7
Keen ruin's blast, my fate at last,
Hath driv'n me far from joy,
Fate, take my life, but spare my wife,
And harmless, darling boy.
JOCK O' HAZELDEAN.
"Why weep ye by the tide, lady?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride.
And ye sall be his bride, lady,
Sae comely to be seen:"—
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
“Now let this wilful grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale;
Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley dale.
His step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen:"—
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
“A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
For braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair.
And you the foremost o' them a'
Shall ride, our forest queen:"—
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
