The Flowers Of The Forest J. Elliot
I've heard them liltin', at our yowe-milking,
Lasses a-lilting before dawn of 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 blyth lads are scorning,
Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae;
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighin' and sabbing:
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, 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 in the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play.
But ilk and sits drearie, lamenting her dearie,
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
Dule 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 foucht aye the foremost,
The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay.
We'll 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.
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