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XXIII.

XXIV. Just then she reached, with trembling I feel, I feel this breaking heart step,

Beat high against my side! Her aged mother's door :

From her white arm down sunk her He's gone! she cried, and I shall see

headThat angel-face no more.

She shivering, sighed, and died.

WILLIAM HAMILTON.

1704-1754.

The tragic love ballad is a charac- tion, and his health having given way teristic production of the times at which he returned to France, whose' warmer we have now arrived, and the “Braes climate was better adapted to his enof Yarrow” is an excellent specimen of feebled frame; yet even here he did the class; but with special features of not long survive, for he died at Lyons its own. Its author, William Hamilton in 1754, in his fiftieth year. of Bangour, was born in 1704. He An imperfect edition of his poems was was descended from an ancient Ayrshire published in Glasgow, in 1748, by an family ; and mixed in the highest social unknown editor, and it was not till 1760 circles of Edinburgh society, where his that a correct edition was printed from poetical accomplishments (he can hardly his own manuscripts. be described as a poetical genius) made His style, while very correct as regards him a favourite. He was also one of the the purity of its English, is too ornate band of young gentlemen who assisted and fanciful to give that impression of Allan Ramsay with his Tea. Table real passion and spontaneity without Miscellany.

which amatory lyric poetry is mere af. Attracted by the romance of the fectation. His “Braes of Yarrow" is enterprise, he joined the standard of the the only production of his in which, with young Pretender on the breaking out some exceptional conceits, the direct. of the Rebellion of 1745-6, and became ness and simplicity proper to this style the laureate of the expedition. After of composition is preserved. Wordsits collapse, he escaped to France, and, worth had it in view in the composition having influential friends on the royal of his poems on the Yarrow. side, was more fortunate in obtaining An edition of Hamilton's poems was an early pardon, and the restoration of published in 1850, edited by James his estate, than most of his com- Paterson, the author of several books patriots. He was of a delicate constitu- connected with Ayrshire.

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XXIII,

XXIV. Just then she reached, with trembling I feel, I feel this breaking heart step,

Beat high against my side! Her aged mother's door:

From her white arm down sunk her He's gone! she cried, and I shall see

headThat angel-face no more.

She shivering, sighed, and died.

WILLIAM HAMILTON.

1704–1754.

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The tragic love ballad is a charac- tion, and his health having given way teristic production of the times at which he returned to France, whose. warmer we have now arrived, and the “Braes climate was better adapted to his enof Yarrow” is an excellent specimen of feebled frame ; yet even here he did the class; but with special features of not long survive, for he died at Lyons its own. Its author, William Hamilton in 1754, in his fiftieth year. of Bangour, was born in 1704. He An imperfect edition of his poems was was descended from an ancient Ayrshire published in Glasgow, in 1748, by an family; and mixed in the highest social | unknown editor, and it was not till 1760 circles of Edinburgh society, where his that a correct edition was printed from poetical accomplishments (he can hardly his own manuscripts. be described as a poetical genius) made His style, while very correct as regards him a favourite. He was also one of the the purity of its English, is too ornate band of young gentlemen who assisted and fanciful to give that impression of Allan Ramsay with his Tea-Table real passion and spontaneity without Miscellany.

which amatory lyric poetry is mere afAttracted by the romance of the fectation. His “Braes of Yarrow" is enterprise, he joined the standard of the the only production of his in which, with young Pretender on the breaking out some exceptional conceits, the directof the Rebellion of 1745-6, and became ness and simplicity proper to this style the laureate of the expedition. After of composition is preserved. Wordsits collapse, he escaped to France, and, worth had it in view in the composition having influential friends on the royal of his poems on the Yarrow. side, was more fortunate in obtaining

An edition of Hamilton's poems was an early pardon, and the restoration of published in 1850, edited by James his estate, than most of his com- Paterson, the author of several books patriots. He was of a delicate constitu- connected with Ayrshire.

VII.

THE BRAES OF YARROW.

Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, I.

red? Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,

Why on thy braes heard the voice of Busk

ye,
busk ye, my winsome marrow !

sorrow?
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny And why yon melancholious weeds
bride,

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful • II.

flude? Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride ? Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?

What's yonder floats? O dule and

sorrow! I gat her where I darena weil be seen, Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

'Tis he, the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

VIII.

III.

IX. Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in bride,

tears, Weep not, weep not, my winsome

His woundsin tears with dule and sorrow, marrow!

And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, Nor let thy heart lament to leave

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

X.

IV.

Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny sad, bride?

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, Why does she weep, thy winsome And weep around in waeful wise, marrow ?

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen, Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

XI.

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless V.

shield, Lang maun she weep, lang maun she,

Myarm that wrought the deed of sorrow, maun she weep,

The fatal spear that pierced his breast, Lang maun she weep with dule and His comely breast, on the Braes of sorrow,

Yarrow. And lang maun I nae mair weil be

XII. seen

Did I not warn thee not to lo'e,
Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. And warn from fight, but to my sorrow;

O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm
VI.

Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of For she has tint her lover lover dear,

Yarrow. Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow,

XIII. And I hae slain the comeliest swain Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green That e'er poued birks on the Braes of grows the grass, Yarrow.

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan,

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

But e'er the to-fall of the night

He lay a corpseon the Braes of Yarrow.

XXIII.

XIV.

XXI. Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day ; flows Tweed,

I sang, my voice the woods returning, As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, But long ere night the spear was flown As sweet smells on its braes the birk, That slew my love, and left me mournThe apple frae the rock as mellow.

ing.

XXII.
XV.
Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love,

What can my barbarous barbarous father In flowery bands thou him didst fetter ;

do, Though he was fair and weil beloved

But with his cruel rage pursue me?' again,

My lover's blood is on thy spear, Than me he never lo'ed thee better.

How canst thou, barbarous man, then

woo me? XVI. Busk ye, then busk my bonny bonny bride,

My happy sisters may be may be proud ; Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,

With cruel and ungentle scoffin',
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of

May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes
Tweed,

My lover nailed in his coffin.
And think nae mair on the Braes of
Yarrow.

XXIV.
XVII.

My brother Douglas may upbraid upHow can I busk a bonny bonny bride,

braid, How can I busk a winsome marrow,

And strive with threatening words to How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed,

move me, That slew my love on the Braes of My lover's blood is on thy spear, Yarrow.

How canst thou ever bid me love thee? XVIII.

XXV. O Yarrow fields ! may never never rain,

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bedrof love, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, With bridal sheets my body cover, For there was basely slain my love,

Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, My love, as he had not been a lover.

Let in the expected husband lover.

XIX.
The boy put on his robes, his robes of

green,
His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewing,
Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned

He was in these to meet his ruin.

XXVI.
But who the expected husband husband is?
His hands, methinks, are bathed in

slaughter,
Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon,
Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding

after ?

XX.
The boy took out his milk-white milk-

white steed,
Unheedful of my dule and sorrow,

XXVII.
Pale as he is, here lay him lay him down,

O lay his cold head on my pillow ;

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