by Allan Cunningham (1784 - 1842)
Translation by Ferdinand Freiligrath (1810 - 1876)

Carlisle Yetts
Language: English 
White was the rose in his gay bonnet,
As he faulded me in his broaclied plaidie,
His hand whilk clasped the truth luve,
O it was ay in battle ready!
His long, long hair in yellow hanks
Waved o'er his cheeks sae sweet and ruddie;
But now they wave o'er Carlisle yetts
In dripping ringlets clotting bloodie.

My father's blood's in that flower-tap.
My brother's in that hare-bell's blossom,
This white rose was steeped in my hive's blood,
An' I'll ay wear it in my bosom.

        *        *        *

When I came first by merry Carlisle,
Was ne'er a town sae sweetly seeming;
The White Rose flaunted owre the wall,
The thristled banners far were streaming!
When I came next by merry Carlisle,
O sad, sad seemed the town an' eerie!
The auld, auld men came out an' wept,
"O maiden, come ye to seek yer dearie?"

There's ae drop o' blude atween my breasts.
An' twa in my links o' hair sae yellow;
The tane I'll ne'er wash, an' the tither ne'er kame,
But I'll sit an' pray aneath the willow.
Wae, wae upon that cruel heart,
Wae, wae upon that hand sae bloodie,
Which feasts in our richest Scottish blude,
An' makes sae mony a doleful widow.

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

    [ None yet in the database ]

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website: 2011-07-17 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:04:28
Line count: 29
Word count: 209

Carlisle‑Thor
Language: German (Deutsch)  after the English 
Weiß war die Ros' auf seinem Hut,
Als seinen Plaid er um mich schlug;
Die Rechte, die mir Treue schwur,
O, wie sie kühn das Banner trug!
Sein lang lang Haar in Strängen gelb
Floß um sein Antlitz roth und muthig;
Nun fließt es über Carlisle-Thor
In nassen Ringeln, schmutzig, blutig.

Meines Vaters Blut steht auf dem Klee,
Meines Bruders in der Winde Glocken;
Meines Liebsten färbt die weiße Ros' --
Das gibt ein Kranz für meine Locken!

          *      *      *

Als ich zuerst nach Carlisle kam,
Nie schien ein Ort so froh, so wonnig;
Die weiße Rose prunkt' am Wall,
Das Distelbanner strahlte sonnig. 
Als wieder ich nach Carlisle kam,
O traurig schien die Stadt und trübe;
Die Greife kamen weinend her:
"O Mädchen, sucht ihr eure Liebe?"

Zwei Tropfen Blut stehn mir im Haar,
Ein Tropfen zwischen meinen Brüsten;
Nun kämm' und wasch' ich keines mehr,
Hinsitz' ich bei den Blutgerüsten.
Weh', Wehe nun der Grausamkeit,
Weh' nun der Hand und ew'ge Schande,
Die schwelgt in unserm besten Blut,
Und junge Wittwen macht im Lande! 

Authorship

Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website: 2011-07-17 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:04:28
Line count: 29
Word count: 176