ページの画像
PDF

THE PALMER.

"O Open the door, some pity to show, Keen blows the northern wind I

The glen is white with the drifted snow,
And the path is hard to find.

"No outlaw seeks your castle gate,
From chasing the King's deer,

Though even an outlaw's wretched state
Might claim compassion here.

'' A weary Palmer, worn and weak,

I wander for my sin:
O open, for Our Lady's sake!

A pilgrim's blessing win!

"I'll give you pardons from the Pope,
And reliques from o'er the sea—

Or if for these you will not ope,
Yet open for charity.

"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,
Dark, deep, and strong is he,

And I must ford the Ettrick o'er,
Unless you pity me.

"The iron gate is bolted hard,

At which I knock in vain;
The owner's heart is closer barr'd,

Who hears me thus complain.

"Farewell I farewell I and Mary grant,
When old and frail you be,

You never may the shelter want,
That's now denied to me."

The Ranger on his couch lay warm,
And heard him plead in vain;

But oft amid December's storm,
He'll hear that voice again:

For lo, when through the vapours dank,
Morn shone on Ettrick fair,

A corpse amid the alders rank,
The Palmer welter'd there.

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.

AirA 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
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sail be his bride.
And ye sail be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen "—
(But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of 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 aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean).

"A chain of gold ye sail not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost 0' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen "—
(But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of 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 baith by bower and ha',

The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border, and awd

Wi Jock of Hazeldean.

PROUD MAISIE.

Proud Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so early;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,

Singing so rarely.

J

« 前へ次へ »