Carlisle Yetts
WHITE was the rose in his gay bonnet,
As he faulded me in his broached plaidie,
His hand whilk clasped the truth luve,
O it was ay in battle ready!
His long, long hair in yellow hanks
Waved o’er his cheeks sae sweet and ruddie;
But now they wave o’er Carlisle yetts
In dripping ringlets clotting bloodie.
My father’s blood ’s in that flower-tap,
My brother’s in that hare-bell’s blossom,
This white rose was steeped in my luve’s blood,
An’ I ’ll ay wear it in my bosom.
* * * * *
When I came first by merry Carlisle,
Was ne’er a town sae sweetly seeming;
The White Rose flaunted owre the wall,
The thristled banners far were streaming!
When I came next by merry Carlisle,
O sad, sad seemed the town an’ eerie!
The auld, auld men came out an’ wept,
“O maiden, come ye to seek yere dearie?”
* * * * *
There ’s ae drop o’ blude atween my breasts,
An’ twa in my links o’ hair sae yellow;
The tane I ’ll ne’er wash, an’ the tither ne’er kame,
But I ’ll sit an’ pray aneath the willow.
Wae, wae upon that cruel heart,
Wae, wae upon that hand sae bloodie,
Which feasts in our richest Scottish blude,
An’ makes sae mony a doleful widow.
