THE PALMER. "O OPEN the door, some pity to show, "No outlaw seeks your castle gate, "A weary Palmer, worn and weak, O open, for Our Lady's sake! "I'll give you pardons from the Pope, 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, "The iron gate is bolted hard, "Farewell! farewell! and Mary grant, You never may the shelter want, The Ranger on his couch lay warm, 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; OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. 'TWAS a Maréchal 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'armée 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, And behold the light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, etc. Right 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 O 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 a 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.] I. "WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide ? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sall be his bride. And ye sall be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen (But aye she loot the tears down fa' II. "Now let this wilfu' grief be done, His step is first in peacefu' ha', His sword in battle keen ". (But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean). III. "A chain of gold ye sall not lack, And you, the foremost o' them a', (But aye she loot the tears down fa' IV. The kirk was deck'd at morning tide, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa' PROUD MAISIE. PROUD Maisie is in the wood, Sweet Robin sits on the bush, |