"Why weep ye by the tide, ladye— 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, ladye, 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 o' gold ye sall 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 o' Hazeldean.
The kirk was decked at morning-tide, The tapers glimmered fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight were there: They sought her baith by bower and ha'; The ladye was not seen!— She's o'er the border, and awa' Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean!
