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, 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, There came a man, by middle day, He slew my knight, to me sae dear; I sewed his sheet, making my mane; I took his body on my back, I digged a grave, and laid him in, But think na ye my heart was sair, Nae living man I'll love again, Unknown ASPATIA'S SONG From "The Maid's Tragedy " LAY a garland on my hearse 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 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 Her head was crowned with willows, "Twelve months are gone and over, Why didst thou trust the seas? Cease, cease thou cruel ocean, 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, But none that loves you so. "How can they say that nature That lurk beneath the deep, 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, Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. He promised me a milk-white steed, To squire me to his father's towers; He promised me a wedding-ring,- Alas! his watery grave, in Yarrow. Sweet were his words when last we met: That I should never more behold him! And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. His mother from the window looked, The greenwood path to meet her brother. 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; 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, 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 gray gull flaps the written stones, Black piers with crust of dripping green, One foreland, like a hand, O'er intervals of grass between A church of silent weathered looks, A yard whose mounded resting-nooks In peace the swallow's eggs are laid The tempest does not reach her shade, But sails are sweet in summer sky, But patches of the sea-pink shine, The passion of the wave is mute; |