The Braes o Yarrow

No: 214; variant: 214P

  1. ‘GET up, get up now, sister Ann, I fear we’ve wrought you sorrow; Get up, ye’ll find your true love slain, Among the banks of Yarrow.’
  2. ‘I made my love a suit of clothes, I clad him all in tartan, But ere the morning sun arose, He was a’ bluid to the gartan.’