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* Busk ye then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
Busk, ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! Busk
ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow!'
“How can I busk, a bonnie, bonnie bride?
How can I busk, a winsome marrow? How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed
That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow!
*O Yarrow fields, may never, never rain
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover! For there was basely slain my love
My love as he had not been a lover.
The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,
His purple vest-'twas my ain sewing: Ah, wretched me! I little, little knew
He was in these to meet his ruin!
'The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed,
Unheedful of my dule and sorrow; But ere the to-fall of the night
He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow.
"Much I rejoiced, that woeful, woeful day;
I sang, my voice the woods returning; But lang ere night the spear was flown
That slew my love and left me mourning.
•What can my barbarous, barbarous father do,
But with his cruel rage pursue me? My lover's blood is on thy spear;
How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me?
My happy sisters may be, may be proud
With cruel and ungentle scoffin' May bid me seek, on Yarrow's braes,
My lover nailed in his coffin.
'My brother Douglas may upbraid,
And strive with threat'ning words to move me: My lover's blood is on thy spear,
How canst thou ever bid me love thee?
'Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love!
With bridal sheets my body cover! Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door;
Let in the expected husband lover!
‘But who the expected husband, husband is ?
His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter. Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon,
Comes in his pale shroud bleeding after?
'Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down;
O lay his cold head on my pillow: Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds,
And crown my careful head with willow.
'Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved !
Oh! could my warmth to life restore thee, Ye'd lie all night between my breasts !
No youth lay ever there before thee.
'Pale, pale indeed! O lovely, lovely youth!
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter; And lie all night between my breasts !
No youth shall ever lie there after.'
Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride!
Return, and dry thy useless sorrow! Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs—
He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow."
I LO’ED ne'er a laddie but ane,
And his ain I am willing to be.
And a pair o'mittens o' green;
And I plighted my troth yestreen.
Let ithers brag weel o' their gear,
Their land and their lordly degree;
For he's ilka thing lordly to me.
His sense drives ilk fear far awa';
Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa'l
‘Dear lassie,' he cries wi' a jeer,
*Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say: Though we've little to brag o', ne'er fear,
What's gowd to a heart that is wae ?
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care;
Are cantie and leal' evermair.
'O Menie, the heart that is true
Has something mair costly than gear;
Ilk morn it has naething to fear.
? A short cloak. 8 Possessions.
& Cheerful. ? Loyal.
Ye warldlings, gae hoard up your store,
And tremble for fear aught ye tyne ;*
While here in my arms I lock mine !'
He ends wi' a kiss and a smile
Wae's me, can I tak’ it amiss?
He's free aye to daut' and to kiss.
Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife,
And this night I am Jamie's for life.
COME UNDER MY PLAIDIE
'Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, auld Donald, gae 'wa!
'Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa’; Your Jock's but a gowk,' and has naething ava; The hale o' his pack he has now on his back:
He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa. 8 Loss. Pet. · Wrap: Grandfather. 3 Neat.
• Fine & Whole.
Be frank now and kindly: I'll busk’ ye aye finely,
aye tauld me, my mither an a', Ye'd mak' a gude husband, and keep me aye braw: It's true I lo'e Johnnie-he's gude and he's bonnie, But, wae's me! ye ken he has naething ava. I ha'e little tocher : you've made a good offer: I'm now mair than twenty-my time is but sma’; Sae, gi'e me your plaidie, I'll creep in beside ye, I thocht ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa.'
She crap in ayont him, aside the stane wa'.
SIR WILLIAM JONES
In Imitation of Alcaeus
Thick wall or moated gate,
Not bays and broad-armed ports,
Not starred and spangled courts,
10 Throbbed violently, 11 Enfeebled. 12 Lost.