The Braes of Yarrow
17th Century
Child Ballad 214
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
And think nae mair o' the braes of Yarrow.
Where got ye that bonnie, bonnie, bride?
Where got ye that winsome marrow?
I got her where I darena well be seen,
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.
Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow,
Nor let thy heart lament to leave
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.
Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride?
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow?
And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow?
Lang maun she weep, lang, lang, maun, she weep
Lang maun she weep wi' dule and sorrow,
And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen
Pu'ing the birks on the braes o' Yarrow:
For she has tint her lover, lover dear,
her lover dear, the cause o' sorrow;
And I hae slain the comeliest swain
That e'er pu'ed birks on the braes o' Yarrow
Fair was thy love, fair, fair indeed thy love!
In flowery bands thou didst him fetter:
Though he was fair and well-beloved again,
Than me he did not love thee better,
Busk ye, then, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks o' the Tweed,
And think nae mair o' the braes o' Yarrow.
DayPoems Poem No. 2578
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/2578.html">The Braes of Yarrow by Anonymous</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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