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ODE WRITTEN IN MDCCXLVI
How sleep the Brave who sink to rest
LAMENT FOR CULLODEN
The lovely lass o' Inverness,
LAMENT FOR FLODDEN
I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,
Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day; But now they are inoaning on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae;
Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away.
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray ; At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting
her dearieThe Flowers of the Forest are weded away. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay, We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking ;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaningThe Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
THE BRAES OF YARROW
Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream,
For ever now, O Yarrow stream!
I'll seek thy body in the stream,
WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW
Down in yon garden sweet and gay
Where bonnie grows the lily, I heard a fair maid sighing say
My wish be wi' sweet Willie ! • Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,
And Willie's wondrous bonny ;
Gin e'er he married ony.
From where my Love repaireth,
And tell me how he fareth ! "O tell sweet Willie to come doun
And hear the mavis singing, And see the birds on ilka bush
And leaves around them hinging. • The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast
And gentle throat sae narrow ; There's sport eneuch for gentlemen On Leader haughs and
Yarrow. "O Leader haughs are wide and braid
And Yarrow haughs are bonny; There Willie hecht to marry me
If e'er he married ony.
• But Willie's gone, whom I thought on,
And does not hear me weeping ; Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e
When other maids are sleeping. · Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,
The night I'll mak’ it narrow, For a' the live-lang winter night I lie twined o' my marrow:
came ye by yon water-side ? Pou'd you the rose or lily? Or came you by yon meadow green,
Or saw you my sweet Willie ?'
She sought him braid and narrow;
LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE
Toll for the Brave !
A land-breeze shook the shrouds