24. The Braes O' Yarrow

24. The Braes O' Yarrow (Folk-Songs of the South- 1925) 

Child reports: 

'The Braes of Yarrow' ('Busk ye, busk ye, my bony, bony bride'), written by William Hamilton of Bangour "in imitation of the ancient Scottish manner," was suggested by this ballad.

James Chalmers, in Archæologia Scotica, III, 261, says that Hamilton's ballad was contributed to the second volume of the Tea Table Miscellany in 1724. It is not in the Dublin edition of 1729. It is at p. 242 of the London edition of 1733; in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonins, II, 34, of the same year; at p. 46 of the first edition of [Hamilton's] Poems on Several Occasions, Glasgow, 1748. The author died in 1754. The copy in the second edition of Hamilton's Poems, 1760, p. 67, says Chalmers, is somewhat altered.

24. THE BRAES O' YARROW (Child, No. 214)

The text found in West Virginia is not derived from any of the English versions  printed in Child, but from "The Braes of Yarrow," William Hamilton of  Bangour (see Child, iv, 163). Cf. Reed Smith, Journal, xxvn, 59, and xxvin,  200; Cox, xlvi, 145.

"The Braes O' Yarrow." Contributed by Miss Fannie Eagan, Hinton,  Summers County, February, 191 7; learned from Miss Amelia G. Bruce, who  came from Scotland about twenty years before and had recently returned to  Edinburgh to live.

1 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
And think nae mair o' the braes o' Yarrow.

2 " Where got ye that bonnie, bonnie bride?
Where got ye that winsome marrow?"
"I got her where I dasena weel be seen,
Pu'ing the birks on the braes o' Yarrow."

3 Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride;
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow;
Nor let thy heart lament to leave,
Pu'ing the birks on the braes o' Yarrow.

4 "Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride?
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? "
And why daus ye nae mair be seen,
Pu'ing the birks on the braes o' Yarrow?"

5 Lang maun she weep, lang maun she weep,
Lang maun she weep wi' dule and sorrow;
And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen,
Pu'ing the birks on the braes o' Yarrow.

6 For she has tint her lover, lover dear,
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow;
And I have slain the comeliest swain,
That e'er pu'ed birks on the braes o' Yarrow.

7 Fair was thy love, fair, fair indeed thy love,
In flowery bands thou didst him fetter;
Tho' he was fair and well beloved again,
Than me, he did not love thee better.

8 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow;
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks o' Tweed,
And think nae mair o' the braes o' Yarrow.