth to Yarrow.5She’s taen fareweel of him that day,As she had done before, O,And she’s comd back to her bonny bower,But her love’s away to Yarrow.6He wanderd up, he wandred down,His heart was full of sorrow;There he spied nine gentlemen,Watering their steeds in Yarrow.7‘O come away, young man,’ they said,‘I’m sure ye’r no our marrow;Ye’r welcome here, young man,’ they said,‘For the bonny lass o Thorro.’8‘Nine against one, weel do ye ken,That’s no an equal marrow;Yet for my love’s sake I’ll venture my life,In the dowie glens of Yarrow.’9Five was wounded, and four was slain,Amongst them a’ he had no marrow;He’s mounted on his horse again,Cries, I have won the bonny lass of Thorro!10Up then spake her father dear—And he’s bred all her sororw—And wi a broad sword ran him through,In the dowie glens of Yarrow.11‘I have dreamd a dream, father,I doubt I have dreamd for sorrow;I dreamd I was pouing the heather greenWi my true love in Yarrow.’12‘O I will read your dream, daughter,Although it be for your sorrow;Go, and ye’ll find your love lying sound,In a heather-bush in Yarrow.’13She’s calld on her maidens then—Her heart was full of sorrow—And she’s away wi her maidens twa,To the dowie glens o Yarrow.14She wandered up, she wandred down,In the dowie glens of Yarrow,And there she spied her love lying sound,In a heather-bush in Yarrow.15She’s washd him in the clear well-strand,She’s dry’d him wi the holland,And aye she sighd, and said, Alass!For my love I had him chosen.16His hair it was three quarters long,Three quarters long and yellow;And she’s rapt it round her middle small,And brought it home to Thorro.17‘O hold your tongue, my daughter dear,And talk no more of sorrow;I’ll soon wed you on a better matchThan your servant-lad in Galla.’18‘O you may wed a’ your seven sons,I wish you may wed them in sorrow:O you may wed a’ your seven sons,For you’ll neer wed the bonny lass of Thoro.’19This lady being big wi child,And her heart was full wi sorrow,She died between her father’s arms,In the bonny house of Thorro.

1In Thoro town there lives a maid,I am sure she has no marrow;For she has forsaken both lords and knights,And loved a servant-lad in Galla.

In Thoro town there lives a maid,

I am sure she has no marrow;

For she has forsaken both lords and knights,

And loved a servant-lad in Galla.

2Evening and morning her page he ran,Her page he ran wi sorrow,With letters bound, just frae the town,To the servant-lad in Galla.

Evening and morning her page he ran,

Her page he ran wi sorrow,

With letters bound, just frae the town,

To the servant-lad in Galla.

3Her father he got word of that,And he’s bred all her sorrow;He sent him forth to fight wi nine,In the dowie glens of Yarrow.

Her father he got word of that,

And he’s bred all her sorrow;

He sent him forth to fight wi nine,

In the dowie glens of Yarrow.

4She washd his face, she combd his hair,She thought he had no marrow;Wi a thrusty rapier by his side,She sent him forth to Yarrow.

She washd his face, she combd his hair,

She thought he had no marrow;

Wi a thrusty rapier by his side,

She sent him forth to Yarrow.

5She’s taen fareweel of him that day,As she had done before, O,And she’s comd back to her bonny bower,But her love’s away to Yarrow.

She’s taen fareweel of him that day,

As she had done before, O,

And she’s comd back to her bonny bower,

But her love’s away to Yarrow.

6He wanderd up, he wandred down,His heart was full of sorrow;There he spied nine gentlemen,Watering their steeds in Yarrow.

He wanderd up, he wandred down,

His heart was full of sorrow;

There he spied nine gentlemen,

Watering their steeds in Yarrow.

7‘O come away, young man,’ they said,‘I’m sure ye’r no our marrow;Ye’r welcome here, young man,’ they said,‘For the bonny lass o Thorro.’

‘O come away, young man,’ they said,

‘I’m sure ye’r no our marrow;

Ye’r welcome here, young man,’ they said,

‘For the bonny lass o Thorro.’

8‘Nine against one, weel do ye ken,That’s no an equal marrow;Yet for my love’s sake I’ll venture my life,In the dowie glens of Yarrow.’

‘Nine against one, weel do ye ken,

That’s no an equal marrow;

Yet for my love’s sake I’ll venture my life,

In the dowie glens of Yarrow.’

9Five was wounded, and four was slain,Amongst them a’ he had no marrow;He’s mounted on his horse again,Cries, I have won the bonny lass of Thorro!

Five was wounded, and four was slain,

Amongst them a’ he had no marrow;

He’s mounted on his horse again,

Cries, I have won the bonny lass of Thorro!

10Up then spake her father dear—And he’s bred all her sororw—And wi a broad sword ran him through,In the dowie glens of Yarrow.

Up then spake her father dear—

And he’s bred all her sororw—

And wi a broad sword ran him through,

In the dowie glens of Yarrow.

11‘I have dreamd a dream, father,I doubt I have dreamd for sorrow;I dreamd I was pouing the heather greenWi my true love in Yarrow.’

‘I have dreamd a dream, father,

I doubt I have dreamd for sorrow;

I dreamd I was pouing the heather green

Wi my true love in Yarrow.’

