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S O N G S
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 shall be his bride,
And ye shall 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 ay she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
“ A chain of gold ye shall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettl'd hound, nor manag'd hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair.
