This fell when Christmas lights were done, | |
(Red rose leaves will never make wine) | |
But before the Easter lights begun; | |
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. | |
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows | |
And all the grass is heavy and fine, | |
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows | |
When the wind brings them over Tyne. | |
Blossom of broom will never make bread, | |
10 | Red rose leaves will never make wine; |
Between her brows she is grown red, | |
That was full white in the fields by Tyne. | |
‘O what is this thing ye have on, | |
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?’ | |
‘O father, this is my little son | |
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne. | |
‘O what will ye give my son to eat, | |
Red rose leaves will never make wine?’ | |
‘Fen-water and adder’s meat.’ | |
20 | The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. |
‘Or what will ye get my son to wear?’ | |
(Red rose leaves will never make wine.) | |
‘A weed and a web of nettle’s hair.’ | |
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. | |
‘Or what will ye take to line his bed?’ | |
(Red rose leaves will never make wine.) | |
‘Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head.’ | |
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. | |
‘Or what will ye give my son for land?’ | |
30 | (Red rose leaves will never make wine.) |
‘Three girl’s paces of red sand.’ | |
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. | |
‘Or what will ye give me for my son?’ | |
(Red rose leaves will never make wine.) | |
‘Six times to kiss his young mouth on.’ | |
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. | |
‘But what have ye done with the bearing-bread, | |
And what have ye made of the washing-wine? | |
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed, | |
40 | To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?’ |
‘The bearing-bread is soft and new, | |
There is no soil in the straining wine; | |
The bed was made between green and blue, | |
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne. | |
‘The fair grass was my bearing-bread, | |
The well-water my washing-wine; | |
The low leaves were my bearing-bed, | |
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.’ | |
‘O daughter, if ye have done this thing, | |
50 | I wot the greater grief is mine; |
This was a bitter child-bearing, | |
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne. | |
‘About the time of sea-swallows | |
That fly full thick by six and nine, | |
Ye’ll have my body out of the house, | |
To bury me by the sides of Tyne. | |
‘Set nine stones by the wall for twain,’ | |
(Red rose leaves will never make wine) | |
‘For the bed I take will measure ten.’ | |
60 | The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. |
‘Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,’ | |
(Red rose leaves will never make wine) | |
‘For the pit I made has taken me.’ | |
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne. |