12‘O I will read your dream, daughter,Although it be for your sorrow;Go, and ye’ll find your love lying sound,In a heather-bush in Yarrow.’

‘O I will read your dream, daughter,

Although it be for your sorrow;

Go, and ye’ll find your love lying sound,

In a heather-bush in Yarrow.’

13She’s calld on her maidens then—Her heart was full of sorrow—And she’s away wi her maidens twa,To the dowie glens o Yarrow.

She’s calld on her maidens then—

Her heart was full of sorrow—

And she’s away wi her maidens twa,

To the dowie glens o Yarrow.

14She wandered up, she wandred down,In the dowie glens of Yarrow,And there she spied her love lying sound,In a heather-bush in Yarrow.

She wandered up, she wandred down,

In the dowie glens of Yarrow,

And there she spied her love lying sound,

In a heather-bush in Yarrow.

15She’s washd him in the clear well-strand,She’s dry’d him wi the holland,And aye she sighd, and said, Alass!For my love I had him chosen.

She’s washd him in the clear well-strand,

She’s dry’d him wi the holland,

And aye she sighd, and said, Alass!

For my love I had him chosen.

16His hair it was three quarters long,Three quarters long and yellow;And she’s rapt it round her middle small,And brought it home to Thorro.

His hair it was three quarters long,

Three quarters long and yellow;

And she’s rapt it round her middle small,

And brought it home to Thorro.

17‘O hold your tongue, my daughter dear,And talk no more of sorrow;I’ll soon wed you on a better matchThan your servant-lad in Galla.’

‘O hold your tongue, my daughter dear,

And talk no more of sorrow;

I’ll soon wed you on a better match

Than your servant-lad in Galla.’

18‘O you may wed a’ your seven sons,I wish you may wed them in sorrow:O you may wed a’ your seven sons,For you’ll neer wed the bonny lass of Thoro.’

‘O you may wed a’ your seven sons,

I wish you may wed them in sorrow:

O you may wed a’ your seven sons,

For you’ll neer wed the bonny lass of Thoro.’

19This lady being big wi child,And her heart was full wi sorrow,She died between her father’s arms,In the bonny house of Thorro.

This lady being big wi child,

And her heart was full wi sorrow,

She died between her father’s arms,

In the bonny house of Thorro.

Campbell MS., I, 8; “communicated by Janet Ormstone, Innerleithen, who sung it to a beautiful old air.”

1There lived a lady in the south,She thought she had not her marrow;And she was courted by nine gentlemen,In the dowie dens in Yarrow.2All their offers they proved in vain,She thought that they were not her marrow;She has forsaken a’ the nine,Loved a servant-lad on Galla.3Up bespoke her father dear,Who bred them a’ this sorrow;You must go far, far to fight the nine,In the dowie den in Yarrow.’4She washd his face, she combd his hair,Her heart being full of sorrow,With a rusted rapier down by his side,To fight his foes in Yarrow.5He’s ridden east, he’s ridden west,He’s ridden into Yarrow,And there he espied all the nine,Watering their steeds in Yarrow.6‘Ye’r welcome, welcome, young man,’ they said,‘But I think ye are not our marrow;’‘But I’ll fight ye all out, one by one,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.’7Four he has wounded, five he has slain,He left them a’ sound in Yarrow;He turned him round with rejoyfull looks,Says, I wone the lady of Thoro.8Up then spoke her father dear,Who bred them a’ this sorrow;He’s taen out a broadsword and run him through,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.9‘I dreamed a dream last night,’ she says,‘I fear it is for sorrow;I dreamd I was pulling the heather greenWith my true love in Yarrow.’10‘I’ll read your dream now, daughter dear,I fear it is for sorrow;You will find your true-love lying sound,In a heather bush in Yarrow.’11She’s ridden east, she’s ridden west,She’s ridden into Yarrow;There she found her true lover sound,In a heather bush in Yarrow.12His hair it was five quarters lang,It was baith lang and yellow;She’s tied it to her horse’s mane,She’s trailed him home from Yarrow.13‘O woe be to you, father dear!You’ve bred me all this sorrow;’So she died between her father’s arms,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.

1There lived a lady in the south,She thought she had not her marrow;And she was courted by nine gentlemen,In the dowie dens in Yarrow.

There lived a lady in the south,

She thought she had not her marrow;

And she was courted by nine gentlemen,

In the dowie dens in Yarrow.

2All their offers they proved in vain,She thought that they were not her marrow;She has forsaken a’ the nine,Loved a servant-lad on Galla.

All their offers they proved in vain,

She thought that they were not her marrow;

She has forsaken a’ the nine,

Loved a servant-lad on Galla.

3Up bespoke her father dear,Who bred them a’ this sorrow;You must go far, far to fight the nine,In the dowie den in Yarrow.’

Up bespoke her father dear,

Who bred them a’ this sorrow;

You must go far, far to fight the nine,

In the dowie den in Yarrow.’

4She washd his face, she combd his hair,Her heart being full of sorrow,With a rusted rapier down by his side,To fight his foes in Yarrow.

She washd his face, she combd his hair,

Her heart being full of sorrow,

With a rusted rapier down by his side,

To fight his foes in Yarrow.

