Poem by Anonymous

Arthur’s Seat

O, WALY, waly up the bank,
  And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
  Where I and my love wont to gae.
I leaned my back unto an aik,
  And thought it was a trusty tree,
But first it bowed, and syne it brak’,
  Sae my true-love did lightly me.

O, waly, waly, but love is bonny,
  A little time while it is new,
But when ’t is auld, it waxeth cauld,
  And fades away like morning dew.
O, wherefore should I busk my head?
  Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true-love has me forsook,
  And says he ’ll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,
  The sheets shall ne’er be filed by me,
Saint Anton’s well shall be my drink,
  Since my true-love ’s forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
  And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death! when wilt thou come?
  For of my life I am weary.

’T is not the frost that freezes fell,
  Nor blowing snows inclemency;
’T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,
  But my love’s heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
  We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
  And I mysel’ in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kissed
  That love had been so ill to win,
I ’d locked my heart in a case of gold,
  And pinned it with a silver pin.
And, O, if my young babe were born,
  And set upon the nurse’s knee,
And I mysel’ were dead and gane,
  Wi’ the green grass growing over me!

1. The Banks o’ Glaizart
2. Kitty of Coleraine
3. King Cormac’s Crown
4. Gathering of Atholl
5. Fare Ye Weel, My Auld Wife

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