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!