Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
Waly, Waly, but Love be BonnyAnonymous
O,
And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae.
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bowed, and syne it brak,—
Sae my true love did light by me!
A little time while it is new;
But when ’tis auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like the morning dew.
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he’ll never love me mair.
The sheets shall ne’er be fyled by me;
St. Anton’s well shall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I’m weary.
Nor blawing thaw’s inclemency;
’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my love’s heart grown cauld to me.
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel in cramasie.
That love had been sae ill to win,
I’d locked my heart in a case of gold,
And pinned it with a silver pin.
And set upon the nurse’s knee,
And I mysel were dead and gane
And the green grass growin’ ower me!