3 Then he’s away oer yon high hill— A wait he’s gane wi sorrow— An in a den he spied nine armd men, On the dowie banks o Yarrow. 4 ‘If I see ye a’, ye ‘r nine for ane, But ane’s [un]equal marrow; Yet as lang’s I’m able wield my brand, I’ll fight an bear ye marrow. 5 ‘There are twa swords into my sheath, The’re ane and equal marrow; Now wale the best, I’ll take the warst, An, man for man, I’ll try ye.’ 6 He has slain a’ the nine men, A ane an equal marrow, But up there startit a stuborn lord, That gard him sleep on Yarrow. * * * * * * 7 ‘Gae hame, gae hame, my sister Anne, An tell yer sister Sarah That she may gang an seek her lord, He’s lyin sleepin on Yarrow.’ 8 ‘I dreamd a dream now sin yestreen, I thought it wad be sorrow; I thought I was pouin the hether green On the dowie banks o Yarrow.’ 9 Then she’s away oer yon high hill— I wat she’s gane wi sorrow— And in a den she’s spy’d ten slain men, On the dowie banks o Yarrow. 10 ‘My love was a’ clad oer last night Wi the finest o the tartan, But now he’s a’ clad oer wi red, An he’s red bluid to the garten.’ 11 She’s kissd his lips, she’s caimd his hair, As she had done before, O; She drank the red bluid that frae him ran, On the dowie banks o Yarrow. 12 ‘Tak hame your ousen, father, and yer kye, For they’ve bred muckle sorrow; I wiss that they had a’ gaen mad Afore they came to Yarrow.’ 13 ‘O haud yer tongue, my daughter dear, For this breeds ay but sorrow; I’ll wed you to a better lord Than him you lost on Yarrow.’ 14 ‘O haud yer tongue, my father dear, For ye but breed mair sorrow; A better rose will never spring Than him I’ve lost on Yarrow.’ 15 This lady being big wi child, An fu o lamentation, She died within her father’s arms, Amang this stuborn nation. * * * * * G “Carterhaugh, June 15, 1802.” “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 135, Abbotsford. * * * * * * 1 She kissd his mouth and she combd his hair, As she had done before, O, She belted him in his noble broun, Before he went to Yarrow. 2 O he’s gone up yon high, [high] hill— I wat it was with sorrow— In a den he spied nine weal armd men, On the bonny banks of Yarrow. 3 ‘I see that you are nine for one, Which are of an unequal marrow; As lang’s I’m able to wield my bran, I’ll fight and be your marrow.’ 4 O he has killed them a’ but one, Which bred to him great sorrow; For up and rose that stubborn lord, Made him sleep sound in Yarrow. 5 ‘Rise up, rise up, my daughter Ann, Go tell your sister Sarah She may rise up go lift her lord; He’s sleeping sound in Yarrow.’