The English and Scottish Popular Ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

There were twa brothers at the scule,
And when they got awa,
‘It's will ye play at the stane-chucking,
Or will ye play at the ba,
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head,
And there we'll warsel a fa?’

2

‘I winna play at the stane-chucking,
Nor will I play at the ba;
But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill,
And there we'll warsel a fa.’

3

They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk fell out of William's pouch,
And gave John a deadly wound.

4

‘O lift me upon your back,
Take me to yon well fair,
And wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer,
And they'll neer bleed nae mair.’

5

He's lifted his brother upon his back,
Taen him to yon well fair;
He's wash'd his bluidy wounds oer and oer,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.

6

‘Tak ye aff my holland sark,
And rive it gair by gair,
And row it in my bluidy wounds,
And they'll neer bleed nae mair.’

7

He's taken aff his holland sark,
And torn it gair by gair;
He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.

8

‘Tak now aff my green cleiding,
And row me saftly in,
And tak me up to yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.’

9

He's taken aff the green cleiding,
And rowed him saftly in;
He's laid him down by yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.

10

‘What will ye say to your father dear,
When ye gae hame at een?’
‘I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.’

11

‘O no, O no, my brother dear,
O you must not say so;
But say that I'm gane to a foreign land,
Whare nae man does me know.’

12

When he sat in his father's chair,
He grew baith pale and wan:
‘O what blude's that upon your brow?
O dear son, tell to me;’
‘It is the blude o my gude gray steed,
He wadna ride wi me.’

13

‘O thy steed's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your cheek?
O dear son, tell to me;’
‘It is the blude of my greyhound,
He wadna hunt for me.’

14

‘O thy hound's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your hand?
O dear son, tell to me;’
‘It is the blude of my gay goss-hawk,
He wadna flee for me.’

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15

‘O thy hawk's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your dirk?
Dear Willie, tell to me;’
‘It is the blude of my ae brother,
O dule and wae is me!’

16

‘O what will ye say to your father?
Dear Willie, tell to me;’
‘I'll saddle my steed, and awa I'll ride,
To dwell in some far countrie.’

17

‘O when will ye come hame again?
Dear Willie, tell to me;’
‘When sun and mune leap on yon hill,
And that will never be.’

18

She turnd hersel right round about,
And her heart burst into three:
‘My ae best son is deid and gane,
And my tother ane I'll neer see.’