Part 23

14 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.

15 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.

* * * * *

C

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.

1 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.

2 ‘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.’

3 ‘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.’

4 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.

5 ‘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.’

6 ‘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.’

7 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.

8 ‘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?’

9 ‘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.’

10 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.

11 ‘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.’

12 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.

13 ‘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.’

14 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.

15 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.

16 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.

17 ‘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.’

* * * * *

D

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

1 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.

2 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.’

3 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.

4 ‘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.’

5 ‘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.’

6 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.

7 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.

8 ‘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.’

9 ‘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.’

10 ‘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.’

11 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.

12 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.

13 ‘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.’

14 ‘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.’

15 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.

* * * * *

E

#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.

1 Late at een, drinkin the wine, Or early in a mornin, The set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawnin.

2 ‘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.’

3 ‘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.’

4 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.

5 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.

6 ‘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?’

7 ‘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.’

8 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.

9 ‘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.’

10 ‘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.’

11 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.

12 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.

13 ‘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.’

14 ‘O haud your tongue, my father dear, An dinna grieve your Sarah; A better lord was never born Than him I lost on Yarrow.

15 ‘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.’

* * * * *

F

“From Nelly Laidlaw.” In the handwriting of William Laidlaw, “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 20 a, Abbotsford.

1 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.

2 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.

3 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.

4 ‘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.

5 ‘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.’

6 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.

* * * * * *

7 ‘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.’

8 ‘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.’

9 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.

10 ‘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.’

11 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.

12 ‘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.’

13 ‘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.’

14 ‘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.’

15 This lady being big wi child, An fu o lamentation, She died within her father’s arms, Amang this stuborn nation.

* * * * *

G

“Carterhaugh, June 15, 1802.” “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 135, Abbotsford.

* * * * * *

1 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.

2 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.’

4 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 Sarah She may rise up go lift her lord; He’s sleeping sound in Yarrow.’

6 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.

7 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 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 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 spread Than I have lost in Yarrow.’

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

* * * * *

H

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.’

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

4 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.

5 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!’

7 ‘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 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.’

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

* * * * *

I

Buchan’s MSS, II, 161.

1 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.’

3 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.

4 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?’

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.’

7 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.’

9 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 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.’

12 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.

13 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.

14 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 be Than he that died on Yarrow.’

16 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.

* * * * *

J

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.

1 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.

2 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.

3 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.

4 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.

5 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.

6 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.’

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.’

9 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!

10 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 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.’

13 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.

14 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.

15 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.

16 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 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.’

19 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.

* * * * *

K

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

1 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.

2 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.

3 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.’

4 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.

5 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.’

7 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.

8 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 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.’

11 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.

12 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.

* * * * *

L

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.

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

2 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.

3 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.

4 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.

5 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.’

7 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.

8 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.’

9 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.

10 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.’

11 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.

12 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.

13 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.

14 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.

15 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.

16 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.