But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
Jane Elliot (1727-1805).
O! day-time is weary, an’ dark o’ dusk dreary
For t’ lasses i’ t’ mistal, or rakin’ ower t’ hay;
When t’ kye coom for strippin’, or t’ yowes for their clippin’,
We think on our sowdiers now gone reet away.
The courtin’-gate’s idle, nae lad flings his bridle
Ower t’ yak-stoup,[1] an’ sleely cooms seekin’ his may;
The trod by the river is green as a sliver,[2]
For the Flowers o’ the Forest have all stown away.
At Marti’mas hirin’s, nae ribbins, nae tirin’s,
When t’ godspenny’s[3] addled, an’ t’ time’s coom for play;
Nae Cheap-Jacks, nae dancin’, wi’ t’ teamster’ clogs prancin ,
The Flowers o’ the Forest are all flown a way.
When at neet church is lowsin’, an’ t’ owd ullet is rousin’
Hissel i’ our laithe,[4] wheer he’s slummered all t’ day,
Wae’s t’ heart! but we misses our lads’ saftest kisses,
Now the Flowers o’ the Forest are gone reet away.
Ploo-lads frae Pannal have crossed ower the Channel,
Shipperds frae Fewston have taen the King’s pay,
Thackrays frae Dacre have sold ivery acre;
Thou’ll finnd ne’er a delver[5] frae Haverah to Bray.
When t’ north wind is howlin’, an’ t’ west wind is yowlin’,
It’s for t’ farm lads at sea that us lasses mun pray;
Tassey-Will o’ t’ new biggin, keepin’ watch i’ his riggin ,
Lile Jock i’ his fo’c’sle, torpedoed i’ t’ bay.
Mony a lass now is weepin’ for her marrow that’s sleepin’,
Wi’ nae bield for his corp but the cowd Flanthers clay;
He’ll ne’er lift his limmers,[6] he’ll ne’er wean his gimmers[7]:
Ay, there’s Flowers o’ the Forest are withered away.
