Yarrow Stream. 
By Logan, John. 


Thy banks were bonny, Yarrow stream,
When first on thee I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream,
When now thy waves his body cover!

For ever now, O Yarrow stream,
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
For never on thy banks shall I
Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow.

He promised me a milk-white horse
To bear me to his father's bowers;
He promised me a little page
To squire me to his father's towers.

He promised me a wedding-ring;
The wedding day was fixed tomorrow:
Now he is wedded to his grave,
Alas! a watery grave in Yarrow.

Sweet were his words when last we met;
My passion I as freely told him;
Clasped in his arms, I little thought
That I should never more behold him.

Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost - 
It vanished with a shriek of sorrow;
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,
And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow.

His mother from the window looked
With all the longing of a mother;
His little sister, weeping, walked
The greenwood path to meet her brother.

They sought him east, they sought him west,
They sought him all the forest thorough:
They only saw the clouds of night,
They only heard the roar of Yarrow.

No longer from thy window look - 
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother.
No longer walk, thou lovely maid,
Alas, thou hast no more a brother!

No longer seek him east or west,
No longer search the forest thorough;
For, murdered in the night so dark,
He lies a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

The tears shall never leave my cheek,
No other youth shall be my marrow:
I'll seek thy body in the stream,
And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.

The tear did never leave her cheek,
No other youth became her marrow;
She found his body in the stream,
And with him now she sleeps in Yarrow.