The Flowers of the Forest

I’ve heard them lilting, at the ewe milking,
  Lasses a’ lilting, before dawn of day;
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning;
  The flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blithe lads are scorning;
  Lasses are lonely, and dowie and wae;
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing;
  Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae.

In har’st at the shearing, nae youths now are jearing;
  Bandsters are runkled, and lyart or gray;
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;
  The flowers of the forest are a’ wede awae.

At e’en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
 ’Bout stacks, with the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary—
  The flowers of the forest are weded awae.

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 are cauld in the clay.

We’ll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe milking;
  Women and bairns are heartless and wae:
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning—
 The flowers of the forest are a’ wede awae.