Richard Glover.
CXLII
LAMENT FOR FLODDEN.
I’ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,
Lasses a’ lilting before dawn o’ day;
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning—
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. 4
At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,
Lassies are lonely and dowie and wae;
Nae daffin’, nae gabbin’, but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away.