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Jock o‘ Hazeldean.

"W weep ye by the tide lady?

Why weep ye by the tide?

Ill 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 sae 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 of gold ye shall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair,

Nor mettled hounds, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair;

And you, the foremost o‘ them a‘,

Shall ride our bridal queen:—

But aye she loot the tears down fa’,

For Jock o’ Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck’d at morning tide,

The tapers glimmer fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight were there.