5He’s ridden east, he’s ridden west,He’s ridden into Yarrow,And there he espied all the nine,Watering their steeds in Yarrow.

He’s ridden east, he’s ridden west,

He’s ridden into Yarrow,

And there he espied all the nine,

Watering their steeds in Yarrow.

6‘Ye’r welcome, welcome, young man,’ they said,‘But I think ye are not our marrow;’‘But I’ll fight ye all out, one by one,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.’

‘Ye’r welcome, welcome, young man,’ they said,

‘But I think ye are not our marrow;’

‘But I’ll fight ye all out, one by one,

In the dowie dens o Yarrow.’

7Four he has wounded, five he has slain,He left them a’ sound in Yarrow;He turned him round with rejoyfull looks,Says, I wone the lady of Thoro.

Four he has wounded, five he has slain,

He left them a’ sound in Yarrow;

He turned him round with rejoyfull looks,

Says, I wone the lady of Thoro.

8Up then spoke her father dear,Who bred them a’ this sorrow;He’s taen out a broadsword and run him through,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.

Up then spoke her father dear,

Who bred them a’ this sorrow;

He’s taen out a broadsword and run him through,

In the dowie dens o Yarrow.

9‘I dreamed a dream last night,’ she says,‘I fear it is for sorrow;I dreamd I was pulling the heather greenWith my true love in Yarrow.’

‘I dreamed a dream last night,’ she says,

‘I fear it is for sorrow;

I dreamd I was pulling the heather green

With my true love in Yarrow.’

10‘I’ll read your dream now, daughter dear,I fear it is for sorrow;You will find your true-love lying sound,In a heather bush in Yarrow.’

‘I’ll read your dream now, daughter dear,

I fear it is for sorrow;

You will find your true-love lying sound,

In a heather bush in Yarrow.’

11She’s ridden east, she’s ridden west,She’s ridden into Yarrow;There she found her true lover sound,In a heather bush in Yarrow.

She’s ridden east, she’s ridden west,

She’s ridden into Yarrow;

There she found her true lover sound,

In a heather bush in Yarrow.

12His hair it was five quarters lang,It was baith lang and yellow;She’s tied it to her horse’s mane,She’s trailed him home from Yarrow.

His hair it was five quarters lang,

It was baith lang and yellow;

She’s tied it to her horse’s mane,

She’s trailed him home from Yarrow.

13‘O woe be to you, father dear!You’ve bred me all this sorrow;’So she died between her father’s arms,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.

‘O woe be to you, father dear!

You’ve bred me all this sorrow;’

So she died between her father’s arms,

In the dowie dens o Yarrow.

Blackwood’s Magazine, CXLVII, 741, June, 1890; communicated by Professor John Veitch, as received from William Welsh, a Peeblesshire cottar and poet, born 1799, whose mother used to recite the ballad, and whose grandmother had a copy in her father’s handwriting.

1At Dryhope lived a lady fair,The fairest flower in Yarrow,And she refused nine noble menFor a servan lad in Gala.2Her father said that he should fightThe nine lords all to-morrow,And he that should the victor beWould get the Rose of Yarrow.3Quoth he, You’re nine, an I’m but ane,And in that there’s no much marrow;Yet I shall fecht ye, man for man,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.4She kissed his lips, and combed his hair,As oft she’d done before, O,An set him on her milk-white steed,Which bore him on to Yarrow.5When he got oer yon high, high hill,An down the dens o Yarrow,There did he see the nine lords all,But there was not one his marrow.6‘Now here ye’re nine, an I’m but ane,But yet I am not sorrow;For here I’ll fecht ye, man for man,For my true love in Yarrow.’7Then he wheeld round, and fought so fierceTill the seventh fell in Yarrow,When her brother sprang from a bush behind,And ran his body thorough.8He never spoke more words than these,An they were words o sorrow;‘Ye may tell my true love, if ye please,That I’m sleepin sound in Yarrow.’9They’ve taen the young man by the heelsAnd trailed him like a harrow,And then they flung the comely youthIn a whirlpool o Yarrow.10The lady said, I dreamed yestreen—I fear it bodes some sorrow—That I was pu’in the heather greenOn the scroggy braes o Yarrow.’11Her brother said, I’ll read your dream,But it should cause nae sorrow;Ye may go seek your lover hame,For he’s sleepin sound in Yarrow.12Then she rode oer yon gloomy height,An her heart was fu o sorrow,But only saw the clud o night,Or heard the roar o Yarrow.13But she wandered east, so did she wast,And searched the forest thorough,Until she spied her ain true love,Lyin deeply drowned in Yarrow.14His hair it was five quarters lang,Its colour was the yellow;She twined it round her lily hand,And drew him out o Yarrow.15She kissed his lips, and combed his head,As oft she’d done before, O;She laid him oer her milk-white steed,An bore him home from Yarrow.16She washed his wounds in yon well-strand,And dried him wi the hollan,And aye she sighed, and said, Alas!For my love I had him chosen.17‘Go hold your tongue,’ her father said,‘There’s little cause for sorrow;I’ll wed ye on a better ladThan ye hae lost in Yarrow.’18‘Haud your ain tongue, my faither dear,I canna help my sorrow;A fairer flower neer sprang in MayThan I hae lost in Yarrow.19‘I meant to make my bed fu wide,But you may make it narrow;For now I’ve nane to be my guideBut a deid man drowned in Yarrow.’20An aye she screighed, and cried Alas!Till her heart did break wi sorrow,An sank into her faither’s arms,Mang the dowie dens o Yarrow.

