The Flowers o’ the Forest
I’ve heard them lilting, at the ewe-milking,
Lasses a’ lilting, before dawn o’ day;
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning;
The Flowers o’ the Forest are a’ wede awae.
At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;
Lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing;
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae.
In har’st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray;
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;
The Flowers o’ the Forest are a’ wede awae.
At e’en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
‘Bout stacks, wi’ the lasses at bogles to play;
But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her dearie—
The Flowers o’ the Forest are weded awae.
Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers o’ the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.
We’ll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae:
Sighing and moaning, on ilka green loaning—
The Flowers o’ the Forest are a’ wede awae.
E. Elliott.