THE BRAES O YARROW_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 4 (of 5)

#A.# ‘The Braes of Yarrow,’ communicated to Percy by Dr Robertson,

Principal of Edinburgh.

#B.# ‘The Braes o Yarrow,’ Murison MS., p. 105.

#C.# ‘The Dowie Downs o Yarrow,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 334;

Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 252.

#D.# ‘The Bonny Braes of Yarrow,’ communicated to Percy by Robert

Lambe, of Norham, 1768.

#E. a.# ‘The Dowy Houms o Yarrow,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for

Border Minstrelsy,” Abbotsford. #b.# ‘The Dowie Dens of Yarrow,’

Scott’s Minstrelsy III, 72, 1803, III, 143, 1833.

#F.# ‘The Dowie Dens o Yarrow,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border

Minstrelsy,” Abbotsford.

#G.# ‘The Dowie Dens of Yarrow,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border

Minstrelsy,” Abbotsford.

#H.# ‘The Dowie Dens of Yarrow,’ Campbell MSS, II, 55.

#I.# ‘Braes of Yarrow,’ Buchan’s MSS, II, 161; Buchan’s Ballads of the

North of Scotland, II, 203; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of

Ancient Ballads, p. 68, Percy Society, vol. xvii.

#J.# ‘The Dowie Glens of Yarrow,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for

Border Minstrelsy,” Abbotsford.

#K.# ‘The Dowie Den in Yarrow,’ Campbell MSS, I, 8.

#L.# ‘The Dowie Dens,’ Blackwood’s Magazine, CXLVII, 741, June, 1890.

#M.# ‘Dowie Banks of Yarrow,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border

Minstrelsy,” Abbotsford.

#N.# ‘The Yetts of Gowrie,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border

Minstrelsy,” Abbotsford.

#O.# Herd’s MSS, I, 35, II, 181; Herd’s Ancient and Modern Scottish

Songs, 1776, I, 145; four stanzas.

#P.# Cromek’s Select Scotish Songs, 1810, II, 196; two stanzas.

First published in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1803 (#E b#).

Scott remarks that he “found it easy to collect a variety of copies, but

very difficult indeed to select from them such a collated edition as

might in any degree suit the taste of ‘these more light and giddy-paced

times.’” The copy principally used was #E a#. St. 12 of Scott, which

suited the taste of the last century, but does not suit with a popular

ballad, is from #O#, and also st. 13, and there are traces of #F#, #G#,

#M#, but 5–7 have lines which do not occur in any version that I have

seen.

#A# had been somewhat edited before it was communicated to Percy; the

places were, however, indicated by commas. Several copies besides #O#,

already referred to, have slight passages that never came from the

unsophisticated people; as #J# 2, in which a page “runs with sorrow,”

for rhyme and without reason, #L# 2^3, and #L# 12^{3,4}, which is

manifestly taken from Logan’s Braes of Yarrow.[96] #N# has been

interpolated with artificial nonsense,[97] and is an almost worthless

copy; the last stanza may defy competition for silliness.

#M# 1, 3, and #N# 4, 6, 7, belong to ‘The Duke of Athole’s Nurse.’ So

also does one half of a fragment sent by Burns in a letter to William

Tytler, Cromek’s Select Scotish Songs, 1810, II, 194–8, which, however,

has two stanzas of this ballad (#P#) and two of ‘Rare Willie’s drowned

in Yarrow,’ No 215.

The fragment in Ritson’s Scotish Songs, 1794, I, lxvii, is #O#.

Herd’s MSS, I, 36, II, 182, have the following couplets, evidently from

a piece treating the story of this ballad:

O when I look east my heart is sair,

But when I look west it’s mair and mair,

For there I see the braes of Yarrow,

And there I lost for ay my marrow.

