And lord of Langly-dale; His step is first in peaceful ha, His sword in battle keen"-- But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. "A chain of gold ye sail not lack, Nor 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 of Hazeldean. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha'; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. ----W. Scott. DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG |False love, and hast thou play'd me this In summer among the flowers? I will repay thee back again In winter among the showers. Unless again, again, my love, Unless you turn again; As you with other maidens rove, I'll smile on other men. The Knight's to the mountain His bugle to wind; The Lady's to greenwood Her garland to bind. The bower of Burd Ellen Has moss on the floor, That the step of Lord William Be silent and sure. ----W. Scott. ELSPETH'S BALLAD |The herring loves the merry moon-light, The mackerel loves the wind, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, For they come of a gentle kind. Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, And listen great and sma', And I will sing of Glenallans Earl That fought on the red Harlaw. The cronach's cried on Bennachie, And doun the Don and a', And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be For the sair field of Harlaw.-- They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, And a good knight upon his back. They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile but barely ten, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men. Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, The pibrochs rung frae side to side, Would deafen ye to hear. The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see: "Now here a knight that's stout and good May prove a jeopardie: "What would'st thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyne,-- Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, And I were Roland Cheyne? "To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wondrous peril,-- What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl?" "Were I Glenallan s Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spur should be in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane. "If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, And we are mail-clad men.