Twa Sisters O' Binnorie
There were twa sisters sat in a bow'r;
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
A knight cam' there, a noble wooer,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And sair envìed her sister fair,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie !)
She cried upon her sister dear,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
`O sister, sister, tak' my hand,'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
`And let's go down to the river-strand,'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And down they went to the river-strand
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
The eldest cam' and pushed her in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O sister, sister, reach your hand!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'And ye sall be heir o' half my land'--
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O sister, reach me but your glove!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'And sweet William sall be your love'--
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
Till she cam' to the mouth o' yon mill-dam,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie
Out then cam' the miller's son
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And saw the fair maid swimmin' in,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
'O father, father, draw your dam!'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'There's either a mermaid or a swan,'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
The miller quickly drew the dam,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And there he found a drown'd womàn,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
Round about her middle sma'
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
There went a gouden girdle bra'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
All amang her yellow hair
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
A string o' pearls was twisted rare,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
On her fingers lily-white,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
The jewel-rings were shining bright,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And by there cam' a harper fine,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
Harpèd to nobles when they dine,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And when he looked that lady on,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He went into her father's hall,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
And played his harp before them all,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And sune the harp sang loud and clear,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
`Fareweel, my father and mither dear!'
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And neist when the harp began to sing,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'Twas 'Fareweel, sweetheart!' said the string,
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
And then as plain as plain could be,
(Binnorie, O Binnorie!)
'There sits my sister wha drownèd me!
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Binnorie
THERE were twa sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a thing.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
And sair envìed her sister fair.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
'O sister, sister tak my hand,
And let 's go down to the river-strand.'
She 's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river-strand.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest cam and push'd her in.
'O sister, sister reach your hand!
And ye sall be heir o' half my land:
'O sister, reach me but your glove!
And sweet William sall be your love.'
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the miller's dam.
Out then cam the miller's son,
And saw the fair maid soummin' in.
'O father, father draw your dam!
There 's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.'
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drown'd women.
You couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.
You couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.
All amang her yellow hair
A string o' pearls was twisted rare.
You couldna see her fingers sma',
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd a'.
And by there cam a harper fine,
That harpit to the king at dine.
And when he look'd that lady on,
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan.
He 's made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sound wad melt a heart of stane.
He 's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare.
He went into her father's hall,
And there was the court assembled all.
He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play by lane.
'O yonder sits my father, the King,
And yonder sits my mother, the Queen;
'And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
And by him my William, sweet and true.'
But the last tune that the harp play'd then--
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Was, 'Woe to my sister, false Helen!'
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
The Seven Sisters
Or, The Solitude Of Binnorie
SEVEN Daughter had Lord Archibald,
All children of one mother:
You could not say in one short day
What love they bore each other.
A garland, of seven lilies, wrought!
Seven sisters that together dwell;
But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
Their Father, took of them no thought,
He loved the wars so well.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
And from the shores of Erin,
Across the wave, a Rover brave
To Binnorie is steering:
Right onward to the Scottish strand
The gallant ship is borne;
The warriors leap upon the land,
And hark! the Leader of the band
Hath blown his bugle horn.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Beside a grotto of their own,
With boughs above them closing,
The Seven are laid, and in the shade
They lie like fawns reposing.
But now, upstarting with affright
At noise of man and steed,
Away they fly to left, to rightÑ
Of your fair household, Father-knight,
Methinks you take small heed!
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Away the even fair Campbells fly,
And, over hill and hollow,
With menace proud, and insult loud,
The youthful Rovers follow.
Cried they, 'Your Father loves to roam:
Enough for him to find
The empty house when he comes home;
For us your yellow ringlets comb,
For us be fair and kind!'
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Some close behind, some side to side,
Like clouds in stormy weather;
They run, and cry, 'Nay, let us die,
And let us die together.'
A lake was near; the shore was steep;
There never foot had been;
They ran, and with a deperate leap
Together plunged into the deep,
Nor ever more were seen.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
The stream that flows out of the lake,
As through the glen it rambles,
Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,
For those seven lovely Campbells.
