Arthur’s Seat
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 thought it was a trusty tree,
But first it bowed, and syne it brak’,
Sae my true-love did lightly me.
O, waly, waly, but love is bonny,
A little time while it is new,
But when ’t is auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like morning dew.
O, wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true-love has me forsook,
And says he ’ll never love me mair.
Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne’er be filed by me,
Saint Anton’s well shall be my drink,
Since my true-love ’s forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death! when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am weary.
’T is not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blowing snows inclemency;
’T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my love’s heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel’ in cramasie.
But had I wist before I kissed
That love had been so ill to win,
I ’d locked my heart in a case of gold,
And pinned it with a silver pin.
And, O, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse’s knee,
And I mysel’ were dead and gane,
Wi’ the green grass growing over me!
