"Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride?
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow?
And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow?

"Lang maun she weep, long maun she, maun she

weep,

Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow,

And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen

Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.

"For she has tint her lover, lover dear,
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow;
And I ha'e slain the comeliest swain
That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow.

"Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, reid?
Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow?
And why yon melancholeous weeds,

Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow?

"What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood? What's yonder floats? Oh dule and sorrow! Oh! 'tis the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful braes of Yarrow !

"Wash, oh, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears, with dule and sorrow,

And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds,

And lay him on the braes of Yarrow!

"Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow,

And weep around in waeful wise

His helpless fate on the braes of Yarrow.

"Curse ye, curse ye his useless, useless shield, My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow,

The fatal spear that pierced his breast,
His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow.

"Did I not warn thee not to love,

And warn from fight? but, to my sorrow,

O'er-rashly bold, a stronger arm

Thou met'st and fell on the braes of Yarrow.

"Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green grows

the grass,

Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan,

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan'.

"Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows

Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan yellow,

As sweet smells on its braes the birk,
The apple frae the rock as mellow.

"Fair was thy love! fair, fair indeed thy love!
In flowery bands thou him didst fetter;
Though he was fair, and well-beloved again,
Than me he never loved thee better.

"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 sewin':

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 toofal of the night,

He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow.

"Much I rejoiced that waeful, waeful day,
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's 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?