The groups #A-I# and #J-P# are distinguished by the circumstance, of no

importance to the story, that the hero and heroine in the former are man

and wife, in the other unmarried lovers. In all the versions (leaving

out of account the fragments #O#, #P#) the family of the woman are at

variance with the man. Her brothers think him an unfit match for their

sister, #A# 8, #B# 2.[98] In #C# 2 the brothers have taken offence

because their sister was not regarded as his equal by her husband, which

is perhaps too much of a refinement for ballads, and may be a

perversion. She was worth stealing in #C# as in #B#. The dispute in two

or three copies appears to take the form who is the flower, or rose, of

Yarrow, that is the best man, #C# 8, 9, 17, #B# 1, 12, #D# 1, 14; but

this matter is muddled, cf. #C# 2, 3, #D# 2. We hear nothing about the

unequal match in #D#-#I#, but in #J-L# a young lady displeases her

father by refusing nine gentlemen in favor of a servant-lad.

Men who are drinking together fall out and set a combat for the next

day, #B-F#, #H#, #I#. It is three lords that drink and quarrel in

#B#-#D# (ten (?) in #I#). The lady fears that her three brothers will

slay her husband, #B# 5, #C# 5. The lord in #D# 2 seems not to be one of

the three in #D# 1, and we are probably to understand that three

brothers get into a brawl with a man who has surreptitiously married

their sister. Only one brother is spoken of in #A# (6), from whom

treachery is looked for, #E# 2.

In #I-L# the father makes the servant-lad fight with the nine high-born

suitors.

The wife tries to keep her husband at home, #A-E#, #I#; but he is

confident that all will go well, and that he shall come back to her

early, #A#, #B#, #C#, #I#. She kisses (washes) and combs him, and helps

to arm him, #B#, #C#, #E#, #F#, #G#, #I#; so #J#, #K#.[99] He finds nine

armed men awaiting him on the braes or houms of Yarrow, #A#, #E#-#G#,

#I-M#, ten #B#, #D#.[100] They ask if he has come to hawk, hunt (drink),

or fight; he replies that he has come to fight, #C#, #E#, #I#; cf. #A#

5, 6. Five (four) he slays and four (five) he wounds, #A#, #B#, #D#,

#E#, #I#, #J#, #K#; in #F# he kills all the nine; in #L# he gets no

further than the seventh; in #G# he kills all but one.

These nine, after the way of ballads, should be the lady’s brothers, and

such they are in #A# 7, 8. Three of them, but only three, should be the

lady’s brothers according to #B# 1–5, #C# 1–5. Three brethren are

charged by the husband with a message to his lady in #D# 8, and these

might be his brothers-in-law. The message is sent in #E# 9 by a

good-brother, or wife’s brother, John, who clearly was not in the fight

in #E#, though the husband says he is going to meet this brother John in

#A# 6. This brother-in-law of #E# is probably intended by brother in #I#

After the hero has successively disposed of his nine or ten antagonists

(he takes them ‘man for man’), he is stabbed from behind in a cowardly

way, #A#, #B#, #C#, #E#, #I#, #L#, #N#, by somebody. The tradition is

much blurred here; it is a squire out of the bush, a cowardly man, a

fause lord. An Englishman shoots him with an arrow out of a bush in #D#.

But other reports are distinct. The lady’s father runs him through (not

from behind) in #J#, #K#. Her brother springs from a bush behind and

runs him through, #L#. Her brother John comes behind him and slays him,

#N#. Up and rose her brother James and slew him, #M#. In #E# “that

stubborn knight” comes behind him and runs his body through, and that

(a) “stubborn lord” is the author of his death in #G#, #F#. Taking #E#

2, 8, 9 together, the stubborn knight, at least in #E#, may be

interpreted as good-brother John, whose treachery is feared in #E# 2,

who is prominent in #A# 6, and who is expressly said to slay his

sister’s true-love in #N#. On the whole, the preponderance of tradition

is to the effect that the hero was treacherously slain by his wife’s

(love’s) brother.