Seven little Islands, green and bare,
Have risen from out the deep:
The fishers say, those sisters fair,
By faeries all are buried there,
And there together sleep.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Twa Sisters
There liv'd twa sisters in a bower,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
There liv'd twa sisters in a bower,
Stirling for aye:
The youngest o' them, O, she was a flower!
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
There came a squire frae the west,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
There cam a squire frae the west,
Stirling for aye:
He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
Stirling for aye:
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
Stirling for aye:
Our father's ships sail bonnilie,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.'
The youngest sat down upon a stane,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
The youngest sat down upon a stane,
Stirling for aye:
The eldest shot the youngest in,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand,
Stirling for aye:
And you shall hae my gouden fan,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh, sister, sister, save my life,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Oh sister, sister, save my life,
Stirling for aye:
And ye shall be the squire's wife,
Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.'
First she sank, and then she swam,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
First she sank, and then she swam,
Stirling for aye:
Until she cam to Tweed mill dam,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
The millar's daughter was baking bread,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
The millar's daughter was baking bread,
Stirling for aye:
She went for water, as she had need,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch,
Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
Stirling for aye:
There's either a lady, or a milk-white swan,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.'
They could nae see her fingers small,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
They could nae see her fingers small,
Stirling for aye:
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd all,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
They could nae see her yellow hair,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
They could nae see her yellow hair,
Stirling for aye:
Sae mony knots and platts war there,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
Stirling for aye:
And he's ta'en three tails o' her yellow hair,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Twa Sisters
There was twa sisters in a bowr,
Edinburgh, Edinburgh
There was twa sisters in a bowr,
Stirling for ay
There was twa sisters in a bowr,
There came a knight to be their wooer.
Bonny Saint Johnston stands upon Tay
He courted the eldest wi glove an ring,
But he lovd the youngest above a’ thing.
He courted the eldest wi brotch an knife,
But lovd the youngest as his life.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
An much envi’d her sister fair.
Into her bowr she could not rest,
Wi grief an spite she almos brast.
Upon a morning fair an clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
‘O sister, come to yon sea stran,
An see our father’s ships come to lan.’
She’s taen her by the milk-white han,
An led her down to yon sea stran.
The younges[t] stood upon a stane,
The eldest came an threw her in.
She tooke her by the middle sma,
An dashd her bonny back to the jaw.
‘O sister, sister, tak my han,
An Ise mack you heir to a’ my lan.
‘O sister, sister, tak my middle,
An yes get my goud and my gouden girdle.
‘O sister, sister, save my life,
An I swear Ise never be nae man’s wife.’
‘Foul fa the han that I should tacke,
It twin’d me an my wardles make.
‘Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair
Gars me gae maiden for evermair.’
Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she swam,
Till she came down yon bonny mill-dam.
O out it came the miller’s son,
An saw the fair maid swimmin in.
‘O father, father, draw your dam,
Here’s either a mermaid or a swan.’
The miller quickly drew the dam,
An there he found a drownd woman.
You coudna see her yallow hair
For gold and pearle that were so rare.
You coudna see her middle sma
For gouden girdle that was sae braw.
You coudna see her fingers white,
For gouden rings that was sae gryte.
An by there came a harper fine,
That harped to the king at dine.
When he did look that lady upon,
He sighd and made a heavy moan.
He’s taen three locks o her yallow hair,
An wi them strung his harp sae fair.
The first tune he did play and sing,
Was, ‘Farewell to my father the king.’
The nextin tune that he playd syne,
Was, ‘Farewell to my mother the queen.’
The lasten tune that he playd then,
Was, ‘Wae to my sister, fair Ellen.’
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Two Sisters
There was twa sisters in a bowr,
Edinburgh, Edinburgh
There was twa sisters in a bowr,
Stirling for ay
There was twa sisters in a bowr,
There came a knight to be their wooer.
Bonny Saint Johnston stands upon Tay.
He courted the eldest wi glove an ring,
But he lovd the youngest above a' thing.
He courted the eldest wi brotch an knife,
But lovd the youngest as his life.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
An much envi'd her sister fair.
Into her bowr she could not rest,
Wi grief an spite she almos brast.
Upon a morning fair an clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
"O sister, come to yon sea stran,
An see our father's ships come to lan."
She's taen her by the milk-white han,
An led her down to yon sea stran.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest came an threw her in.
