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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.


Arthur’s Seat

By Anonymous

O, WALY, waly up the bank,

And waly, waly down the brae,

And waly, waly yon burn-side,

Where I and my love wont to gae.

I leaned my back unto an aik,

And thought it was a trusty tree,

But first it bowed, and syne it brak’,

Sae my true-love did lightly me.

O, waly, waly, but love is bonny,

A little time while it is new,

But when ’t is auld, it waxeth cauld,

And fades away like morning dew.

O, wherefore should I busk my head?

Or wherefore should I kame my hair?

For my true-love has me forsook,

And says he ’ll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,

The sheets shall ne’er be filed by me,

Saint Anton’s well shall be my drink,

Since my true-love ’s forsaken me.

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves off the tree?

O gentle death! when wilt thou come?

For of my life I am weary.

’T is not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blowing snows inclemency;

’T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my love’s heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town,

We were a comely sight to see;

My love was clad in the black velvet,

And I mysel’ in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kissed

That love had been so ill to win,

I ’d locked my heart in a case of gold,

And pinned it with a silver pin.

And, O, if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse’s knee,

And I mysel’ were dead and gane,

Wi’ the green grass growing over me!