1At Dryhope lived a lady fair,The fairest flower in Yarrow,And she refused nine noble menFor a servan lad in Gala.

At Dryhope lived a lady fair,

The fairest flower in Yarrow,

And she refused nine noble men

For a servan lad in Gala.

2Her father said that he should fightThe nine lords all to-morrow,And he that should the victor beWould get the Rose of Yarrow.

Her father said that he should fight

The nine lords all to-morrow,

And he that should the victor be

Would get the Rose of Yarrow.

3Quoth he, You’re nine, an I’m but ane,And in that there’s no much marrow;Yet I shall fecht ye, man for man,In the dowie dens o Yarrow.

Quoth he, You’re nine, an I’m but ane,

And in that there’s no much marrow;

Yet I shall fecht ye, man for man,

In the dowie dens o Yarrow.

4She kissed his lips, and combed his hair,As oft she’d done before, O,An set him on her milk-white steed,Which bore him on to Yarrow.

She kissed his lips, and combed his hair,

As oft she’d done before, O,

An set him on her milk-white steed,

Which bore him on to Yarrow.

5When he got oer yon high, high hill,An down the dens o Yarrow,There did he see the nine lords all,But there was not one his marrow.

When he got oer yon high, high hill,

An down the dens o Yarrow,

There did he see the nine lords all,

But there was not one his marrow.

6‘Now here ye’re nine, an I’m but ane,But yet I am not sorrow;For here I’ll fecht ye, man for man,For my true love in Yarrow.’

‘Now here ye’re nine, an I’m but ane,

But yet I am not sorrow;

For here I’ll fecht ye, man for man,

For my true love in Yarrow.’

7Then he wheeld round, and fought so fierceTill the seventh fell in Yarrow,When her brother sprang from a bush behind,And ran his body thorough.

Then he wheeld round, and fought so fierce

Till the seventh fell in Yarrow,

When her brother sprang from a bush behind,

And ran his body thorough.

8He never spoke more words than these,An they were words o sorrow;‘Ye may tell my true love, if ye please,That I’m sleepin sound in Yarrow.’

He never spoke more words than these,

An they were words o sorrow;

‘Ye may tell my true love, if ye please,

That I’m sleepin sound in Yarrow.’

9They’ve taen the young man by the heelsAnd trailed him like a harrow,And then they flung the comely youthIn a whirlpool o Yarrow.

They’ve taen the young man by the heels

And trailed him like a harrow,

And then they flung the comely youth

In a whirlpool o Yarrow.

10The lady said, I dreamed yestreen—I fear it bodes some sorrow—That I was pu’in the heather greenOn the scroggy braes o Yarrow.’

The lady said, I dreamed yestreen—

I fear it bodes some sorrow—

That I was pu’in the heather green

On the scroggy braes o Yarrow.’

11Her brother said, I’ll read your dream,But it should cause nae sorrow;Ye may go seek your lover hame,For he’s sleepin sound in Yarrow.

Her brother said, I’ll read your dream,

But it should cause nae sorrow;

Ye may go seek your lover hame,

For he’s sleepin sound in Yarrow.

12Then she rode oer yon gloomy height,An her heart was fu o sorrow,But only saw the clud o night,Or heard the roar o Yarrow.

Then she rode oer yon gloomy height,

An her heart was fu o sorrow,

But only saw the clud o night,

Or heard the roar o Yarrow.

13But she wandered east, so did she wast,And searched the forest thorough,Until she spied her ain true love,Lyin deeply drowned in Yarrow.

But she wandered east, so did she wast,

And searched the forest thorough,

Until she spied her ain true love,

Lyin deeply drowned in Yarrow.

14His hair it was five quarters lang,Its colour was the yellow;She twined it round her lily hand,And drew him out o Yarrow.

His hair it was five quarters lang,

Its colour was the yellow;

She twined it round her lily hand,

And drew him out o Yarrow.

15She kissed his lips, and combed his head,As oft she’d done before, O;She laid him oer her milk-white steed,An bore him home from Yarrow.

She kissed his lips, and combed his head,

As oft she’d done before, O;

She laid him oer her milk-white steed,

An bore him home from Yarrow.

16She washed his wounds in yon well-strand,And dried him wi the hollan,And aye she sighed, and said, Alas!For my love I had him chosen.

She washed his wounds in yon well-strand,

And dried him wi the hollan,

And aye she sighed, and said, Alas!

For my love I had him chosen.

17‘Go hold your tongue,’ her father said,‘There’s little cause for sorrow;I’ll wed ye on a better ladThan ye hae lost in Yarrow.’

‘Go hold your tongue,’ her father said,

‘There’s little cause for sorrow;

I’ll wed ye on a better lad

Than ye hae lost in Yarrow.’

