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JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

SIR WALTER SCOTT

HY weep ye by the tide, lady -Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye shall be his bride; And ye shall be his bride, lady, Sae comely to be seen "

But

ay she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of 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 ay she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

"A chain of gold ye shall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;

Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair;

And you, the foremost of them a',
Shall ride our forest queen

But

ay

she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-tide;

The tapers glimmer'd fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride
And dame and knight are there;
They sought her both by bower and ha';
The lady was not seen

She's o'er the Border, and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

A

ALLEN-A-DALE ·

From ROKEBY

SIR WALTER SCOTT

LLEN-A-DALE has no fagot for burning,
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning,

Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.
Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale!
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride,
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side;
The mere for his net, and the land for his game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame;
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word,

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail,

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

The mother, she ask'd of his household and home; "Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still; 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, And with all its bright spangles," said Allen-a-Dale.

The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone;
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry;
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye,
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale!

THE LIGHTHOUSE

SIR WALTER SCOTT

AR in the bosom of the deep,

in the

O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep;

A ruddy gem of changeful light,

Bound on the dusky brow of night,

The seaman bids my lustre hail,
And scorns to strike his timorous sail.