3-101-380 - "Royal Academy of Arts, London"/Heritage Images

Turtle Doves, 1844. 'Auld Robin Gray. My father he was sad, my mother dull and wae; But that which griev'd me maist, it was Auld Robin Gray; Though ne'er a word he said, his cheek said mair than a', It wasted like a brae o'er which the torrents fa'. He gaed into his bed - nae physic wad he take; And oft he moan'd and said, 'It's better, for her sake.' At length he look'd upon me, and call'd me his 'ain dear,' And beckon'd round the neighbours, as if his hour drew near. 'Ive wrong'd her sair,' he said, 'but ken't the truth o'er late; It's grief for that alone that hastens now my date; But a' is for the best, since death will shortly free A young and faithful heart that was ill match'd wi' me. 'I loo'd, and sought to win her for mony a lang day; I had her parents' favour, but still she said me nay; I knew na Jamie's luve; and oh! it's sair to tell - To force her to be mine, I steal'd her cow mysel! O what cared I for Crummie! I thought of nought but thee, I thought it was the cow stood 'twixt my luve and me. While she maintain'd ye a', was you not heard to say. That you would never marry wi' Auld Robin Gray? 'But sickness in the house, and hunger at the door...'. From "The Book of British Ballads", edited by S. C. Hall, vol. II, p. 419, [London: Jeremiah How, 1842-44]