Letras: Karine Polwart. Dowie Dens Of Yarrow.

There was a lady in the north
You scarce would find her marrow
She was courted by nine gentlemen
An a plooboy lad fae Yarrow

Well nine sat drinking at the wine
As oft they'd done afore o
And they made a vow amang themselves
Tae fight for her on Yarrow

He's come ower yon high, high hill and
Doon by the den sae narrow
And there he spied nine armed men
Come tae fight wi him on Yarrow

He says ?There's nine o' you and but yin o' me
It's an unequal marrow?
But I'll fight ye a' noo one by one
On the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow

So it's three he slew and three withdrew
Anthree he wounded sairly
Til her brother he came in beyond
And he wounded him maist foully

?Gae hame, gae hame ye fause young man
And bring yer sister sorrow
For her ain true love lies pale and wan
On the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow?

?O mither I dreamed a dream
A dream o' doul and sorrow
I dreamed I was pu'ing the heathery bells
On the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow?

?O daughter dear I ken yer dream
And I doobt it will bring sorrow
For yer lover John lies pale and wan
On the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow?

So she's run ower yon high, high hill an
Doon by the den sae narrow
And there she spied her dear lover John
Lying pale and deid on Yarrow

She's washed his face an' kaimed his hair
As aft she'd done afore o
And tied it roond her middle sae sma
And carried him hame tae Yarrow.

?Oh haud yer tongue my dochter dear!
What need for all this sorrow?
I'll wed ye tae a far, far better man
Than the one that's lost on Yarrow?

?O faither ye hae seven sons
Ye may wed them a' the morrow
But the fairest floo-er amang them a'
Was the plooboy lad fae Yarrow?

?So mither, mither mak my bed
And mak it saft and narrow
For my love died for me this day
And I'll die for him tomorrow?