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Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow,"
Was but an Infant in the lap
When first I looked on Yarrow;Then said my "winsome Marrow ,"
"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow."That paints, by strength of sorrow,
The unconquerable strength of love;
Bear witness, rueful Yarrow!I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,
Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.My True-love sighed for sorrow;
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow!With what doubting eyes, oh sparrow,
Thou regardest me,
Underneath yon spray of yarrow,And long, unspeaking, sorrow:
Wharf shall be to pitying hearts
A name more sad than Yarrow.As he gaed mony a morrow,
Nine armed men lay in a den
On the dowie braes o' Yarrow.Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow!
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow!’Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow,
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow.