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DOWIE DENS OF YARROW

(learned from Ken Spiker and Charlie Brown in the early 1960s; "dowie" means dark and damp)

(music to go here)

Late at e'en, drinkin' the wine, and ere they paid the lawin',
They set a combat them between to fight it in the dawin'.

You took our sister to be your wife, and thought her not your marrow (equal)
You stole her frae her father's back, when she was the Rose o' Yarrow.

I took your sister to be my wife, and I made her my marrow;
I stole her frae her father's back, and she's still the Rose o' Yarrow.

He has hame tae his lady gane, as he had done before, O,
Says, Madam, I maun keep a tryst, on the dowie houms o' Yarrow.

O stay at hame, my noble lord, O stay at hame, my marrow,
My cruel brother will you betray, on the dowie dens o' Yarrow.

Now hold your tongue, my lady fair, for what needs a' this sorrow?
For if I gae I'll soon return frae the dowie dens o' Yarrow.

She's kissed his cheek, she's kaimed his hair, as oft she'd done before, O!
She's belted him wi' his noble brand, and he's awa' tae Yarrow.

O fare ye weel, my lady gay! O fare ye weel, my Sarah!
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return frae the dowie houms o' Yarrow.

As he gaed o'er the Tennies bank, I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,
Till down in the den, he saw nine armed men on the dowie dens o' Yarrow.

O come ye here to part your land, the bonnie forest thorough?
Or come ye here to wield your brand on the dowie dens o' Yarrow?

I come not here to part my land, and neither to beg nor borrow;
But I come here to wield my brand on the bonnie banks o' Yarrow.

If I see all, ye're nine tae ane, and that's unequal marrow (matching)
Yet will I fight while lasts my brand on the dowie dens o' Yarrow.

Four has he hurt, and five has slain, on the bloody braes o' Yarrow;
Till that stubborn knicht cam' him behind, and ran his body thorough.

Gae hame, gae hame, gude brother John, and tell your sister Sarah,
To come and lift her leafu' lord, who's sleeping sound on Yarrow.

As he gaed owre yon high, high hill, as he had done before, O!
There he met his sister dear, was comin' fast to Yarrow.

Yestre'en I dreamed a dolefu' dream, I fear there will be sorrow;
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green wi' my true love on Yarrow.

O gentle wind that bloweth south, from where my lord repaireth,
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, and tell me how he fareth!

I'll read your dream, my sister dear, I'll tell you all your sorrow;
You pu'd the heather wi' your true love; he's killed, he's killed on Yarrow.

But in the glen strove armed men, they've wrought me dule and sorrow;
They've slain--the comeliest knicht they've slain, he bleeding lies on Yarrow.

She's torn the ribbons frae her head that were baith thick and narrow,
She's kiltit up hir gae claithing, and she's awa' tae Yarrow.

Sometimes she rade, sometimes she gaed, as oft she'd done before, O!
And a' between she fell in a sweine, lang ere she cam' tae Yarrow.

As she sped down yon high, high hill, she gaed wi' dule and sorrow;
And in the den spied ten slain men, on the dowie banks o' Yarrow.

She's kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, she searched his wounds all thorough;
She kissed them till her lips grew red, on the dowie houms o' Yarrow.

She's kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, as oft she'd done before, O!
Syne wi' a sigh her heart did break, on the dowie braes o' Yarrow.

Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear, for a' this breeds but sorrow;
I'll wed ye tae a better lord than him ye lost on Yarrow.

O haud your tongue, my father dear, ye mind me but o' sorrow;
A fairer rose did never bloom than now lies cropped on Yarrow.

Tak' ham' your ousen, tak' ham' your kye, for they hae bred our sorrow;
I wis that they had a' gane mad when they cam' first tae Yarrow.

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)