Word of her husband’s death is sent or carried to the wife by her

brother, brother John, #A#, #E#, #L#, #N#; her or his three brothers,

#D# 8; her or his brother, #I# 8; his man John, #C# 12, by mistake; her

father (?), #J#, #K#; her sister Anne, #F#, #G#, #H#. The wife has had a

dream that she, her lord or true-love and she, had been pulling green

heather (birk) in Yarrow, #A#, #C-F#, #I-M#, #O#.[101] The dream is

explained to signify her lord’s death, and she is enjoined to fetch him

home. In #A#, the dream occurs before the fight and is double, of

pulling green heather and of her love coming headless home; in #B#, the

lady dreams that her lord was sleeping sound in Yarrow, and in the

highly vitiated #N# that ‘he had lost his life.’

The wife hurries to Yarrow;[102] up a high, high hill and down into the

valley, where she sees nine (ten) dead men, #E#, #F#, #G#, #M# (nine

well-armed men, wrongly, #H#).[103] She sees her true-love lying slain,

finds him sleeping sound, in Yarrow, #A#, #B#, #J#, #K#. She kisses him

and combs his hair, #A#, #E#, #F#, #G#, #I#, #L#, #M#; she drinks the

blood that runs from him, #E# 12, #F# 11, #G# 7, #M# 9.[104]

Her hair is five quarters long; she twists it round his hand and draws

him home, #C#; ties it round his middle and carries him home, #D#. She

takes three lachters of her hair, ties them tight round his middle and

carries him home, #B#. _His_ hair is five quarters long! she ties it to

her horse’s mane and trails him home, #K#.[105] The carrying strikes one

as unpractical, the trailing as barbarous. In #L#, after the lover is

slain, the surviving lords and her brother trail him by the heels to

Yarrow water and throw him into a whirlpool. The lady, searching for

him, sees him ‘deeply drowned.’ His hair, which we must suppose to

float, is five quarters long; she twines it round her hand and draws him

out. Raising no petty questions, it appears enough to say that this is

the only version of fourteen in which the drowning occurs, and that the

drowning of the lover is the characteristic of No 215, the next

following ballad, which has otherwise been partly confused with

this.[106]

The lady’s father urges her to restrain her grief; he will wed her with

as good a lord as she has lost, or a better; she rejects his

suggestions. Her heart breaks, #B#, #I#; she dies in her father’s arms,

#D#, #F-H#, #J-L#, being at the time big with child, #B#, #D#, #F-H#,

#J#.

The lady tells her father to wed his sons, #B# 12; his seven sons, #J#

18. So ‘Clerk Saunders’ (of which this may be a reminiscence, for we do

not hear of seven sons in this ballad), No 69, #G# 28; cf. #A# 26, #E#

19.

She bids him take home his ousen and his kye, #E# 15, #F# 12, #G# 8, #H#

9. This I conceive to be an interpolation by a reciter who followed the

tradition cited from Hogg further on.

The message to the mother to come take up her son in #I# 8 may possibly

be a reminiscence from ‘Johnie Cock,’ No 114. It occurs in no other

copy, and comes in awkwardly.

‘The Braes of Yarrow’ (‘Busk ye, busk ye, my bony, bony bride’), written

by William Hamilton of Bangour “in imitation of the ancient Scottish

manner,’ was suggested by this ballad.[107]

‘The Dowy Dens,’ Evans’s Old Ballads, 1810, III, 342, has the same

foundation. ‘The Haughs o Yarrow,’ a modern piece in Buchan’s Ballads of

the North of Scotland, II, 211, repeats with a slight change the third

stanza of #O#, and has further on half a stanza from ‘Willie’s rare,’ No

215.

James Hogg, in sending #E# a to Sir Walter Scott, wrote as follows:

“Tradition placeth the event on which this song is founded very early.

That the song hath been written near the time of the transaction appears

quite evident, although, like others, by frequent singing the language

is become adapted to an age not so far distant. The bard does not at all

relate particulars, but only mentions some striking features of a

tragical event which everybody knew. This is observable in many of the

productions of early times; at least the secondary bards seem to have

regarded their songs as purely temporary.

