On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
"Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear!
"For a' this breeds but sorrow;
"I'll wed ye to a better lord,
"Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
"O haud your tongue, my father dear!
"Ye mind me but of sorrow;
"A fairer rose did never bloom
"Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."