She tooke her by the middle sma,
An dashd her bonny back to the jaw.
"O sister, sister, tak my han,
An Ise mack you heir to a' my lan.
"O sister, sister, tak my middle,
An yes get my goud and my gouden girdle.
"O sister, sister, save my life,
An I swear Ise never be nae man's wife."
"Foul fa the han that I should tacke,
It twin'd me an my wardles make.
"Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair
Gars me gae maiden for evermair."
Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she swam,
Till she came down yon bonny mill-dam.
O out it came the miller's son,
An saw the fair maid swimmin in.
"O father, father, draw your dam,
Here's either a mermaid or a swan."
The miller quickly drew the dam,
An there he found a drownd woman.
You coudna see her yallow hair
For gold and pearle that were so rare.
You coudna see her middle sma
For gouden girdle that was sae braw.
You coudna see her fingers white,
For gouden rings that was sae gryte.
An by there came a harper fine,
That harped to the king at dine.
When he did look that lady upon,
He sighd and made a heavy moan.
He's taen three locks o her yallow hair,
An wi them strung his harp sae fair.
The first tune he did play and sing,
Was, "Farewell to my father the king."
The nextin tune that he playd syne,
Was, "Farewell to my mother the queen."
The lasten tune that he playd then,
Was, "Wae to my sister, fair Ellen."
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Farewell
Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river
And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever;
Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters;
Farewell to the miller's brook and his three bonny daughters;
Farewell to them all while in prison I lie--
In the prison a thrall sees naught but the sky.
Shut out are the green fields and birds in the bushes;
In the prison yard nothing builds, blackbirds or thrushes.
Farewell to the old mill and dash of waters,
To the miller and, dearer still, to his three bonny daughters.
In the nook, the larger burdock grows near the green willow;
In the flood, round the moor-cock dashes under the billow;
To the old mill farewell, to the lock, pens, and waters,
To the miller himsel', and his three bonny daughters.
poem by John Clare
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Bonny Lassie O!
O the evening's for the fair, bonny lassie O!
To meet the cooler air and walk an angel there,
With the dark dishevelled hair,
Bonny lassie O!
The bloom's on the brere, bonny lassie O!
Oak apples on the tree; and wilt thou gang to see
The shed I've made for thee,
Bonny lassie O!
Tis agen the running brook, bonny lassie O!
In a grassy nook hard by, with a little patch of sky,
And a bush to keep us dry,
Bonny lassie O!
There's the daisy all the year, bonny lassie O!
There's the king-cup bright as gold, and the speedwell never cold,
And the arum leaves unrolled,
Bonny lassie O!
O meet me at the shed, bonny lassie O!
With a woodbine peeping in, and the roses like thy skin
Blushing, thy praise to win,
Bonny lassie O!
I will meet thee there at e'en, bonny lassie O!
When the bee sips in the bean, and grey willow branches lean,
And the moonbeam looks between,
Bonny lassie O!
poem by John Clare
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Bonny Mary O!
The morning opens fine, bonny Mary O!
The robin sings his song by the dairy O!
Where the little Jenny wrens cock their tails among the hens,
Singing morning's happy songs with Mary O!
The swallow's on the wing, bonny Mary O!
Where the rushes fringe the spring, bonny Mary O!
Where the cowslips do unfold, shaking tassels all of gold,
Which make the milk so sweet, bonny Mary O!
There's the yellowhammer's nest, bonny Mary O!
Where she hides her golden breast, bonny Mary O!
On her mystic eggs she dwells, with strange writing on their shells,
Hid in the mossy grass, bonny Mary O!
There the spotted cow gets food, bonny Mary O!
And chews her peaceful cud, bonny Mary O!
In the mole-hills and the bushes, and the clear brook fringed with rushes
To fill the evening pail, bonny Mary O!
The cowpond once agen, bonny Mary O!
Lies dimpled like thy sen, bonny Mary O!
Where the gnat swarms fall and rise under evening's mellow skies,
And on flags sleep dragon flies, bonny Mary O!
And I will meet thee there, bonny Mary O!
When a-milking you repair, bonny Mary O!
And I'll kiss thee on the grass, my buxom, bonny lass,
And be thine own for aye, bonny Mary O!