“The hero of the ballad is said to have been of the name of Scott, and

is called a knight of great bravery. He lived in Ettrick, some say at

Oakwood, others Kirkhope; but was treacherously slain by his

brother-in-law, as related in the ballad, who had him at ill will

because his father had parted with the half of all his goods and gear to

his sister on her marriage with such a respectable man. The name of the

murderer is said to be Annand, a name I believe merely conjectural from

the name of the place where they are said both to be buried, which at

this day is called Annan’s Treat, a low muir lying to the west of Yarrow

church, where two huge tall stones are erected, below which the least

child that can walk the road will tell you the two lords are buried that

were slain in a duel.”

Sir Walter Scott, in the revised edition of his Minstrelsy, expressed a

conviction that this ballad referred to a duel fought between John Scott

of Tushielaw and his brother-in-law Walter Scott of Thirlestane, in

which the latter was slain.[108] Contemporary entries in the records of

the Presbytery of Selkirk show that John Scott, son to Walter of

Tushielaw, killed Walter Scott, brother of Sir Robert of Thirlestane, in

1609. The slain Walter Scott was not, however, the brother-in-law of

John of Tushielaw, for his wife was a daughter of Sir Patrick Porteous.

A violent feud ensued, as might be expected, between the Scotts of

Thirlestane and of Tushielaw. Seven years later, in 1616, a Walter Scott

of Tushielaw made “an informal and inordinat marriage with Grizel Scott

of Thirlestane without consent of her father.” The record of the

elopement is three months after followed by an entry of a summons to

Simeon Scott of Bonytoun (an adherent of Thirlestane) and three other

Scotts “to compear in Melrose to hear themselves excommunicat for the

horrible slaughter of Walter Scott” [of Tushielaw]. Disregarding the

so-called duel, we have a Walter Scott of Tushielaw carrying off a wife

from the Scotts of Thirlestane, with which family he was at feud; and a

Walter Scott of Tushielaw horribly slaughtered by Scotts of Thirlestane.

These facts correspond rather closely with the incidents of the ballad.

We do not know, to be sure, that the two Walter Scotts of Tushielaw were

the same person. There were Walter Scotts many; but tradition is capable

of confounding the two or the three connected with this series of

events. On the other hand, there is nothing in the ballad to connect it

preferably with the Scotts; the facts are such as are likely to have

occurred often in history, and a similar story is found in other

ballads.

In the Scandinavian ballad ‘Herr Helmer,’ Helmer has married a lady

whose family are at feud with him for the unatoned slaughter of her

uncle; he meets her seven brothers, who will now hear of no

satisfaction; there is a fight; Helmer kills six, but spares the

seventh, who treacherously kills him: Afzelius, ed. Bergström, I, 264,

Arwidsson, I, 155 (etc., see II, 170 of this collection, note ‡). Other

forms make the last of the brothers willing to accept an arrangement:

‘Herr Helmer Blau,’ Danske Viser, IV, 251, No 209, ‘Herr Hjælm,’

Grundtvig, Danske Folkeminder, 1861, p. 81. ‘Jomfruen i Skoven,’ Danske

Viser, III, 99, No 123, has also several features of our ballad. The

hero, on parting from a lady with whom he has passed the night in a

wood, is warned by her to avoid her seven brothers. This he is too brave

to do, and he meets them. They ask him where are his hawk and his hound.

He tries, unsuccessfully, to induce them to give him their sister for

wife; they fight; he kills all the seven brothers, and is slain himself,

in some way not explained. (These ballads are translated in Prior, III,

371, 230.)

The next ballad has been partially confused with this.

* * * * *

#E b#, Scott’s ballad, is translated by Doenniges, p. 237; by

Loève-Veimars, p. 347. Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 92,

translates Allingham’s ballad.

* * * * *

Communicated to Percy by Dr William Robertson, Principal of

Edinburgh.

‘I dreamed a dreary dream this night,

That fills my heart wi sorrow;

I dreamed I was pouing the heather green

Upon the braes of Yarrow.

‘O true-luve mine, stay still and dine,

As ye ha done before, O;’

‘O I’ll be hame by hours nine,

And frae the braes of Yarrow.’

