10 He lookëd high, and lighted low, Set her upon his horse; And they rode on to Edinburgh, To Edinburgh’s own cross. And when she in that city was, She lookd like ony queen: ‘’Tis a pity such a lovely lass Shoud love young Hazelgreen.’ 11 ‘Young Hazelgreen, he is my love, And ever mair shall be; I’ll nae forsake young Hazelgreen For a’ the gowd ye’ll gie.’ And aye she sighd, and said, Alas! And made a piteous meen, And aye she loot the tears down fa For John o Hazelgreen. 12 ‘Now hold your tongue, my well-fard maid, Lat a’ your mourning be, And a’ endeavours I shall try To bring that youth to thee, If ye’ll tell me where your love stays, His stile and proper name.’ ‘He’s laird o Taperbank,’ she says, ‘His stile, Young Hazelgreen.’ 13 Then he has coft for that lady A fine silk riding-gown, Likewise he coft for that lady A steed, and set her on; Wi menji feathers in her hat, Silk stockings and siller sheen, And they are on to Taperbank, Seeking young Hazelgreen. 14 They nimbly rode along the way, And gently spurrd their horse, Till they rode on to Hazelgreen, To Hazelgreen’s own close. Then forth he came, young Hazelgreen, To welcome his father free: ‘You’re welcome here, my father dear, And a’ your companie.’ 15 But when he lookd oer his shoulder, A light laugh then gae he; Says, If I getna this lady, It’s for her I must die. I must confess this is the maid I ance saw in a dream, A walking thro a pleasant shade, As fair’s a cypress queen. 16 ‘Now hold your tongue, young Hazelgreen, Lat a’ your folly be; If ye be wae for that lady, She’s thrice as wae for thee. She’s thrice as wae for thee, my son, As bitter doth complain; Well is she worthy o the rigs That lie on Hazelgreen.’ 17 He’s taen her in his arms twa, Led her thro bower and ha: ‘Cheer up your heart, my dearest dear, Ye’re flower out-oer them a’. This night shall be our wedding-een, The morn we’ll say, Amen; Ye’se never mair hae cause to mourn, Ye’re lady o Hazelgreen.’ E =a.= “Got in the South County by Mr Pringle:” Kinloch’s MSS, I, 321. =b.= Kinloch’s MSS, VII, 2. 1 ‘Why weep ye by the tide, ladye? 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, ladye, Sae comely to be seen;’ But aye she loot the tears down fa For John o Hazelgreen. 2 ‘O whaten a man is Hazelgreen? I pray thee tell to me.’ ‘O there’s not a handsomer gentleman In a’ the South Countrie. His arms are long, his shoulders broad, Sae comely to be seen!’ And aye she loot the tears down fa For John o Hazelgreen.