Young Thomas
Young Thomas lay oer leven o? weeds,
Beholding no ladie gay.
Ye banks and braes o? bony doon
Ever seemith to mock him:
He is fu o? care.
His clothes tattered and torn
In a musty brown hue.
Neither does he bow nor praises any others.
Ye fairlies three neither lead for him to
Grand land beyond nor Elfland.
On the leven route did he stay.
A ladie brisk and bold
Finally did come one day,
Silver bells hanging from her tresses.
But soon aft she made it to
Ye leven o? weeds,
Young Thomas had passed away.
The road to wickedness had he gone on:
Forever astray.
Ilka tett o? his dark tresses we? maimed.
Her influence had come too late.
At lone wee body
Did she look:
And at his hemorrhaging wrists.
Never did lone lad
Gone to yon Elvenland.
Nor to any higher place.
His life ere been wasted;
Feelings so weary
He?d rather not have cared.
Yet, gin young lad
Hadn?t touched the fruit on yonder tree.
Amongst the green might he still be.
With bright eyes had he puddled a rose,
But ah, all he was left was the thorn.
Stephanie Tomicich
Gin: if
Fairlies: wonders
Leven: lawn
Brae: hillside
Ilka tett: every braid
Fu: full
Puddled: Took? I?m guessing on this one, but it sounds right.
Ere: were
Ye: the
Yon/yonder: far away- adjective