Yet, when she irks, to Kaidslie Birks,
She rins, and sighs for sorrow,
That she should leave sweet Leader Haughs,
And cannot win to Yarrow.
What sweeter music wad ye hear,
Than hounds and beagles crying?
The started hare rins hard with fear,
Upon her speed relying:
But yet her strength it fails at length;
Nae bielding can she borrow,
In Sorrowless-fields, Clackmae, or Hags;
And sighs to be in Yarrow.
For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spotty, Shag,
With sight and scent pursue her;
Till, ah, her pith begins to flag;
Nae cunning can rescue her:
Ower dub and dyke, ower sheuch and syke,
She'll rin the fields all thorough,
Till, fail'd, she fa's in Leader Haughs,
And bids fareweel to Yarrow.
Sing Erlington and Cowdenknowes,
Where Humes had anes commanding;
And Drygrange, with the milk-white yowes,
'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing:
The bird that flees through Redpath trees
And Gladswood banks ilk morrow,
May chaunt and sing sweet Leader Haughs
And bonnie howms of Yarrow.
But minstrel Burne cannot assuage
His grief, while life endureth,
To see the changes of his age,
Which fleeting time procureth:
For mony a place stands in hard case,
Where blythe folk kend nae sorrow,
With Humes that dwelt on Leader-side,
And Scotts that dwelt on Yarrow.
Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
[The following are more modern words than the above to the tune of "Leader Haughs and Yarrow." They appear in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, with the title, "Sweet Susan." They are generally ascribed to Robert Crawfurd, author of the "Bush aboon Traquair" and "Tweedside." See pages 11 and 449.]
The morn was fair, saft was the air,
All nature's sweets were springing;
The buds did bow with silver dew,
Ten thousand birds were singing;
When on the bent with blythe content,
Young Jamie sang his marrow,
Nae bonnier lass e'er trod the grass,
On Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
How sweet her face, where ev'ry grace
In heav'nly beauty's planted!
Her smiling een, and comely mien,
That nae perfection wanted.
I'll never fret, nor ban my fate,
But bless my bonnie marrow:
If her dear smile my doubts beguile,
My mind shall ken nae sorrow.
Yet though she's fair, and has full share
Of every charm inchanting,
Each good turns ill, and soon will kill
Poor me, if love be wanting.
O, bonnie lass! have but the grace
To think ere ye gae further,
Your joys maun flit, if you commit
The crying sin of murder.
My wand'ring ghaist will ne'er get rest,
And day and night affright ye;
But if ye're kind, with joyful mind,
I'll study to delight ye.
Our years around, with love thus crown'd,
From all things joy shall borrow:
Thus none shall be more blest than we,
On Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
O sweetest Sue! 'tis only you
Can make life worth my wishes,
If equal love your mind can move,
To grant this best of blisses.
Thou art my sun, and thy least frown
Would blast me in the blossom,
But if thou shine, and make me thine,
I'll flourish in thy bosom.
The Flower of Yarrow.
[We can say nothing either of the age or authorship of this song. We find it in a collection of songs published at Glasgow in 1786, called "The British Songster."]
