Jane Elliot.

1727-1805

480   A Lament for Flodden

I’VE heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,
   Lasses a’ lilting before dawn o’day;
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning¹—
   The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede² away.
At bughts,³ in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,
   Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae;
Nae daffing,⁴ nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing,
   Ilk ane lifts her leglin⁵ and hies her away.

In hairst,⁶ at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
   Bandsters⁷ are lyart,⁸ and runkled,⁹ and gray:
At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching¹⁰—
   The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
At e’en, in the gloaming, nae swankies¹¹ are roaming
   ’Bout stacks wi’ the lasses at bogle¹² to play;
But ilk ane sits eerie, lamenting her dearie—
   The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.

Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border!
   The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
   The prime of our land, lie cauld in the clay.
We’ll hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking;
   Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning—
   The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.