18‘Haud your ain tongue, my faither dear,I canna help my sorrow;A fairer flower neer sprang in MayThan I hae lost in Yarrow.

‘Haud your ain tongue, my faither dear,

I canna help my sorrow;

A fairer flower neer sprang in May

Than I hae lost in Yarrow.

19‘I meant to make my bed fu wide,But you may make it narrow;For now I’ve nane to be my guideBut a deid man drowned in Yarrow.’

‘I meant to make my bed fu wide,

But you may make it narrow;

For now I’ve nane to be my guide

But a deid man drowned in Yarrow.’

20An aye she screighed, and cried Alas!Till her heart did break wi sorrow,An sank into her faither’s arms,Mang the dowie dens o Yarrow.

An aye she screighed, and cried Alas!

Till her heart did break wi sorrow,

An sank into her faither’s arms,

Mang the dowie dens o Yarrow.

In the handwriting of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd (later thanE a). “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 11 a, Abbotsford.

1O ay he sat, and ay he drank,An ay he counted the laying,An ay he drank to the lass’es healthWas to meet him in the dawning.2Up he gaes on yon high, high hill,An a wat he gaes wi sorrow,An in a den he spy’d nine well armd men,On the dowie banks of Yarrow.3‘Oh woe be to young women’s wit!For the’ve bred to me meikle sorrow;She promisd for to meet me here,An she’s sent nine men to slay me.4‘But there is two swords in my scabba[rd],They cost me gold and money;Tak ye the best, and I’ll tak the wa[rst],An come man for man, I’ll not fly yo[u].’5Ay he stood, an ay he fought,Till it was near the dawning,Then up an rose her brother James,An has slain him in the dawning.6‘O the last night I dreamd a dream,God keep us a’ frae sorrow!I dreamd I was powing the heather greenIn the dowie banks of Yarrow.’7Up she gaes on yon high, high hill,An a wat she gaes with sorrow,An in a den she spy’d nine slain men,In the dowie banks of Yarrow.8‘O the last time I saw my loveHe was a’ clad oer in tartan;But now he’s a’ clad oer in red,An he’s a’ blood to the gartin.’9She kist his mouth, an she’s combd his hair,As she had done before, O,She drank the blood that from him ran,In the dowie banks of Yarrow.10‘O hold your tongue now, daughter,’ he says,‘An breed to me no more sorrow;For I’ll wed you on a better matchThan you have lost on Yarrow.’11‘Hold your tongue now, father,’ she says,‘An breed to me no more sorrow;For a better rose will never springThan I have lost on Yarrow.’

1O ay he sat, and ay he drank,An ay he counted the laying,An ay he drank to the lass’es healthWas to meet him in the dawning.

O ay he sat, and ay he drank,

An ay he counted the laying,

An ay he drank to the lass’es health

Was to meet him in the dawning.

2Up he gaes on yon high, high hill,An a wat he gaes wi sorrow,An in a den he spy’d nine well armd men,On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

Up he gaes on yon high, high hill,

An a wat he gaes wi sorrow,

An in a den he spy’d nine well armd men,

On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

3‘Oh woe be to young women’s wit!For the’ve bred to me meikle sorrow;She promisd for to meet me here,An she’s sent nine men to slay me.

‘Oh woe be to young women’s wit!

For the’ve bred to me meikle sorrow;

She promisd for to meet me here,

An she’s sent nine men to slay me.

4‘But there is two swords in my scabba[rd],They cost me gold and money;Tak ye the best, and I’ll tak the wa[rst],An come man for man, I’ll not fly yo[u].’

‘But there is two swords in my scabba[rd],

They cost me gold and money;

Tak ye the best, and I’ll tak the wa[rst],

An come man for man, I’ll not fly yo[u].’

5Ay he stood, an ay he fought,Till it was near the dawning,Then up an rose her brother James,An has slain him in the dawning.

Ay he stood, an ay he fought,

Till it was near the dawning,

Then up an rose her brother James,

An has slain him in the dawning.

6‘O the last night I dreamd a dream,God keep us a’ frae sorrow!I dreamd I was powing the heather greenIn the dowie banks of Yarrow.’

‘O the last night I dreamd a dream,

God keep us a’ frae sorrow!

I dreamd I was powing the heather green

In the dowie banks of Yarrow.’

7Up she gaes on yon high, high hill,An a wat she gaes with sorrow,An in a den she spy’d nine slain men,In the dowie banks of Yarrow.

Up she gaes on yon high, high hill,

An a wat she gaes with sorrow,

An in a den she spy’d nine slain men,

In the dowie banks of Yarrow.

8‘O the last time I saw my loveHe was a’ clad oer in tartan;But now he’s a’ clad oer in red,An he’s a’ blood to the gartin.’

‘O the last time I saw my love

He was a’ clad oer in tartan;

But now he’s a’ clad oer in red,

An he’s a’ blood to the gartin.’

9She kist his mouth, an she’s combd his hair,As she had done before, O,She drank the blood that from him ran,In the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kist his mouth, an she’s combd his hair,

As she had done before, O,

She drank the blood that from him ran,

In the dowie banks of Yarrow.

10‘O hold your tongue now, daughter,’ he says,‘An breed to me no more sorrow;For I’ll wed you on a better matchThan you have lost on Yarrow.’

