The Lament of the Border Widow 1063

He spurred her forth into the flood,

I wot she swam both strong and steady;

But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny lady!

Unknown

THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW

My love he built me a bonnie bower,

And clad it a' wi' lily flower;

A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
Than my true-love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport, and went away;
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me sae dear;
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear:
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.

I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
I watched the corpse, mysel alane;
I watched his body night and day;
No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;

I digged a grave, and laid him in,
And happed him with the sod sae green.

But think na ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair?
O, think na ye my heart was wae,
When I turned about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again,
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for evermair.

Unknown

ASPATIA'S SONG

From "The Maid's Tragedy "

LAY a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;

Maidens, willow branches bear;

Say, I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm

From my hour of birth.

Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!

John Fletcher [1579-1625]

A BALLAD

From the " What-d'ye-call-it "

"TWAS when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind,

A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined.

Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wistful look;

Her head was crowned with willows,
That trembled o'er the brook.

"Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou, venturous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas?

Cease, cease thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest;
Ah! what's thy troubled motion

To that within my breast?

"The merchant robbed of pleasure,

Sees tempests in despair;

But what's the loss of treasure,

To losing of my dear?

The Braes of Yarrow

Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

"How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain;
Why then, beneath the water,
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes the rocks discover

That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep."

All melancholy lying,

Thus wailed she for her dear; Repaid each blast with sighing, Each billow with a tear.

When, o'er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she spied,

Then, like a lily drooping,

She bowed her head, and died.

1065

John Gay [1685-1732]

THE BRAES OF YARROW

THY braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream,
When first on them I met my lover:
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream,
When now thy waves his body cover!
Forever 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 steed,
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 to-morrow;
Now he is wedded to his grave,

Alas! his 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 cast, they sought him west,
They sought him all the forest thorough;

They only saw the cloud 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 little maid;

Alas! thou hast no more a brother.

No longer seek him east or west,

And search no more the forest thorough;
For, wandering in the night so dark,
He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

The tear 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 now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.

John Logan [1748-1788]

The Churchyard on the Sands 1067

THE CHURCHYARD ON THE SANDS

My love lies in the gates of foam,
The last dear wreck of shore;
The naked sea-marsh binds her home,
The sand her chamber door.

The gray gull flaps the written stones,
The ox-birds chase the tide;
And near that narrow field of bones
Great ships at anchor ride.

Black piers with crust of dripping green,

One foreland, like a hand,

O'er intervals of grass between
Dim lonely dunes of sand.

A church of silent weathered looks,
A breezy reddish tower,

A yard whose mounded resting-nooks
Are tinged with sorrel flower.

In peace the swallow's eggs are laid
Along the belfry walls;

The tempest does not reach her shade,
The rain her silent halls.

But sails are sweet in summer sky,
The lark throws down a lay;
The long salt levels steam and dry,
The cloud-heart melts away.

But patches of the sea-pink shine,
The pied crows poise and come;
The mallow hangs, the bind-weeds twine,
Where her sweet lips are dumb.

The passion of the wave is mute;
No sound or ocean shock;
No music save the trilling flute
That marks the curlew flock.