The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/I Met Wi' Her I Luved Yestreen
I Met Wi' Her I Luved Yestreen.
I met wi' her I luved yestreen,
I met her wi' a look o' sorrow;
My leave I took o' her for aye,
A weddit bride she'll be the morrow!
She durst na gie ae smile to me,
Nor drap ae word o* kindly feelin',
Yet down her cheeks the bitter tears,
In monie a pearly bead, were stealin'.
I could na my lost luve upbraid,
Altho' my dearest hopes were blighted
I could na say—'ye're fause to me!'—
Tho' to anither she was plighted.
Like suthfast friens whom death divides,
In Heaven to meet, we silent parted;
Nae voice had we our griefs to speak,
We felt sae lone and broken-hearted.
I'll hie me frae my native lan',
Far frae thy blythesome banks o' Yarrow!
Wae's me, I canna bide to see
My winsome luve anither's marrow!
I'll hie me to a distant lan',
Wi' down-cast ee and life-sick bosom,
A wearie waste the warld's to me,
Sin' I hae lost that bonnie blossom!