LXXVI The Twa Brothers
There were twa brothers at the scule,
And when they got awa’—
‘Its will ye play at the stane-chucking,
Or will ye play at the ba’,
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, 5
And there we’ll warsell a fa’.’
‘I winna play at the stane-chucking,
Nor will I play at the ba’,
But I’ll gae up to yon bonnie green hill,
And there we’ll warsel a fa’.’ 10
They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk fell out of Willie’s pouch,
And gave him a deadly wound.
‘Oh, Billie, lift me on your back, 15
Take me to yon well fair,
And wash the bluid frae aff my wound,
And it will bleed nae mair.’
He’s lifted his brother upon his back,
Ta’en him to yon well fair; 20
He’s washed the bluid frae aff his wound,
But ay it bled mair and mair.
‘Tak ye aff my Holland sark,
And rive it gair by gair,
And stap it in my bluidy wound, 25
And syne ’twill bleed nae mair.’
He’s taken aff his Holland sark,
And torn it gair by gair;
He’s stappit it in his bluidy wound,
But ay it bled mair and mair. 30
‘Tak now aff my green sleiding,
And row me saftly in;
And tak me up to yon kirk style,
Where the grass grows fair and green.’
He’s taken aff the green sleiding, 35
And rowed him saftly in;
He’s laid him down by yon kirk style,
Where the grass grows fair and green.
‘What will ye say to your father dear
When ye gae hame at e’en?’ 40
‘I’ll say ye’re lying at yon kirk style,
Where the grass grows fair and green.
‘O no, O no, my brother dear,
O you must not say so;
But say that I’m gane to a foreign land, 45
Where nae man does me know.
When he sat in his father’s chair
He grew baith pale and wan.
‘O what blude’s that upon your brow?
O dear son, tell to me.’ 50
‘It is the blude o’ my gude gray steed,
He wadna ride wi’ me.’
‘O thy steed’s blude was ne’er sae red,
Nor e’er sae dear to me: 55
O what blude’s this upon your cheek?
O dear son, tell to me.’
‘It is the blude of my greyhound,
He wadna hunt for me.’
‘O thy hound’s blude was ne’er sae red, 60
Nor e’er sae dear to me:
O what blude’s this upon your hand?
O dear son, tell to me.’
‘It is the blude of my gay gosshawk,
He wadna flee for me.’ 65
‘O thy hawk’s blude was ne’er sae red,
Nor e’er sae dear to me:
O what blude’s this upon your dirk?
Dear Willie, tell to me.’
‘It is the blude of my ae brother, 70
O dule and wae is me!’
‘O what will ye say to your father,
Dear Willie, tell to me?’
‘I’ll saddle my steed, and awa’ I’ll ride
To dwell in some far countrie.’ 75
‘O when will ye come hame again,
Dear Willie, tell to me?’
‘When the sun and mune dance on yon green,
And that will never be.’
She turned hersel’ right round about, 80
And her heart burst into three:
‘My ae best son is deid and gane,
And my tother ane I’ll ne’er see.’
Anon.