The Flooers of the Forest

[image error]My ancestors play this Scot’s lament for me on Memorial Day, and though it’s forever a reminder of the country’s loss to the English at the battle of Flodden, in September 1513, I cannot help thinking that after every battle in every war the flower of the nation’s youth will not be coming home.

Here’s the song as I hear it. I’ve added some translations at the end.

[image error]I’ve heard the liltin at oor yowe-milkin,

Lassies a-liltin before break o day

Now there’s a moanin on ilka green loanin –

The Flooers o the Forest are a’ wede awa

At buchts, in the mornin, nae blythe lads are scornin,

Lassies are lanely and dowie and wae

Nae daffin, nae gabbin, but sighin and sabbin,

The Flooers o the Forest are a’ wede awa

[image error]In hairst at the shearin, nae youths now are jeerin,

Bandsters are lyart and runkled and gray

At fair or at preachin, nae wooin, nae fleechin –

The Flooers of the Forest are a’ wede awa

At e’en at the gloamin, nae swankies are roamin

‘Bout stacks wi the lassies at bogle tae play

But ilk ane sits dreary, lamentin her deary –

The Flooers of the Forest are a’ wede awa

[image error]Dule and wae for the order, sent oor lads to the Border

The English, for aince, by guile wan the day

The Flooers of the Forest, that focht aye the foremost

The prime o our land, lie cauld in the clay

We hear nae mair liltin at oor yowe-milkin

Women and bairnies are heartless and wae

Sighin and moanin on ilka green loanin –

The Flooers of the Forest are a’ wede awa

yowe=ewe

ilka=every

wede=withered

buchts=cattle pens

dowie-sad

wae=woeful

daffin’=dallying

gabbin’=talking

leglen=stool

hairst=harvest

bandsters=binders

lyart=grizzled

runkled=crumpled

fleeching=coaxing

gloaming=twilight

swankies=young lads

bogle=peek-a-boo

dule=mourning clothes

–Malcolm