Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Flower of Yarrow

The Flower of Yarrow.

In ancient times as songs rehearse,One charming nymph employed each verse,She reigned alone without a marrow,Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow.

Our fathers with such beauty fired,This matchless fair in crowds admired,Tho' matchless then, yet here's her marrow,Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow.

Whose beauty unadorned by art,With virtue joined attracts each heart,Her negligence itself would charm you,She scarcely knows her power to warm you.

For ever cease Italian noise,Let every string and every voice,Sing Mary Scott without a marrow,Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow.