Song Xxxiii. The Sweetest Flower Of Yarrow Poem by Robert Anderson

Say, have you seen my Sandy fair,
Ye shepherds tell me true?
Last night he left me in despair,
And, sighing, cried adieu.
O where can he stray, the bonny boy,
Return my winsome marrow,
And fill this aching heart wi' joy,
Thou sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.

Oft by pale moonlight thro' the mead
We two did kindly stray;
Then sweetly on his oaten reed
He pip'd so blythe and gay;
And oft beneath the shady tree
He ca'd me his bonny marrow,
And vow'd he'd aye be true to me,
The sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.

Adieu, ye nymphs and woodland swains,
Each valley, dell, and grove,
Ye verdant meads and flow'ry plains,
Where we were wont to rove:
This doleful tale some pensive maid
May tell wi' mickle sorrow,
How Mary in the dust is laid,
For the sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.