Classic Poem

Waly, waly up yon bank!
And waly, waly up yon brae!
And waly, waly by yon river-side,
Where me and my love were wont to gae!

My mither tauld me when I was young
That young men's love was ill to trow;
But to her I would give nae ear,
And alas! my ain wand dings me now.

But gin I had wist or I had kisst
That young man's love was sae ill to win,
I would hae lockt my heart wi a key o gowd,
And pinnd it wi a sillar pin.

When lairds and lords cam to this toun,
And gentlemen o a high degree,
I took my auld son in my arms,
And went to my chamber pleasantly.

But when gentlemen come thro this toun,
And gentlemen o a high degree,
I must sit alane in the dark,
And the babie on the nurse's knee.

I had a nurse, and she was fair,
She was a dearly nurse to me;
She took my gay lord frae my side,
And used him in her company.

Awa! awa, thou false Blackwood!
Ay and an ill death may thou die!
Thou wast the first occasioner
Of parting my gay lord and me.

When I was sick, and very sick,
Sick I was, and like to die,
I drew me near to my stair-head,
And I heard my own lord lichtly me.

‘Come doun, come doun, thou Earl of March,
Come doun, come doun and dine with me;
I 'll set thee on a chair of gowd,
And treat thee kindly on my knee!’

‘When cockle-shells grow sillar bells,
And mussells grow on every tree,
When frost and snaw turns fiery ba's,
Then I 'll come doun and dine with thee.’

When my father and mother got word
That my gay lord had forsaken me,
They sent three score of soldiers bold
To bring me to my own countrie.

When I in my coach was set,
My tenants all was with me tane;
They set them doun upon their knees,
And they begd me to come back again.

Fare ye weel, Jamie Douglas!
And fare ye weel, my babies three!
I wish your father may be kind
To these three faces that I do see.

When we cam in by Edinbro toun,
My father and mother they met me;
The cymbals sounded on every side,
But alace! the gave no comfort to me.

‘Hold your tongue, my daughter dear,
And of your weeping let abee,
And I 'll give him a bill of divorce,
And I 'll get as good a lord to thee.’

‘Hold your tongue, my father dear,
And of your scoffing let me bee;
I would rather hae a kiss of my own lord's mouth
As all the lords in the north countrie.’