Oh 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's Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me; Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, Since my true-love has 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. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; 'Tis 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 myself in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kissed, That love had been sae ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case of gold. And pinned it with a silver pin. Oh, oh, if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I myself were dead and gone, [And the green grass growing over me!] [37] Lightly (a verb) is to treat with contempt, to undervalue. Compare the burden quoted by Chappell, p. 458, and very old:-- The bonny broome, the well-favored broome, The broome blooms faire on hill; What ailed my love to lightly me, And I working her will? The same ballad touch overweighs even the lyric quality of the verses about Yarrow:-- "Willy's rare, and Willy's fair, And Willy's wondrous bonny, And Willy heght[38] to marry me Gin e'er he married ony. "Oh came you by yon water-side? Pu'd you the rose or lily? Or came you by yon meadow green? Or saw you my sweet Willy?" She sought him east, she sought him west, She sought him brade and narrow; Syne, in the clifting of a craig, She found him drowned in Yarrow.[39] [38] Promised. [39] Child's _Ballads_, vii. 179. Returning to Germany and to pure lyric, we have a pretty bit which is attached to many different songs. High up on yonder mountain A mill-wheel clatters round, And, night or day, naught else but love Within the mill is ground. The mill has gone to ruin, And love has had its day; God bless thee now, my bonnie lass, I wander far away.[40] [40] Boehme, p. 271. But there is a more cheerful vein in this sort of song; and the mountain offers pleasanter views:-- Oh yonder on the mountain, There stands a lofty house, Where morning after morning, Yes, morning, Three maids go in and out.[41] The first she is my sister, The second well is known, The third, I will not name her, No, name her, And she shall be my own! [41] The rhyme in German leaves even more to be desired.