speculating on the idea which it gave, produced this very lively and pleasant song. He calls it "The auld Man's best Argument"-a witty title-but I have chosen to abide by that which gives a name to the air. THE BRAES OF YARROW. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Busk busk ye, ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Where got ye that bonny bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? Lang must she weep, lang must she, must she weep, Lang must she weep with dole and sorrow, And lang must I nae mair well be seen, For she has tint her lover, lover dear, Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red? Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow? What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood? O'tis the comely swain I slew Upon the doleful braes of Yarrow. Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, And weep around in woeful wise, His helpless fate on the braes of Yarrow. VOL. III. E Curse ye, curse ye, Did I not warn thee not to, not to love, Thou mett'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. Flows Yarrow sweet, as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, As green its grass, ་ its gowan as yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk, Fair was thy love, fair, fair indeed thy love, Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride, Busk How can I busk a bonny bonny bride, O Yarrow field, may never, never rain, My love as he had not been a lover. The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, Ah! wretched me, I little, little knew, The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unheedful of my dole and sorrow, But ere the to-fall of the night, He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. Much I rejoic'd that woful, woful day; What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, My lover's blood is on thy hand; How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? My happy sisters may be, may be proud, With cruel and ungentle scoffing, May bid me seek on Yarrow's braes My lover nailed in his coffin. My brother Douglas may, he may upbraid, How canst thou ever bid me love thee? Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, But who the expected husband, husband is? Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best belov❜d, |