Poem by Anonymous

Arthur’s Seat

O, WALY, waly up the bank,
  And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
  Where I and my love wont to gae.
I leaned my back unto an aik,
  And thought it was a trusty tree,
But first it bowed, and syne it brak’,
  Sae my true-love did lightly me.

O, waly, waly, but love is bonny,
  A little time while it is new,
But when ’t is auld, it waxeth cauld,
  And fades away like morning dew.
O, wherefore should I busk my head?
  Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true-love has me forsook,
  And says he ’ll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,
  The sheets shall ne’er be filed by me,
Saint Anton’s well shall be my drink,
  Since my true-love ’s forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
  And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death! when wilt thou come?
  For of my life I am weary.

’T is not the frost that freezes fell,
  Nor blowing snows inclemency;
’T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,
  But my love’s heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
  We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
  And I mysel’ in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kissed
  That love had been so ill to win,
I ’d locked my heart in a case of gold,
  And pinned it with a silver pin.
And, O, if my young babe were born,
  And set upon the nurse’s knee,
And I mysel’ were dead and gane,
  Wi’ the green grass growing over me!

1. Now, Robin, Lend to Me Thy Bow
2. Willy Drowned in Yarrow
3. The Guard-Chamber
4. The Cave of Pope
5. The Hermitage

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