I dreamed a dreary dream this night,

That fills my heart wi sorrow;

I dreamed my luve came headless hame,

O frae the braes of Yarrow!

‘O true-luve mine, stay still and dine,

As ye ha done before, O;’

‘O I’ll be hame by hours nine,

And frae the braes of Yarrow.’

‘O are ye going to hawke,’ she says,

‘As ye ha done before, O?

Or are ye going to weild your brand,

Upon the braes of Yarrow?’

‘O I am not going to hawke,’ he says,

‘As I have done before, O,

But for to meet your brother Jhon,

Upon the braes of Yarrow.’

As he gade down yon dowy den,

Sorrow went him before, O;

Nine well-wight men lay waiting him,

Upon the braes of Yarrow.

‘I have your sister to my wife,

‘Ye’ think me an unmeet marrow;

But yet one foot will I never flee

Now frae the braes of Yarrow.’

‘Than’ four he killd and five did wound,

That was an unmeet marrow!

‘And he had weel nigh wan the day

Upon the braes of Yarrow.’

‘Bot’ a cowardly ‘loon’ came him behind,

Our Lady lend him sorrow!

And wi a rappier pierced his heart,

And laid him low on Yarrow.

‘Now Douglas’ to his sister’s gane,

Wi meikle dule and sorrow:

‘Gae to your luve, sister,’ he says,

‘He’s sleeping sound on Yarrow.’

As she went down yon dowy den,

Sorrow went her before, O;

She saw her true-love lying slain

Upon the braes of Yarrow.

‘She swoond thrice upon his breist

That was her dearest marrow;

Said, Ever alace and wae the day

Thou wentst frae me to Yarrow!’

She kist his mouth, she kaimed his hair,

As she had done before, O;

She ‘wiped’ the blood that trickled doun

Upon the braes of Yarrow.

Her hair it was three quarters lang,

It hang baith side and yellow;

She tied it round ‘her’ white hause-bane,

‘And tint her life on Yarrow.’

* * * * *

Murison MS., p. 105; Old Deer, Aberdeenshire.

Three lords sat drinking at the wine

I the bonny braes o Yarrow,

An there cam a dispute them between,

Who was the Flower o Yarrow.

‘I’m wedded to your sister dear,

Ye coont nae me your marrow;

I stole her fae her father’s back,

An made her the Flower o Yarrow.’

‘Will ye try hearts, or will ye try hans,

I the bonnie brace o Yarrow?

Or will ye try the weel airmt sword,

I the bonnie braes o Yarrow?’

‘I winna try hearts, I winna try hans,

I the bonnie braes o Yarrow,

But I will try the weel airmt sword,

I the bonnie braes o Yarrow.’

‘Ye’ll stay at home, my own good lord,

Ye’ll stay at home tomorrow;

My brethren three they will slay thee,

I the bonnie braes o Yarrow.’

‘Bonnie, bonnie shines the sun,

An early sings the sparrow;

Before the clock it will strike nine

An I’ll be home tomorrow.’

She’s kissed his mouth, an combed his hair,

As she had done before, O;

She’s dressed him in his noble bow,

An he’s awa to Yarrow.

As he gaed up yon high, high hill,

An doon the dens o Yarrow,

An there he spied ten weel airmt men

I the bonnie braes o Yarrow.

It’s five he wounded, an five he slew,

I the bonnie braes o Yarrow;

There cam a squire out o the bush,

An pierced his body thorough.

‘I dreamed a dream now sin the streen,

God keep us a’ fae sorrow!

That my good lord was sleepin soun

I the bonnie braes o Yarrow.’

‘O hold your tongue, my daughter dear,

An tak it not in sorrow;

I’ll wed you wi as good a lord

As you’ve lost this day in Yarrow.’

‘O haud your tongue, my father dear,

An wed your sons wi sorrow;

For a fairer flower neer sprang in May nor June

Nor I’ve lost this day in Yarrow.’

