Yarrow

There was a lady from the North

One scarse could find her marrow

She was courted by nine gentlemen

And a ploughboy lad from Yarrow

These nine sat drinking at the wine

As they had done before

And they made a vow amongst themselves

To fight for her on Yarrow

She's combed his hair, she's washed his face

As she has done before

Gave him a brand down by his side

To fight for her on Yarrow

Now it's three he's wounded, and three withdrew

And three he's killed on Yarrow

Till her brother John stepped in behind

And pierced his body through

Father, dear father, I dreamed, dreamed a dream

I fear it will prove sorrow

I've dreamed I was pulling the heather bells

On the dowy dens of Yarrow