"It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power, That I sank down in a sinful fray, And 'twixt life and death was snatched away To the joyless Elfin bower. "But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mold, As fair a form as thine." She cross'd him once-she cross'd him twice— That lady was so brave; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave. She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold; The fairest knight on Scottish mold, Her brother, Ethert Brand! Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, When all the bells were ringing. W. SCOTT. Jock of Hazeldean ≈ "WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Sae comely to be seen But aye she loot the tears down fa' "Now let this wilfu' grief be done, His step is first in peaceful ha', "A chain of gold ye sall not lack, But aye she loot the tears down fa' The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha'; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. Davie Gellatley's Song FALSE love, and hast thou play'd me this In summer among the flowers? I will repay thee back again In winter among the showers. The Knight's to the mountain His bugle to wind; The Lady's to greenwood Her garland to bind. Has moss on the floor, That the step of Lord William W. SCOTT. Elspeth's Ballad THE herring loves the merry moon-light, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl That fought on the red Harlaw. The cronach's cried on Bennachie, And doun the Don and a', And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, And a good knight upon his back. They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men. Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, The pibrochs rung frae side to side, The great Earl in his stirrups stood, "Now here a knight that's stout and good "What would'st thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyne,Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, And I were Roland Cheyne? "To turn the rein were sin and shame, "Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, "If they hae twenty thousand blades, "My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne." W. SCOTT. |