‘O hold your tongue now, daughter,’ he says,

‘An breed to me no more sorrow;

For I’ll wed you on a better match

Than you have lost on Yarrow.’

11‘Hold your tongue now, father,’ she says,‘An breed to me no more sorrow;For a better rose will never springThan I have lost on Yarrow.’

‘Hold your tongue now, father,’ she says,

‘An breed to me no more sorrow;

For a better rose will never spring

Than I have lost on Yarrow.’

Communicated to Scott by Mrs Christiana Greenwood, London, May 27, 1806 (Letters, I, No 189); presumably learned by her at Longnewton, near Jedburgh. “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 84, Abbotsford.

1The cock did craw, and the day did daw,And the moon shone fair and clearly;Sir James gade out o his castle-yett,To meet fair Anne, his dearie.2‘O come down, come down, my true-love Anne;And speak but ae word to me!But ae kiss o your bonny mouthWad yield much comfort to me.’3‘O how can I come down?’ she says,‘Or how can I win to thee?When there is nane that I can trustWad safe convey me to thee.4‘But gang doun, gang doun, to yon hostess’ house,And there take on yere lawing,And, as I’m a woman kind and true,I’ll meet you at the dawing.’5Then he gade thro the good green-wood,And oer the moor sae eerie,And lang he stayd, and sair he sighd,But he never mair saw his dearie.6And ay he sat, and lang he drank,And ay he counted his lawing,Till fifteen men did him surround,To slay him or the dawing.7‘O she promisd ance to meet me this night,But I find she has deceived me;She promisd ance to meet me this night,And she’s sent fifteen to slay me!8‘There are twa swords in my scabard,They cost me gowd and money;Take ye the best, and gie me the warst,And man for man I’ll try ye.’9Then they fought on, and on they fought,Till maist o them were fallen,When her brother John cam him behind,And slew him at the dawing.10Then he’s away to his sister Anne,To the chamber where’s she’s lying:‘Come doun, come doun, my sister Anne,And take up your true-love Jamie!11‘Come doun, come doun now, sister Anne!For he’s sleeping in yon logie;Sound, sound he sleeps, nae mair to wake,And nae mair need ye be vogie.’12‘I dreamd a drearie dream yestreen,Gin it be true, it will prove my sorrow;I dreamd my luive had lost his life,Within the yetts o Gowrie.13‘O wae betide ye, lassies o GowrieFor ye hae sleepit soundly;Gin ye had keepit your yetts shut,Ye might hae sav’d the life o my Jamie.14‘Yestreen my luive had a suit o claiseWere o the finest tartan;But lang or ere the day did dawThey war a’ red bluid to the garten.15‘Yestreen my luive had a suit o claiseWere o the apple reamin;But lang or ere the day did dawThe red bluid had them streamin.’16In yon fair ha, where the winds did blaw,When the moon shone fair and clearly,She’s thrawn her green skirt oer her head,And ay she cried out mercy.

1The cock did craw, and the day did daw,And the moon shone fair and clearly;Sir James gade out o his castle-yett,To meet fair Anne, his dearie.

The cock did craw, and the day did daw,

And the moon shone fair and clearly;

Sir James gade out o his castle-yett,

To meet fair Anne, his dearie.

2‘O come down, come down, my true-love Anne;And speak but ae word to me!But ae kiss o your bonny mouthWad yield much comfort to me.’

‘O come down, come down, my true-love Anne;

And speak but ae word to me!

But ae kiss o your bonny mouth

Wad yield much comfort to me.’

3‘O how can I come down?’ she says,‘Or how can I win to thee?When there is nane that I can trustWad safe convey me to thee.

‘O how can I come down?’ she says,

‘Or how can I win to thee?

When there is nane that I can trust

Wad safe convey me to thee.

4‘But gang doun, gang doun, to yon hostess’ house,And there take on yere lawing,And, as I’m a woman kind and true,I’ll meet you at the dawing.’

‘But gang doun, gang doun, to yon hostess’ house,

And there take on yere lawing,

And, as I’m a woman kind and true,

I’ll meet you at the dawing.’

5Then he gade thro the good green-wood,And oer the moor sae eerie,And lang he stayd, and sair he sighd,But he never mair saw his dearie.

Then he gade thro the good green-wood,

And oer the moor sae eerie,

And lang he stayd, and sair he sighd,

But he never mair saw his dearie.

6And ay he sat, and lang he drank,And ay he counted his lawing,Till fifteen men did him surround,To slay him or the dawing.

And ay he sat, and lang he drank,

And ay he counted his lawing,

Till fifteen men did him surround,

To slay him or the dawing.

7‘O she promisd ance to meet me this night,But I find she has deceived me;She promisd ance to meet me this night,And she’s sent fifteen to slay me!

‘O she promisd ance to meet me this night,

But I find she has deceived me;

She promisd ance to meet me this night,

And she’s sent fifteen to slay me!

8‘There are twa swords in my scabard,They cost me gowd and money;Take ye the best, and gie me the warst,And man for man I’ll try ye.’

‘There are twa swords in my scabard,

They cost me gowd and money;

Take ye the best, and gie me the warst,

And man for man I’ll try ye.’

