O, waly, waly up the bank,|
And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae!
I leaned my back unto an aik,
And thocht it was a trusty tree,
But first it bow'd and syne it brak:
Sae my true love did lichtlie me.
O waly, waly but love be bonnie
A little time while it is new,
But when it's auld it waxes cauld
And fades away like morning dew,
O, wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true-love has me forsook,
And says he'll never love me mair.
Now Arthur's seat shall be my bed,|
The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me,
St. Anton's Well shall be my drink,
Since my true-love has forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
'Tis not sic cauld that mak's me cry,
But my love's heart's grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely sicht to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel' in cramasie.
But had I wist before I kiss't|
That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysel' were dead and gone,
And the green grass growin' ower me!