The Banks of Yarrow, in Imitation of a Scotch Ballad

Why turns my Jen her head awa, My little blythsome sparrow, That us'd to wanton, smile and play Upon the Banks of Yarrow.

When the primrose blow'd so pale, She look'd so winsome marrow, And with her smiles she chear'd the dale, And crown'd the Banks of Yarrow.

Ah, what is't makes my Jenny weep, What makes her looks aw sarrow, Has she lost her fav'rite sheep, That feed on bonny Yarrow.

Alas, alas, I mainly fear, The cause of aw this sarrow, Sh'as seen some other lad more dear, Upon the Banks of Yarrow.

Ah well is me, Ah well-aday! I see what caus'd this sarrow, I'll o'er the hills and far away, And think na mare of Yarrow.