John Logan

The Braes of Yarrow

THY braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream,
  When first on them I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream,
  When now thy waves his body cover!
Forever, 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 fixed 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 as I freely told him;
Clasped in his arms, I little thought
  That I should nevermore behold him.
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost,—
  It vanished with a shriek of sorrow;
Thrice did the Water Wraith ascend,
  And give a doleful groan through Yarrow!

His mother from the window looked,
  With all the longing of a mother;
His little sister weeping walked
  The greenwood 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 the 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,
  No longer search the forest thorough;
For wandering in the night so dark,
  He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

The tears shall never leave my cheek;
  No other youth shall be my marrow;
I ’ll seek thy body in the stream,
  And there 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 with him now she sleeps in Yarrow.