An Exploration of Traditional & Modern Balladry
Braes of YarrowI dreamed a dreary dream this night,
That fills my heart wi sorrow; I dreamed I was pouing the heather green Upon the braes of Yarrow. 'O true-love mine, stay still and dine, As ye ha done before, O;' 'O I'll be hame by hours nine, And frae the braes of Yarrow.’ I dreamed a dreary dream this night, That fills my heart wi sorrow; I dreamed my luve came headless hame, O frae the braes of Yarrow! 'O true-luve mine, stay still and dine, As ye ha done before, O;' 'O I'll be hame by hours nine, And frae the braes of Yarrow.’ 'O are ye going to hawke,' she says, 'As ye ha done before, O? Or are ye going to weild your brand, Upon the braes of Yarrow?’ 'O I am not going to hawke,' he says, 'As I have done before, O, But for to meet your brother Jhon, Upon the braes of Yarrow, As he gade down yon dowy den, Sorrow went him before, O; Nine well-wight men lay waiting him, Upon the braes of Yarrow. 'I have your sister to my wife, 'Ye' think me an unmeet marrow; But yet one foot will I never flee Now frae the braes of Yarrow.’ 'Than' four he killd and five did wound, That was an unmeet marrow! 'And he had weel nigh wan the day Upon the braes of Yarrow.’ 'Bot' a cowardly 'loon' came him behind, (10) Our Lady lend him sorrow! And wi a rappier pierced his heart, And laid him low on Yarrow. 'Now Douglas' to his sister's gane, Wi meikle dule and sorrow: 'Gae to your luve, sister,' he says, 'He's sleeping sound on Yarrow.’ As she went down yon dowy den, Sorrow went her before, O; She saw her true-love lying slain Upon the braes of Yarrow. 'She swoond thrice upon his breist That was her dearest marrow; Said, Ever alace and wae the day Thou wentst frae me to Yarrow!’ She kist his mouth, she kaimed his hair, As she had done before, O ; She 'wiped' the blood that trickled doun Upon the braes of Yarrow. Her hair it was three quarters lang, It hang baith side and yellow; She tied it round 'Her' white hause-bane, 'And tint her life on Yarrow.' |
John Fitz
balladmonger 1. noun: a seller of ballads, esp on broadsheets. 2. Noun: a writer of mediocre poetry. It's as if I feel myself walking down a misty road toward a violent and certain death. And all just for honor and righteousness--and, of course, Love. The ancient ballad "Braes of Yarrow" reminds me that there is too much in life to take for granted; there is too much injustice in the world to let other people fight my battles. I think of Hamlet when he says, "...to take arms against a sea of troubles/and by opposing them, to end them."
I play this song--and I hear this song--as both an anthem for change in my life and as a reminder of the love I have for my wife. We never hang up the phone or walk out of the door without saying to each other, "I love you." It doesn't matter if we just had a fight over something stupid; It's just that we both know from our everyday experience that love is everything--it trumps all. Braes of Yarrow shows me that love and honor is an action and not simply an ideal. A simple story set to a simple tune gives renewed strength to live fully and completely in the love I've chosen. ~Fitz History & Analysis
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