And ye shall be his bride, Ladye,
Sae comely to be seen."-
But ay she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
Now let this wilfu' 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 peacefu' Ha,'
His sword in battle keen."
But ay she loot the tear let fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
"A chain of gold ye shall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfry fresh and fair;
And you the foremost o' them a,"
Shall ride our forest Queen.'
But ay she loot the tear down fa'
For Jock o' 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 by the Bow'r and Ha,'
The Ladye was not seen!-
She's o'er the border, and awa
With Jock o' Hazeldean.
THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.
IN slumbers of night the poor sailor-boy lay,
His hammock swang loose at the sport of the wind,
But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind ;
He dream'd of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn,
Whilst memory stood sideways, half cover'd with flowers,
And restor❜d ev'ry rose, but secreted the thorn.
The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sing sweet from the nest in the wall,
All trembling he dreams, he again lift the latch,
And the voice of belov'd ones reply to his call:
A Father bends o'er him with looks of delight,
His cheek is impearl'd with a Mothers fond tear,
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
With the lips of the maid, whom his bosom holds dear.
Oh! sailor-boy, sailor-boy, never again
Shall peace, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay, Unblest and unhonour'd, down deep in the main, Full many score fathom thy form shall decay, Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Earth loosens thy body for ever and aye,
Oh! sailor-boy, sailor-boy, peace to thy soul!
UP IN THE MORNING'S NA FOR ME.
CAULD blaws the wind frae north to south,
And drift is driving sairly;
The sheep are couring i' the heugh,
O sirs 'tis Winter fairly:
Now up in the morning's na for me,
Up in the morning early;
I'd rather gang supperless to my bed,
Than rise in the morning early.
Loud rairs the blast amang the woods,
The branches tirlin barly,
Amang the chimney taps it thuds,
And frost is nippin sairly.
Now up in the morning's na for me,
Up in the morning early;
To sit a' night I'd rather agree,
Then rise in the morning early.
The sun peeps o'er the southlan' hill,
Like ony tim'rous carlie ;
Just blinks a wee, then sinks again,
And that we find severely.
Now up in the morning's na for me,
Up in the morning early;
When snaw blaws into the chimney cheek,
Wha'd rise in the morning early?
A cosey house, a canty wife,
Keeps ay a body cheerly;
And pantry stow'd wi' meal and malt,
It answers unco rarely.
But up in the morning, na, na, na,
Up in the morning early;
The gowans maun glent on bank and brae,
When I rise in the morning early.
THE ROSE WILL CEASE TO BLOW.
THE rose will cease to blow,
The eagle turn a dove,
The streams will cease to flow,"
Ere I will cease to love.
The sun shall cease to shine,
The world shall cease to move,
The stars their light resign,
Ere I will cease to love.
1 PRITHEE GIVE ME BACK MY HEART.
I PRI'THEE give me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine,
For if from yours you will not part
Why then should you have mine?
Yet now I think on't let it lie,
To take it, would be vain,
For there's a thief in that sweet eye,
Would steal it back again.
This Love is such a mystery,
I cannot make it out,
For when I think I'm best resolv'd
I then am most în doubt;
So farewell woe, and farewell care, won
I will no longer pine;
But I'll believe I have her heart,
As much as she has mine.
CONTENT AND A PIPE.
Air" The Sheep Shearers."
CONTENTED I sit with my glass and my pipe,
Puffing sorrow and care far away;
And surely the brow of grief nothing can wipe,
Like smoking and moistening our clay;
But tho' liquor can banish man's reason afar,
'Tis only a fool or a sot;
Who with reason or sense would be ever at war,
And don't know when enough he has got ;
For tho' at my simile many may joke,
Man is but a pipe-and his life is like smoke.
Yes! a man and a pipe are much nearer a kin,
Then as yet may have been understood;
For until with breath they are both fill'd within,
Pray tell me for what are they good?
Both one and the other compos'd are of clay,
And if rightly I've learn'd nature's plan;
Take but the breath from them both quite away,
The pipe's out-and so is the man.
For though at my simile many may joke,
Man is but a pipe-and his life is like smoke.
Thus I'm told by my pipe, that to die is man's lot, And sooner or later he must;
For when to the end of life's journey he's got,
Like a pipe that's smok'd out-he is dust,
who would wish to be wise, to be gay,
Encourage not strife, wrath, nor sorrow,
Make much of your pipe of tobacco to day,
For you may be smok'd out by to morrow.
And tho' at my simile many may joke,
Think man's but a pipe-and his life is like smoke.
WHEN BENDING O'ER THE LOFTY YARD.
WHEN bending o'er the lofty yard,
The jolly seaman reefs the sail,
Though whirlwinds roar, he grapples hard
The swinging beam, nor dread the gale:
When hidden rocks, and sable clouds,
Impede the shatter'd vessel's way,
The boatswain, clinging to the shrouds,
Undaunted pipes his midnight lay.
And ere the wreck begins to sink,
Ere thro' her sides the billows pour,
The sailor bravely stops to drink,
Then grasps the mast and gain the shore :
Thus, Harriet, were. I moor'd with you,
No threat'ning danger would I see,
But laugh at terror's pale-fac'd crew,
And baffle life's tempestuous sea.
Or haply should soft zephyrs blow,
We'd leave the port and share the gale;
While Bacchus call'd all hands below,
And Fortune, laughing, set our sail;
From quick-sands of domestic care,
Where Jealousy's loud breakers roar,
From sorrow's coast we'd steer afar,
Till Death should tow our boat ashore.
JENNY is poor, and I am poor,
Yet we will wed, so say no more,
And should a little offspring come,
As few that marry but have some,
No doubt but Heav'n will stand our friend,
And bread and cheese, with children send.
So fares the hen, in farmer's yard,
To pick alone she finds it hard,
I've known her weary ev'ry claw,
In search of corn among the straw,
When she's in quest of nicer food,
And clucks among her chirping brood.
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