The Book of Scottish Song/The Flowers of the Forest
The Flowers of the Forest.
I.
[Written, about the middle of the last century, in imitation of an old song to the same tune, by Miss Jane Elliot, daughter of Sir Gillbert Elliot of Minto. "The Forest" was the name given to a district which comprehended Selkirkshire, and a portion of Pebblesshire and Clydesdale, and which was noted for its fine archers. These were almost to a man slain at the battle of Flodden, (1513) and upon that disastrous event the song is founded.]
I've heard the lilting, at our yowe-milking,
Lasses a-lilting, before the dawn o' day;
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning;
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
At buchts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,
The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away.
In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
The bandsters are lyart, and runkled and grey;
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
At e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are roaiming,
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie—
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
Dule and wae to the order, sent our lads to the border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that foucht aye the foremost,
The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay.
We hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking,
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning—
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
II.
[Written by Mrs. Cockburn, daughter of Mr. Rutherford of Fairnielee in Roxburghshire, and wife to Mr. Cockburn of Ormiston, advocate. She died at Edinburgh in 1794.]
I've seen the smiling
Of Fortune beguiling;
I've felt all its favours, and found its decay:
Sweet was its blessing,
Kind its caressing;
But now 'tis fled—fled far away.
I've seen the forest
Adorned the foremost
With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay;
Sae bonnie was their blooming!
Their scent the air perfuming!
But now they are wither'd and weeded away.
I've seen the morning
With gold the hills adorning,
And loud tempest storming before the mid-day.
I've seen Tweed's silver streams,
Shining in the sunny beams,
Grow drumly and dark as he row'd on his way.
Oh, fickle Fortune,
Why this cruel sporting?
Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?
Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,
Nae mair your frowns can fear me;
For the Flowers of the Forest are a wede away.