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bonny Hind
O May she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon gardens green,
And there she spied a gallant squire
As squire had ever been.
And may she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon hollin tree,
And there she spied a brisk young squire,
And a brisk young squire was he.
'Give me your green manteel, fair maid,
Give me your maidenhead;
Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,
Gi me your maidenhead.'
He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
And softly laid her down,
And when he's lifted her up again
Given her a silver kaim.
'Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,
Perhaps there may be nane;
But if you be a courtier,
You'll tell to me your name.'
'I am na courtier, fair maid,
But new come frae the sea;
I am nae courtier, fair maid,
But when I court'ith thee.
'They call me Jack when I'm abroad,
Sometimes they call me John;
But when I'm in my father's bower
Jock Randal is my name.'
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter,
He has nae mair nor me.'
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son,
Just now come oer the sea.'
She's putten her hand down by her spare
And out she's taen a knife,
And she has putn't in her heart's bluid,
And taen away her life.
And he's taen up his bonny sister,
With the big tear in his een,
And he has buried his bonny sister
Amang the hollins green.
And syne he's hyed him oer the dale,
His father dear to see:
'Sing O and O for my bonny hind,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
There's aught score hyns in yonder park,
And five score hyns to spare.
'Fourscore of them are siller-shod,
Of thae ye may get three;'
'But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
Take you the best, gi me the warst,
Since plenty is to spare.'
'I care na for your hyns, my lord,
I care na for your fee;
But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath the hollin tree!'
'O were ye at your sister's bower,
Your sister fair to see,
Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn
Beneath the hollin tree.'
poem by Andrew Lang
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Ballad of Earl Haldan's Daughter
It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She looked across the sea;
She looked across the water;
And long and loud laughed she:
'The locks of six princesses
Must be my marriage fee,
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who comes a wooing me?'
It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She walked along the sand;
When she was aware of a knight so fair,
Came sailing to the land.
His sails were all of velvet,
His mast of beaten gold,
And 'Hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who saileth here so bold?'
'The locks of five princesses
I won beyond the sea;
I clipt their golden tresses,
To fringe a cloak for thee.
One handful yet is wanting,
But one of all the tale;
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Furl up thy velvet sail!'
He leapt into the water,
That rover young and bold;
He gript Earl Haldan's daughter,
He clipt her locks of gold:
'Go weep, go weep, proud maiden,
The tale is full to-day.
Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Sail Westward ho! away!'
poem by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Red Flag
Where the quivering lightning flings
His arrows from out the clouds,
And the howling tempest sings
And whistles among the shrouds,
'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride
Along the foaming brine—
Wilt be the Rover's bride?
Wilt follow him, lady mine?
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny brine.
Amidst the storm and rack,
You shall see our galley pass,
As a serpent, lithe and black,
Glides through the waving grass.
As the vulture swift and dark,
Down on the ring-dove flies,
You shall see the Rovers bark
Swoop down upon his prize.
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny prize.
Over her sides we dash,
We gallop across her deck—
Ha! there's a ghastly gash
On the merchant-captain's neck—
Well shot, well shot, old Ned!
Well struck, well struck, black James!
Our arms are red, and our foes are dead,
And we leave a ship in flames!
Hurrah!
For the bonny, bonny flames!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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the D Am song
dam
beaver dam
a beaver dam
has a beaver dam
beaver has a beaver dam
the beaver has a beaver dam
friend the beaver has a beaver dam
my friend the beaver has a beaver dam
because my friend the beaver has a beaver dam
dams because my friend the beaver has a beaver dam
beaver dams because my friend the beaver has a beaver dam
like beaver dams because my friend the beaver has a beaver dam
i like beaver dams because my friend the beaver has a beaver dam
-to be played on a guitar and sung, only playing the chords D and Am(a minor)
poem by Daniel Cook
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The King's Daughter
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.
The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.
The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.
The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.
The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.
By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.
“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.
He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.
“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Recent Appearance Of A Lady
The joy of meeting one so fair,
Inspires the present stream of song;
A bonny belle,
That few excel,
And one with whom I few compare,
Though out of sight so long.
