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waillie waillie
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an old ballad, in which a forsaken pregnant girl laments.
folk pagan acoustic folk druid old ballads pagan folk trad folk traditional folk
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Artist picture
folk singer with acoustic guitar, singing traditional folk-songs and old ballads, and pagan, specifically druidic.
i play guitar and recorders and sing traditional american, english, irish, scottish and australian folksongs, old ballads and some of my own songs. my own songs tend to have pagan themes, specifically, druidic. sometimes one of my friends joins me and we sing harmonies. very occasionally, we sing in other languages.
Song Info
Genre
Acoustic • Acoustic Folk
Charts
Peak #498
Peak in subgenre #73
Author
traditional
Rights
public domain
Uploaded
December 28, 2009
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.8 MB • 64 kbps • 6:09
Story behind the song
peter paul and mary sang a simplified version called 'there is a ship' in which some verses were similar to some verses in this song. the tune's the same. i got these verses from a book of old ballads published by 'everyman' back in 1965ish and have been crooning, wailing, singing it ever since. it's one of my favourites.
Lyrics
oh waillie waillie up the bank and waillie waillie doon the brae and waillie waillie yon burnside where i and my love wont to gae i leaned my back against an oak i thought he was a trusty tree but first he bend and syne he brak and thus my love did lightly me oh waillie waillie but love be bonny a little while when it is new but when tis auld it waxeth cauld and fades away like morning dew ah wherefore should i busk my head and wherefore should i camb my hair since my true-love hath me forsook and saith he'll never love me mair now arthur's seat sal be my bed the sheet sal neer be 'filed by me st anton's well sal be my drink since my true-love's forsaken me o martinmas wind when wilt thou blaw and shake the green leaves frae the trees and gentle death when wilt thou come for of my life i am weary tis not the frost that freezes fell nor blawing snaw's inclemency tis not sic cauld that mak's me cry but love's heart grown cauld tae me as we cam by in glascow toon we were a comely sight tae see my love was clad in the red velvet and i mysel in cramasie but had i wist or eer i'd kissed, that love had been sae ill tae win i'd locked my heart in a box of gold and pinned it wi a siller pin oh oh if my wee babe were born and smiling on his nurse's knee and me poor girl were dead and gane for a maid again, i neer will be.
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