« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Though he was fair, and well-beloved again,
Than I he never loved thee better.
"Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride! Busk
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 can I lo'e him on the banks of Tweed,
That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ?
“Oh 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—'t was my ain sewing; Ah, wretched me! I little, little kenned
He was, in these, to meet his ruin.
“The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed,
Unmindful of my dule and sorrow; But ere the too fa' of the night,
He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow!
"Much I rejoiced that waefu', waefu' 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 scoffing May bid me seek, on Yarrow braes,
My lover nailed in his coffin.
"My brother Douglas may upbraid,
And strive, with threatening 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;
Oh lay his cold head on my pillow ! Take off, take off 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! Yet lie all night within my arms—
No youth lay ever there before thee!
“Pale, pale indeed, O lovely, lovely youth!
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lie all night within my arms,
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;
Such as I oft have chaunced to espy,
In every village mark'd with little spire,
And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent,
And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree
And as they look'd they found their horror grew,
So have I seen (who has not, may conceive)
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave,
Ne superstition clog his dance of joy,
Near to this dome is found a patch so green,
Where sits the dame, disguis'd in look profound,
Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,
And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction join'd,
Few but have kenn'd, in semblance meet portray'd,
The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell,
A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown;
For they in gaping wonderment abound,
Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth,
title did debauch her ear;
For never title yet so mean could prove,
One ancient hen she took delight to feed,
For well she knew, and quaintly could expound
Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak