Sing on, sing on, my bonnie thrush,
Be neither flee'd nor eerie;
I'll wad your love sits in the bush,
That gars ye sing sae cheerie:
She may be kind, she may be sweet,
She may be neat and dean, O;
But O she's but a drysome mate,
Compar'd wi' bonnie Jean, O.
If love wad open a' her stores,
An' a' her bloomin' treasures,
And bid me rise, an' turn an' choose,
And taste her chiefest pleasures;
My choice wad be the rosy cheek,
The modest beamin' eye, O;
The yellow hair, the bosom fair,
The lips o' coral dye, O.
A bramble shade around her head,
A burnie poplin' by, O;
Our bed the swaird, our sheet the plaid,
Our canopy the sky, O.
And here's the burn, an' there's the bush
Around the flowerie green, O;
An' this the plaid, an' sure the lass
Wad be my bonnie Jean, O.
Hear me, thou bonnie modest moon!
Ye starnies twinklin' high, O!
An' a' ye gentle powers aboon,
That roam athwart the sky, O.
To see me gratefu' for the past,
Ye saw me blest yestreen, O;
An' ever till I breathe my last
Ye'll see me true to Jean, O.
Jock o' Hazeldean.
[Written by Sir Walter Scott for Albyn's Anthology, a collection of Highland airs edited by Alex. Campbell. There is an old ballad, called Jock o' Hazelgreen, from which the poet has borrowed several lines.]
"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!
The Laird o' Cockpen.
[This popular humorous ditty is attributed to Miss Ferrier, the authoress of Marriage, The Inheritance, and Destiny, three novels of distinguished merit. The two concluding verses are by another hand. The song is sung to the old air of "When she cam' ben she bobbed."]
The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great;
His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state:
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favour wi' wooin' was fashions to seek.
Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell.
At his table-head he thought she'd look well;
M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee.
A pennyless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouther'd, as guid as when new,
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat—
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?
