K
Campbell MS., I, 8; “communicated by Janet Ormstone, Innerleithen, who sung it to a beautiful old air.”
1
There lived a lady in the south,
She thought she had not her marrow;
And she was courted by nine gentlemen,
In the dowie dens in Yarrow.
2
All their offers they proved in vain,
She thought that they were not her marrow;
She has forsaken a’ the nine,
Loved a servant-lad on Galla.
3
Up bespoke her father dear,
Who bred them a’ this sorrow;
You must go far, far to fight the nine,
In the dowie den in Yarrow.’
4
She washd his face, she combd his hair,
Her heart being full of sorrow,
With a rusted rapier down by his side,
To fight his foes in Yarrow.
5
He’s ridden east, he’s ridden west,
He’s ridden into Yarrow,
And there he espied all the nine,
Watering their steeds in Yarrow.
6
‘Ye’r welcome, welcome, young man,’ they said,
‘But I think ye are not our marrow;’
‘But I’ll fight ye all out, one by one,
In the dowie dens o Yarrow.’
7
Four he has wounded, five he has slain,
He left them a’ sound in Yarrow;
He turned him round with rejoyfull looks,
Says, I wone the lady of Thoro.
8
Up then spoke her father dear,
Who bred them a’ this sorrow;
He’s taen out a broadsword and run him through,
In the dowie dens o Yarrow.
9
‘I dreamed a dream last night,’ she says,
‘I fear it is for sorrow;
I dreamd I was pulling the heather green
With my true love in Yarrow.’
10
‘I’ll read your dream now, daughter dear,
I fear it is for sorrow;
You will find your true-love lying sound,
In a heather bush in Yarrow.’
11
She’s ridden east, she’s ridden west,
She’s ridden into Yarrow;
There she found her true lover sound,
In a heather bush in Yarrow.
12
His hair it was five quarters lang,
It was baith lang and yellow;
She’s tied it to her horse’s mane,
She’s trailed him home from Yarrow.
13
‘O woe be to you, father dear!
You’ve bred me all this sorrow;’
So she died between her father’s arms,
In the dowie dens o Yarrow.