9Then they fought on, and on they fought,Till maist o them were fallen,When her brother John cam him behind,And slew him at the dawing.

Then they fought on, and on they fought,

Till maist o them were fallen,

When her brother John cam him behind,

And slew him at the dawing.

10Then he’s away to his sister Anne,To the chamber where’s she’s lying:‘Come doun, come doun, my sister Anne,And take up your true-love Jamie!

Then he’s away to his sister Anne,

To the chamber where’s she’s lying:

‘Come doun, come doun, my sister Anne,

And take up your true-love Jamie!

11‘Come doun, come doun now, sister Anne!For he’s sleeping in yon logie;Sound, sound he sleeps, nae mair to wake,And nae mair need ye be vogie.’

‘Come doun, come doun now, sister Anne!

For he’s sleeping in yon logie;

Sound, sound he sleeps, nae mair to wake,

And nae mair need ye be vogie.’

12‘I dreamd a drearie dream yestreen,Gin it be true, it will prove my sorrow;I dreamd my luive had lost his life,Within the yetts o Gowrie.

‘I dreamd a drearie dream yestreen,

Gin it be true, it will prove my sorrow;

I dreamd my luive had lost his life,

Within the yetts o Gowrie.

13‘O wae betide ye, lassies o GowrieFor ye hae sleepit soundly;Gin ye had keepit your yetts shut,Ye might hae sav’d the life o my Jamie.

‘O wae betide ye, lassies o Gowrie

For ye hae sleepit soundly;

Gin ye had keepit your yetts shut,

Ye might hae sav’d the life o my Jamie.

14‘Yestreen my luive had a suit o claiseWere o the finest tartan;But lang or ere the day did dawThey war a’ red bluid to the garten.

‘Yestreen my luive had a suit o claise

Were o the finest tartan;

But lang or ere the day did daw

They war a’ red bluid to the garten.

15‘Yestreen my luive had a suit o claiseWere o the apple reamin;But lang or ere the day did dawThe red bluid had them streamin.’

‘Yestreen my luive had a suit o claise

Were o the apple reamin;

But lang or ere the day did daw

The red bluid had them streamin.’

16In yon fair ha, where the winds did blaw,When the moon shone fair and clearly,She’s thrawn her green skirt oer her head,And ay she cried out mercy.

In yon fair ha, where the winds did blaw,

When the moon shone fair and clearly,

She’s thrawn her green skirt oer her head,

And ay she cried out mercy.

Herd’s MSS, I, 35, II, 181.

1‘I dreamd a dreary dream last night,God keep us a’ frae sorrow!I dreamd I pu’d the birk sae greenWi my true luve on Yarrow.’2‘I’ll read your dream, my sister dear,I’ll tell you a’ your sorrow;You pu’d the birk wi your true luve,He’s killd, he’s killd on Yarrow!’3‘O gentle wind, that blaweth southTo where my love repaireth,Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,And tell me how he fareth!4‘But oer yon glen run armed men,Have wrought me dule and sorrow;They’ve slain, they’ve slain the comliest swain,He bleeding lies on Yarrow.’

1‘I dreamd a dreary dream last night,God keep us a’ frae sorrow!I dreamd I pu’d the birk sae greenWi my true luve on Yarrow.’

‘I dreamd a dreary dream last night,

God keep us a’ frae sorrow!

I dreamd I pu’d the birk sae green

Wi my true luve on Yarrow.’

2‘I’ll read your dream, my sister dear,I’ll tell you a’ your sorrow;You pu’d the birk wi your true luve,He’s killd, he’s killd on Yarrow!’

‘I’ll read your dream, my sister dear,

I’ll tell you a’ your sorrow;

You pu’d the birk wi your true luve,

He’s killd, he’s killd on Yarrow!’

3‘O gentle wind, that blaweth southTo where my love repaireth,Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,And tell me how he fareth!

‘O gentle wind, that blaweth south

To where my love repaireth,

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,

And tell me how he fareth!

4‘But oer yon glen run armed men,Have wrought me dule and sorrow;They’ve slain, they’ve slain the comliest swain,He bleeding lies on Yarrow.’

‘But oer yon glen run armed men,

Have wrought me dule and sorrow;

They’ve slain, they’ve slain the comliest swain,

He bleeding lies on Yarrow.’

Cromek’s Select Scotish Songs, 1810, II, 196, the seventh and tenth stanzas; sent by Burns to William Tytler in 1790.

1‘Get up, get up now, sister Ann,I fear we’ve wrought you sorrow;Get up, ye’ll find your true love slain,Among the banks of Yarrow.’2‘I made my love a suit of clothes,I clad him all in tartan,But ere the morning sun arose,He was a’ bluid to the gartan.’

1‘Get up, get up now, sister Ann,I fear we’ve wrought you sorrow;Get up, ye’ll find your true love slain,Among the banks of Yarrow.’

‘Get up, get up now, sister Ann,

I fear we’ve wrought you sorrow;

Get up, ye’ll find your true love slain,

Among the banks of Yarrow.’

2‘I made my love a suit of clothes,I clad him all in tartan,But ere the morning sun arose,He was a’ bluid to the gartan.’

