The Braes of Yarrow
John Logan, 1781

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream,
     When first on them I met my lover;
     Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream,
     When now thy waves his body cover!
     For ever now, O Yarrow stream!
     Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
     For never on thy banks shall I
     Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow!

     He promised me a milk-white steed
     To bear me to his father's bowers;
     He promised me a little page
     To squire me to his father's towers;
     He promised me a wedding-ring,--
     The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow;--
     Now he is wedded to his grave,
     Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow!

     Sweet were his words when last we met;
     My passion I as freely told him;
     Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought
     That I should never more behold him!
     Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost;
     It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow;
     Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,
     And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow.

     His mother from the window look'd
     With all the longing of a mother;
     His little sister weeping walk'd
     The green-wood path to meet her brother;
     They sought him east, they sought him west,
     They sought him all the forest thorough;
     They only saw the cloud of night,
     They only heard the roar of Yarrow.

     No longer from thy window look--
     Thou hast no son, thou tender mother!
     No longer walk, thou lovely maid;
     Alas, thou hast no more a brother!
     No longer seek him east or west
     And search no more the forest thorough;
     For, wandering in the night so dark,
     He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow.

     The tear shall never leave my cheek,
     No other youth shall be my marrow--
     I'll seek thy body in the stream,
     And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.
     --The tear did never leave her cheek,
     No other youth became her marrow;
     She found his body in the stream,
     And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.