Page:Mill o' Tiftie's Annie, or, Andrew Lammie, the trumpeter of Fyvie (2).pdf/9



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But the word soon went up and down Through all the lands of Fyvie, That she was dead and buried, Even Tiftie's bonnie Annie.

Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands, Said "Alas! for Tiftie's Annie;       The fairest Flower's cut down by love,          That e'er sprung up in Fyvie.

"O, woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride,         He might have let them marry;        I should have giv'n them both to live          Into the lands of Fyvie."

Her father sorely now laments The loss of his dear Annie; And wishes he had giv'n consent To wed with Andrew Lammie.

Her mother grieves both air and late, Her sister's cause they scorn'd her; Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve For the cruel usage he'd giv'n her.

But now, alas! it was too late, For they could not recall her; Through life, unhappy is their fate, Because they did controul her.

When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came With meikle grief and sorrow; “My love has died for me to-day, I'll die for her to-morrow.

“Now, I will on to Tiftie's den, Where the burn runs clear and bonnie; With tears I'll view the Bridge of Sleugh, Where I parted last with Annie.