‘I made my love a suit of clothes,

I clad him all in tartan,

But ere the morning sun arose,

He was a’ bluid to the gartan.’

The words in ’ ’ are so distinguished in the MS., and are of course emendations.‘Than,’ 91,is obviously an insertion; ‘Now Douglas,’ 111,is entirely unauthorized, and, as before said, is taken from Hamilton’s ballad; ‘wiped,’ 143,is probably substituted fordrank,cf.123,etc.;and‘her,’ 153,is very likely to have beenhis.

121.Var.O father dear, I pray forbear.

71. He.

73. SHe,originallyHe.

91,3. aincameis not closed;possiblycume.A few changes were, as usual, made by Motherwell in printing.

14. Whais blotted.

E. b.

A minute collation of a copy constructed by Scott would be useless and deceptive, and therefore only the larger variations will be noted.

12. And ere they paid the lawing.

51. As he gaed up the Tennies bank.

61,2.O come ye here to part your land,The bonnie forest thorough.71,2.I come not here to part my land,And neither to beg nor borrow.

61,2.O come ye here to part your land,The bonnie forest thorough.

61,2.

O come ye here to part your land,

The bonnie forest thorough.

71,2.I come not here to part my land,And neither to beg nor borrow.

71,2.

I come not here to part my land,

And neither to beg nor borrow.

After 7:

If I see all, ye’re nine to ane, (Cf.F41.)And that’s an unequal marrow; (Cf.G32.)Yet will I fight while lasts my brand, (Cf.F43,G33.)On the bonny banks of Yarrow. (Cf.E a64.)

If I see all, ye’re nine to ane, (Cf.F41.)

And that’s an unequal marrow; (Cf.G32.)

Yet will I fight while lasts my brand, (Cf.F43,G33.)

On the bonny banks of Yarrow. (Cf.E a64.)

104. Wi my true love, on Yarrow. (Cf.O14.)

After 10, two stanzas which are nearlyO3, 4.

113. ten slain men. (Cf.F93.)

122,3.She searchd his wounds all thorough;She kissd them till her lips grew red.

122,3.

She searchd his wounds all thorough;

She kissd them till her lips grew red.

132. For a’ this breeds but sorrow. (Cf.F132.)

142. Ye mind me but of sorrow.

143,4.A fairer rose did never bloomThan now lies croppd on Yarrow.

143,4.

A fairer rose did never bloom

Than now lies croppd on Yarrow.

(Cf.M113,4.)

Scott gives in a note, III, 79, 1803, “the last stanza, as (since?) it occurs in most copies.” (Cf.F,G,H.)

That lady, being big with child,And full of consternation,She swooned in her father’s arms,Amidst that stubborn nation.

That lady, being big with child,

And full of consternation,

She swooned in her father’s arms,

Amidst that stubborn nation.

23. browns,and so againG13.A derivation frombruny,mail-coat, is scarcely to be thought of.Apparently a corruption ofbrand, (cf.E43);butbrandoccurs inF43,G33.

12. before him. 13. and his noble brouns.

103. shalt.

3, 4. The stubborn lordin 33is the wife’s father, and the race, or family, isstubbornaccording to 10.Stubborn folk think opposers stubborn, no doubt; still the epithet is unlikely in 43.LadI suppose to refer to the man who in the other versions stabs from behind.

53. dernforden.Thenine menmust be dead, as inE11,F9,G6.Thewell armdbelongs to an earlier (lost) stanza, corresponding toE5,F3,G2.

I.Variations in Buchan’s printed copy:

11. Ten lords. The lordsin my copy of the MS., but, as Dixon has alsoTen,I presumeTheto be an error. Otherwise I should have readTh[re]e,as inB,C,D.

42. As aft he’d.

74. thrust him thro body and mell, O.

83. mother to. 144. ower his.

The first copy seems to be the earlier, and that which was transcribed into the MS. to have been slightly edited, but the variations are few, mostly spellings. The first copy has no title. The title of the second is altered fromThe Braes of YarrowtoThe Dowie Glens of Yarrow.At the end of the second is this note: This song I took down from Marion Miller in Threepwood, in the Parish of Melrose. The air was plaintive and extremely wild. I consider this song more valuable on account that Mern had never sung it to any but myself for fifteen years, and she had almost said, or rather promised, that she would never sing it to another.

Thoro, 11,etc.,is speltThorough, Thorrough,in the first copy, Thorough, Thorrough, Thorro, Thoro,in the second;but in the latterughis struck out wherever it occurs.

43. thrusty,in both;i.e., trusty.

113. the (birks) heather green,in both.

First.52, 171, 181. oh, Oh.

Second.52. What she had neer done before, O.

62, 192. was filled wi.

91. Five he. 92. nae. 93. steed.

122. to your.

182. wiforin.

33. far farshould probably beforth,as inJ;possiblyforth for.

123,4, 131,2.Compare Logan’sBraes of Yarrow.

They sought him east, they sought him west,They sought him all the forest thorough;They only saw the cloud of nightThey only heard the roar of Yarrow.

They sought him east, they sought him west,

They sought him all the forest thorough;

They only saw the cloud of night

They only heard the roar of Yarrow.

“A fragment, to the tune of Leaderhaughs and Yarrow.”

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