13 



AWAKE, awake my silent harp, 



Awaken frae thy slumbers, 

 And we will sing of Yarrow braes 



In wild an' gladsome numbers. 

 Sweet Liberty, that banner fair 



Unfurl, my " winsome marrow," 

 The wind shall wave thy gowden hair 



O'er the bonny braes of Yarrow. 



Although the sleet and misty weet 



On Yarrow fell are falling, 

 The auld muircocks on heath'ry knowes 



Eound Yarrow yet are calling ; 

 The robin on the stunt it thorn 



Trills sweetly on the morrow. 

 The hunter winds his blithesome horn 



By the bonnie braes of Yarrow. 



The fox is up, the hounds full cry, 

 Their glorious notes are swelling, 



The echo'ft wild thro' shaggy glens 

 An' o'er the dusky Belling. 



