The Flower of Rothbury Forest
Sweet thro’ the forest, Coquet flows,
And sweet the flowers its banks adorn;
But sweetest far appears my Rose,
She’s sure the rose without a thorn.
Heard you the lilting,
At our kye milking,
Heard you the lilting yesterday;
Heard you the lilting,
At our kye milking;
The flower of the forest is stolen away.
Tho’ Meadowfield62 may boast its sweets,
And meadow sweets its fields adorn;
United, all its scents me greets,
Present my Rose without a thorn.
Heard you the lilting, &c.
Tho’ Flotterton63 may boast its maids,
And on Twelfth Eve all others scorn:
I envy not their lusty blades,
Present my Rose without a thorn.
Heard you the lilting, &c.
Tho’ at kye milking, maidens sing,
The forest’s flower is awa’;
I dinna heed, gae tak’ their fling,
For troth she’s stown awa’ wi’ me.
Heard you the lilting, &c.
Notes
62 Meadowfield, name of a place.
63 Maids’ Feast of Flotterton is on Twelfth Even.