It is a cause of much delight,
When lads and lasses meet again;
But, bonny belle,
No long to dwell,
For soon, upon the wing of flight,
We haste away in pain.
That long hid form I smile to trace,
A star emerging out of gloom,
Exalted belle,
Whose powers impel,
And draw the heart by every grace,
The queen of every bloom.
Long out of sight, but still in mind,
Eternal me'mry holds its grasp,
Still, bonny belle,
'Tis sweet to tell
Of thee, when I am left behind
In sorrow's lonely clasp.
poem by George Moses Horton
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The Bonny Earl of Murray
Ye highlands, and ye lawlands,
Oh! whair hae ye been?
They hae slaine the earl of Murray,
And hae layd him on the green.
Now wae be to thee, Huntley!
And whairfore did you sae!
I bade you bring him wi' you,
But forbade you him to slay.
He was a braw gallant,
And he rid at the ring;
And the bonny earl of Murray,
Oh! he might hae been a king.
He was a braw gallant,
And he playd at the ba';
And the bonny earl of Murray
Was the flower among them a'.
He was a braw gallant,
And he playd at the gluve;
And the bonny earl of Murray,
Oh! he was the queenes luve.
Oh! lang will his lady
Luke owre the castle downe,
Ere she see the earl of Murray
Cum sounding throw the towne.
poem by Thomas Percy
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Annan Water
'Annan water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.
'Gar saddle me the bonny black,--
Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
And all to see my bonny ladye.'--
He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;
But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.
He has loupen on the bonny gray,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
O he has ridden o'er field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.
'Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
And never spur sall make you wearie.'
The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;
But when she wan the Annan water,
She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,
Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
'O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
Put off your boat for gowden monie!
I cross the drumly stream the night,
Or never mair I see my honey.'--
'O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
And not by ae aith, but by many;
And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,
I dare na take ye through to Annie.'
The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.
O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.
He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye.
'O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
And wae betide the bush of brier!
It brake into my true love's hand,
When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
'And wae betide ye, Annan water,
This night that ye are a drumlie river!
For over thee I'll build a bridge,
That ye never more true love may sever.'--
poem by Andrew Lang
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I Know My Love
I KNOW my Love by his way of walking,
And I know my love by his way of talking,
And I know my love dressed in a suit of blue,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?
And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?”
There is a dance house in Mar’dyke,
And there my true love goes every night;
He takes a strange one upon his knee,
And don’t you think, now, that vexes me?
And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?”
If my Love knew I could wash and wring,
If my Love knew I could weave and spin,
I would make a dress all of the finest kind,
But the want of money, sure, leaves me behind.
And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?”
I know my Love is an arrant rover,
I know he’ll wander the wide world over,
In dear old Ireland he’ll no longer tarry,
And an English one he is sure to marry.
And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?”
poem by Anonymous English
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Dieu! Qu'il La Fait
FROM CHARLES D'ORLEANS
God! that mad'st her well regard her,
How she is so fair and bonny;
For the great charms that are upon her
Ready are all folks to reward her.
Who could part him from her borders
When spells are alway renewed on her?
God! that mad'st her well regard her,
How she is so fair and bonny.
From here to there to the sea's border,
Dame nor damsel there's not any
Hath of perfect charms so many.
Thoughts of her are of dream's order:
God! that mad'st her well regard her.
poem by Ezra Pound
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I have been taking my daily walk round the island, and visited the sugar mill and the threshing mill again.
quote by Fanny Kemble
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scotch Song
Oh, forth she went like a braw, braw bride
To meet her winsome groom,
When she was aware of twa bonny birds
Sat biggin' in the broom.
The tane it built with the green, green moss,
But and the bents sae fine,
And the tither wi' a lock o' lady's hair
Linked up wi' siller twine.
'O whaur gat ye the green, green moss,
O whaur the bents sae fine?
And whaur gat ye the bonny broun hair
That ance was tress o' mine?'
'We gat the moss fra' the elditch aile,
The bents fra' the whinny muir,
And a fause knight threw us the bonny broun hair,
To please his braw new fere.'
'Gae pull, gae pull the simmer leaves,
And strew them saft o'er me;
My token's tint, my love is fause,
I'll lay me doon and dee.'
1847.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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