Fast did she gang, fast did she rin,

Until she cam to Yarrow,

An there she fan her own good lord,

He was sleepin soun in Yarrow.

She’s taen three lachters o her hair,

That hung doon her side sae bonny,

An she’s tied them roon his middle tight,

An she’s carried him hame frae Yarrow.

This lady being big wi child,

She was fu o grief an sorrow;

Her heart did break, and then she died,

She did not live till morrow.

* * * * *

Motherwell’s MS., pp. 334, 331, from the recitation of Agnes Lile,

Kilbarchan, July 19, 1825; learned from her father, who died

fourteen years earlier, at the age of eighty.

There were three lords birling at the wine

On the dowie downs o Yarrow;

They made a compact them between

They would go fight tomorrow.

‘Thou took our sister to be thy bride,

And thou neer thocht her thy marrow;

Thou stealed her frae her daddie’s back,

When she was the rose o Yarrow.’

‘Yes, I took your sister to be my bride,

And I made her my marrow;

I stealed her frae her daddie’s back,

And she’s still the rose o Yarrow.’

He is hame to his lady gane,

As he had dune before! O;

Says, Madam, I must go and fight

On the dowie downs o Yarrow.

‘Stay at hame, my lord,’ she said,

‘For that will cause much sorrow;

For my brethren three they will slay thee,

On the dowie downs o Yarrow.’

‘Hold your tongue, my lady fair,

For what needs a’ this sorrow?

For I’ll be hame gin the clock strikes nine,

From the dowie downs o Yarrow.’

She wush his face, she kamed his hair,

As she had dune before, O;

She dressed him up in his armour clear,

Sent him furth to fight on Yarrow.

‘Come you here to hawk or hound,

Or drink the wine that’s so clear, O?

Or come you here to eat in your words,

That you’re not the rose o Yarrow?’

‘I came not here to hawk or hound,

Nor to drink the wine that’s so clear, O;

Nor I came not here to eat in my words,

For I’m still the rose o Yarrow.’

Then they a’ begoud to fight,

I wad they focht richt sore, O,

Till a cowardly man came behind his back,

And pierced his body thorough.

‘Gae hame, gae hame, it’s my man John,

As ye have done before, O,

And tell it to my gay lady

That I soundly sleep on Yarrow.’

His man John he has gane hame,

As he had dune before, O,

And told it to his gay lady,

That he soundly slept on Yarrow.

‘I dreamd a dream now since the streen,

God keep us a’ frae sorrow!

That my lord and I was pu’ing the heather green

From the dowie downs o Yarrow.’

Sometimes she rade, sometimes she gaed,

As she had dune before, O,

And aye between she fell in a soune,

Lang or she cam to Yarrow.

Her hair it was five quarters lang,

’Twas like the gold for yellow;

She twisted it round his milk-white hand,

And she’s drawn him hame from Yarrow.

Out and spak her father dear,

Says, What needs a’ this sorrow?

For I’ll get you a far better lord

Than ever died on Yarrow.

‘O hold your tongue, father,’ she said,

‘For ye’ve bred a’ my sorrow;

For that rose’ll neer spring sae sweet in May

As that rose I lost on Yarrow.’

* * * * *

Communicated to Percy by Robert Lambe, Norham, April 16, 1768.

There were three lords drinking of wine

On the bonny braes of Yarrow;

There fell a combat them between,

_Wha_ was the rose of Yarrow.

Up then spak a noble lord,

And I wot it was bot sorrow:

‘I have as fair a flower,’ he said,

‘As ever sprang on Yarrow.’

Then he went hame to his ain house,

For to sleep or the morrow,

But the first sound the trumpet gae

Was, Mount and haste to Yarrow.

‘Oh stay at hame,’ his lady said,

‘Oh stay untill the morrow,

And I will mount upon a steed,

And ride with you to Yarrow.’

‘Oh hawd your tongue, my dear,’ said he,

‘And talk not of the morrow;

This day I have to fight again,

In the dowy deans of Yarrow.’

