The Braes o Yarrow (Child 214E)

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

‘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.’

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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?’

‘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.’

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.

‘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.’

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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.’

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

‘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.’