A jeelin win blew frae the sea
The snaa cloud gurly flew
Tae County Durham's, Seaham haa
A waddin pairty drew
This twa days intae Januar
The year, echteen fifteen
The bride, Sir Milbanke's dother
A virgin, fair an clean
Young Annabella stude unveiled
Snod in a muslin dress
Her een war glentin, bricht an blue
Her bridegroom tae impress
The groom, fite-face an curly powed
The lad o her desirin
Cam hirplin, gammy-fittit in,
George Gordon, sixth Lord Byron
At his command, the bridal richts
War keepit quaet an quick
Her dowry, less than he'd hae liked
Luve, thin as caunle-rikk
The bride pit on her traivellin claes
The coach wis fussled up
Far kirk bells pealed an muskets fired
George dooned the stirrup cup
An first they cam tae Rushyford
The groom wis stern an dour
The bride sat winnerin, fearie-faced
Fit merriege held in store
At Halnaby, throw drivin drift
Baith lay at last in bed
Lord Byron, throw a nichtmare cried
‘I am in Hell! ' he said
Daybrakk wis cauld, The groom stepped oot
His mainner…jibes an sneers
Young Annabella kept inbye
Her pilla wat wi tears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The tragic marriage of Ralph Milbanke's daughter to Byron beautifully told. A woman wronged then and throughout much of her life perhaps because she was incorruptible. I'm glad I had my Scottish dictionary handy though most words were familiar. I loved the way you told the tale. You really have an original mind.