As he went up yon high, high hill,

Down the dowy deans of Yarrow,

There he spy’d ten weel armd men,

There was nane o them his marrow.

Five he wounded and five he slew,

In the dowy deans of Yarrow,

But an English-man out of a bush

Shot at him a lang sharp arrow.

‘Ye may gang hame, my brethren three,

Ye may gang hame with sorrow,

And say this to my fair lady,

I am sleeping sound on Yarrow.’

‘Sister, sister, I dreamt a dream—

You read a dream to gude, O!

That I was puing the heather green

On the bonny braes of Yarrow.’

‘Sister, sister, I’ll read your dream,

But alas! it’s unto sorrow;

Your good lord is sleeping sound,

He is lying dead on Yarrow.’

She as pu’d the ribbons of her head,

And I wot it was wi sorrow,

And she’s gane up yon high, high hill,

Down the dowy deans of Yarrow.

Her hair it was five quarters lang,

The colour of it was yellow;

She as ty’d it round his middle jimp,

And she as carried him frae Yarrow.

‘O hawd your tongue!’ her father says,

‘What needs a’ this grief and sorrow?

I’ll wed you on as fair a flower

As ever sprang on Yarrow.’

‘No, hawd your tongue, my father dear,

I’m fow of grief and sorrow;

For a fairer flower ne[v]er sprang

Than I’ve lost this day on Yarrow.’

This lady being big wi bairn,

And fow of grief and sorrow,

She as died within her father’s arms,

And she died lang or the morrow.

* * * * *

#a.# In the handwriting of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, about

1801; now in a volume with the title “Scotch Ballads, Materials for

Border Minstrelsy,” No 136, Abbotsford. #b.# Scott’s Minstrelsy,

III, 72, 1803, III, 143, 1833.

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!

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!

For I maun gae, tho I neer return

Frae the dowy banks o Yarrow.’

She kissd his cheek, she kaimd his hair,

As she had done before, O;

She belted on his noble brand,

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 armd men,

I the dowy houms o Yarrow.

‘O ir 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,

As I hae don before, O,

But I im come to wield the brand,

On the dowy houms o Yarrow.’

Four he hurt, an five he slew,

On the dowy houms o Yarrow,

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,

Who’s sleepin sound on Yarrow.’

‘Yestreen I dreamd a dolefu dream;

I kend there wad be sorrow;

I dreamd I pu’d the heather green,

On the dowy banks o Yarrow.’

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 kissd his cheek, she kaimd his hair,

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?

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

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.’

* * * * *

“From Nelly Laidlaw.” In the handwriting of William Laidlaw, “Scotch

Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 20 a, Abbotsford.

Late in the eenin, drinkin the wine,

Or early in the mornin,

The set a combat them between,

To fight it out i the dawnin.

She’s kissd his lips, an she’s caimd his hair,

As she did ay afore, O,

She’s belted him in his noble brown,

Afore he gaed to Yarrow.

Then he’s away oer yon high hill—

A wait he’s gane wi sorrow—

An in a den he spied nine armd men,

On the dowie banks o Yarrow.

‘If I see ye a’, ye ‘r nine for ane,

But ane’s [un]equal marrow;

Yet as lang’s I’m able wield my brand,

I’ll fight an bear ye marrow.

‘There are twa swords into my sheath,

The’re ane and equal marrow;

Now wale the best, I’ll take the warst,

An, man for man, I’ll try ye.’

He has slain a’ the nine men,

A ane an equal marrow,

But up there startit a stuborn lord,

That gard him sleep on Yarrow.

* * * * * *

‘Gae hame, gae hame, my sister Anne,

An tell yer sister Sarah

That she may gang an seek her lord,

He’s lyin sleepin on Yarrow.’

‘I dreamd a dream now sin yestreen,

I thought it wad be sorrow;

I thought I was pouin the hether green

On the dowie banks o Yarrow.’

Then she’s away oer yon high hill—

I wat she’s gane wi sorrow—

And in a den she’s spy’d ten slain men,

On the dowie banks o Yarrow.

