The simmer day was sweet an' lang,
It had nae thocht o' sorrow,
As my true love and I stood on
The bonnie banks o' Yarrow.
I took her han' in mine an' said,
'Noo smile, my winsome marrow;
The next time that we come again
You'll be my bride on Yarrow.'
A tear stood in her sweet blue ee,
An' sair she sighed in sorrow,
'I dinna like the sugh that rins
Alang your bonnie Yarrow.
'It soun's like some auld dirge o' wae,
It chills my bosom thorough,
An' it makes me creep close to your side;
Oh, I dinna like your Yarrow.
'For aye I think on the wae an' dule
That auld, auld sang brings o'er me;
An' aye I see that bluidy fecht,
An' the deid, deid men afore me.'
I clasped my true love in my arms,
I kissed her sweet lips thorough,
Her breast lay saft against my ain,
On the bonnie banks o' Yarrow.
'A tear is in your sweet blue ee,
A tear that speaks o' sadness.
Noo what should dim its happy hue,
This simmer day o' gladness?
'The Yarrow rins fu' fresh an' sweet,
The licht shines bricht an' clearly,
An' why should ae sad thocht be ours,
We wha lo'e ither dearly?
'The Yarrow rins, an' as it rins
Nae sadness can it borrow
Frae that auld sang that's far awa',
When I'm wi' thee on Yarrow.'
I pu'd a daisy at my feet,
A daisy sweet an' bonnie,
I put it in my true love's breast,
For she was fair as ony.
But aye she sighed, an' aye she said,
'I fear me for the morrow.
Oh, tak' awa' your bonnie flower,
For see, it grew on Yarrow.
'The bluid still dyes its crimson tips,
It speaks o' dule an' sadness,
An' the deid that lay on the gowany brae,
An' woman's wailing madness.'
I took the daisy from her breast,
I flung it into Yarrow,
An doon the stream wi' heavy heart
I cam' wi' my sweet marrow.
Oh simmer months, hoo swift ye flew,
Wi' a' your bloom an' blossom!
Oh Death, how waefu' was thy touch
That took her to thy bosom!
For my true love, sae sweet an' fair,
Lies in her grave sae narrow,
An' in my heart is that eerie moan
She heard that day in Yarrow.