The Flower of Yarrow.
[We can say nothing either of the age or authorship of this song. We find it in a collection of songs published at Glasgow in 1786, called "The British Songster."]
In ancient times as songs rehearse,
One charming nymph employ'd each verse,
She reign'd alone without a marrow,
Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow.
Our fathers with such beauty fir'd,
This matchless fair in crowds admir'd:
Tho' matchless then, yet here's her marrow,
Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow.
Whose beauty unadorn'd by art,
With Virtue join'd attracts each heart;
Her negligence itself would charm you,
She scarcely knows her power to warm you.
For ever cease Italian noise;
Let every string and every voice,
Sing Mary Scott without a marrow,
Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow.