We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; J. Elliott CXXVII THE BRAES OF YARROW 'HY braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, THY When first on them I met my lover; He promised me a milk-white steed Sweet were his words when last we met; And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. His mother from the window look'd His little sister weeping walk'd The green-wood path to meet her brother; No longer from thy window look- The tear shall never leave my cheek, - 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. CXXVIII J. Logan WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW OWN in yon garden sweet and gay Where bonnie grows the lily, I heard a fair maid sighing say 'Willie's rare, and Willie 's fair, 'O gentle wind, that bloweth south, 'O tell sweet Willie to come doun And hear the mavis singing, And see the birds on ilka bush And leaves around them hinging. 'The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast And gentle throat sae narrow; There's sport eneuch for gentlemen On Leader haughs and Yarrow.. 'O Leader haughs are wide and braid 'But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, And does not hear me weeping; Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e When other maids are sleeping. 'Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, ΙΟ 'O came ye by yon water-side? Or came you by yon meadow green, She sought him up, she sought him down, She sought him braid and narrow; Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, She found him drown'd in Yarrow ! CXXIX Anon. LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE TOLL OLL for the Brave no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds And she was overset ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes! Her timbers yet are sound, Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main : But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. W. Cowper A CXXX BLACK-EYED SUSAN LL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came aboard; 'O! where shall I my true-love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true If my sweet William sails among the crew.' |