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The Twa Brothers; or, The Wood o Warslin

THE TWA BROTHERS—D

[_]

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 59. From the recitation of Mrs W. Arrott, of Aberbrothick.

1

‘O will ye gae to the school, brother?
Or will ye gae to the ba?
Or will ye gae to the wood a-warslin,
To see whilk o's maun fa?’

2

‘It's I winna gae to the school, brother,
Nor will I gae to the ba;
But I will gae to the wood a-warslin,
And it is you maun fa.’

3

They warstled up, they warstled down,
The lee-lang simmer's day;
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]

4

‘O lift me up upon your back,
Tak me to yon wall fair;
You'll wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer,
And syne they'll bleed nae mair.

5

‘And ye'll tak aff my hollin sark,
And riv't frae gair to gair;
Ye'll stap it in my bluidy wounds,
And syne they'll bleed nae mair.’

6

He's liftit his brother upon his back,
Taen him to yon wall fair;
He's washed his bluidy wounds oer and oer,
But ay they bled mair and mair.

7

And he's taen aff his hollin sark,
And riven't frae gair to gair;
He's stappit it in his bluidy wounds,
But ay they bled mair and mair.

8

‘Ye'll lift me up upon your back,
Tak me to Kirkland fair;
Ye'll mak my greaf baith braid and lang,
And lay my body there.

9

‘Ye'll lay my arrows at my head,
My bent bow at my feet,
My sword and buckler at my side,
As I was wont to sleep.

10

‘Whan ye gae hame to your father,
He'll speer for his son John:
Say, ye left him into Kirkland fair,
Learning the school alone.

11

‘When ye gae hame to my sister,
She'll speer for her brother John:
Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair,
The green grass growin aboon.

12

‘Whan ye gae hame to my true-love,
She'll speer for her lord John:
Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair,
But hame ye fear he'll never come.’

13

He's gane hame to his father;
He speered for his son John:
‘It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
Learning the school alone.’

14

And whan he gaed hame to his sister,
She speered for her brother John:
‘It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
The green grass growin aboon.’

15

And whan he gaed home to his true-love,
She speerd for her lord John:
‘It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
And hame I fear he'll never come.’

16

‘But whaten bluid's that on your sword, Willie?
Sweet Willie, tell to me;’
‘O it is the bluid o my grey hounds,
They wadna rin for me.’

17

‘It's nae the bluid o your hounds, Willie,
Their bluid was never so red;
441

But it is the bluid o my true-love,
That ye hae slain indeed.’

18

That fair may wept, that fair may mournd,
That fair may mournd and pin'd:
‘When every lady looks for her love,
I neer need look for mine.’

19

‘O whaten a death will ye die, Willie?
Now, Willie, tell to me;’
‘Ye'll put me in a bottomless boat,
And I'll gae sail the sea.’

20

‘Whan will ye come hame again, Willie?
Now, Willie, tell to me;’
‘Whan the sun and moon dances on the green,
And that will never be.’
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