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"O Open the door, some pity to show, Keen blows the northern wind I
The glen is white with the drifted snow,
"No outlaw seeks your castle gate,
Though even an outlaw's wretched state
'' A weary Palmer, worn and weak,
I wander for my sin:
A pilgrim's blessing win!
"I'll give you pardons from the Pope,
Or if for these you will not ope,
"The hare is crouching in her form,
The hart beside the hind; An aged man, amid the storm,
No shelter can I find.
"You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar,
And I must ford the Ettrick o'er,
"The iron gate is bolted hard,
At which I knock in vain;
Who hears me thus complain.
"Farewell I farewell I and Mary grant,
You never may the shelter want,
The Ranger on his couch lay warm,
But oft amid December's storm,
For lo, when through the vapours dank,
A corpse amid the alders rank,
THE BOLD DRAGOON;
OE, THE PLAIN OY BADAJOS.
'twas a Mar&hal of France, and he fain would honour
gain, And he long'd to take a passing glance at Portugal from Spain; With his flying guns this gallant gay, And boasted corps d'armee— O he feared not our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, etc
To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down, Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sack'd the town,
When, 'twas peste! morbleu! mon General, Hear the English bugle-call! And behold the light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, etc.
Kight about went horse and foot, artillery and all, And, as the devil leaves a house, they tumbled through the wall; They took no time to seek the door, But, best foot set before— 0 they ran from our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, etc.
Those valiant men of France they had scarcely fled n
mile, When on their flank there soused at once the British rank and file; For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then Ne'er minded one to ten, But came on like light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, etc
Three hundred British lads they made three thousand
reel, Their hearts were made of English oak, their swords of Sheffield steel, Their horses were in Yorkshire bred, And Beresford them led; So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, etc.
Then here's a health to Wellington, to Beresford, to
Long, And a single word to Bonaparte before I close my song: The eagles that to fight he brings Should serve his men with wings, When they meet the bold dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, etc.
JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.
Air—A Border Melody.
[The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The others were written by the author for Mr. Campbell's Albyn's Anthology]
"why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide 1
And ye sail be his bride.
Sae comely to be seen "—
For Jock of Hazeldean).
"Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
His step is first in peacefu' ha',
(But aye she loot the tears down fa'
"A chain of gold ye sail not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
Shall ride our forest queen "—
For Jock of Hazeldean).
The kirk was deck'd at morning tide,
The tapers glimmer'd fair;
And dame and knight are there.
The ladie was not seen!
Wi Jock of Hazeldean.
Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;
Singing so rarely.