‘My love was a’ clad oer last night

Wi the finest o the tartan,

But now he’s a’ clad oer wi red,

An he’s red bluid to the garten.’

She’s kissd his lips, she’s caimd his hair,

As she had done before, O;

She drank the red bluid that frae him ran,

On the dowie banks o Yarrow.

‘Tak hame your ousen, father, and yer kye,

For they’ve bred muckle sorrow;

I wiss that they had a’ gaen mad

Afore they came to Yarrow.’

‘O haud yer tongue, my daughter dear,

For this breeds ay but sorrow;

I’ll wed you to a better lord

Than him you lost on Yarrow.’

‘O haud yer tongue, my father dear,

For ye but breed mair sorrow;

A better rose will never spring

Than him I’ve lost on Yarrow.’

This lady being big wi child,

An fu o lamentation,

She died within her father’s arms,

Amang this stuborn nation.

* * * * *

“Carterhaugh, June 15, 1802.” “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border

Minstrelsy,” No 135, Abbotsford.

* * * * * *

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.

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.

‘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.’

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.

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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.’

‘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.’

‘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.’

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.

’Twas late at evening drinking wine,

And early in the morning,

He set a combat them among,

And he fought it in the morning.

* * * * * *

‘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.’

He has foughten them all round,

His equal man and marrow,

While up bespake the stubborn lord,

‘He’s made them 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.

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.

‘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!’

‘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.’

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

Ten lords sat drinking at the wine

Intill a morning early;

There fell a combat them among,

It must be fought, nae parley.

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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?’

‘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.’

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.

‘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.’

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.

‘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.’

‘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.’

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.

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.

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.’

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

‘An lat be till tomorrow!

A better lord there coudna be

Than he that died on 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

He wanderd up, he wandred down,

His heart was full of sorrow;

There he spied nine gentlemen,

Watering their steeds in Yarrow.

‘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.’

‘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.’

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!

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.

‘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.’

‘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.’

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.

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.

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.

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.

‘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.’

‘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.’

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.”

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.

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.

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.’

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.

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.

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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.’

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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.

At Dryhope lived a lady fair,

The fairest flower in Yarrow,

And she refused nine noble men

For a servan lad in Gala.

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.

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.

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.

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.

‘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.’

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.

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.’

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.

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.’

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

‘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.’

‘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.

‘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.’

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 than

#E a#). “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 11 a,

Abbotsford.

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.

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.

‘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.

‘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].’

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.

‘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.’

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.

‘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.’

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.

‘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.’

‘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.

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.

‘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.’

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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!

‘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.’

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.

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!

‘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.’

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

‘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.’

‘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!’

‘O gentle wind, that blaweth south

To where my love repaireth,

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,

And tell me how he fareth!

‘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.

‘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.’

‘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.’

* * * * *

#A.#

_The words in ’ ’ are so distinguished in the MS., and are of

course emendations._ ‘Than,’ 9^1, _is obviously an insertion_;

‘Now Douglas,’ 11^1, _is entirely unauthorized, and, as before

said, is taken from Hamilton’s ballad_; ‘wiped,’ 14^3, _is

probably substituted for_ drank, _cf._ 12^3, _etc._; _and_

‘her,’ 15^3, _is very likely to have been_ his.

#B.#

12^1. _Var._ O father dear, I pray forbear.

#C.#

7^1. He.

7^3. SHe, _originally_ He.

9^{1,3}. a _in_ came _is not closed_; _possibly_ cume. _A few

changes were, as usual, made by Motherwell in printing._

#D.#

1^4. Wha _is 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._

1^2. And ere they paid the lawing.

5^1. As he gaed up the Tennies bank.

6^{1,2}.

O come ye here to part your land,

The bonnie forest thorough.

7^{1,2}.

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._ #F# 4^1.)

And that’s an unequal marrow; (_Cf._ #G# 3^2.)

Yet will I fight while lasts my brand, (_Cf._ #F# 4^3, #G# 3^3.)

On the bonny banks of Yarrow. (_Cf._ #E a# 6^4.)