The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 72

Though saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, I'll ne'er when I hunt again strike higher game."

"Is this young Wat Scott? an' wad ye rax his craig, When our daughter is fey for a man?

Gae, gaur the loun marry our muckle-mou'd Meg Or we'll ne'er get the jaud aff our han'!"

"Od! hear our gudewife, she wad fain save your life; Wat Scott, will ye marry or hang?"

But Meg's muckle mou set young Wat's heart agrue.

Wat swore to the woodie he'd gang.

Ne'er saddle nor munt again, harness nor dunt again, Wat ne'er shall hunt again, ne'er see his hame.

Syne muckle-mou'd Meg pressed in close to his side, An' blinkit fu' sleely and kind, But aye as Wat glowered at his braw proffered bride, He shook like a leaf in the wind.

"A bride or a gallows, a rope or a wife!"

The morning dawned sunny and clear-- Wat boldly strode forward to part wi' his life, Till he saw Meggy shedding a tear; Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, Fain wad Wat hunt again, fain wad be hame.

Meg's tear touched his bosom, the gibbet frowned high, An' slowly Wat strode to his doom; He gae a glance round wi' a tear in his eye, Meg shone like a star through the gloom.

She rushed to his arms, they were wed on the spot, An' lo'ed ither muckle and lang; Nae bauld border laird had a wife like Wat Scott; 'Twas better to marry than hang.

So saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, Elibank hunt again, Wat's snug at hame.

James Ballantine [1808-1877]

GLENLOGIE

Threescore o' n.o.bles rade to the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a', Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, "Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"

"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he"; "O say na sae, mither, for that canna be; Though Doumlie is richer, and greater than he.

Yet if I maun tak' him, I'll certainly dee.

"Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?"

"O here am I, a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie and come again soon."

When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine"; 'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine."

"O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.

"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee."

The first line that he read, a low smile ga'e he; The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e: But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.

"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town"; But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green, O bonnie Glenlogie was two mile his lane.

When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mither was tearing her hair; "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she, "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."

Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben, But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down; She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e, "O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."

Unknown

LOCHINVAR From "Marmion"

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all.

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;-- Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,-- And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, era her mother could bar,-- "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume.

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cann.o.bie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

"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'

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 peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen"-- But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

"A chain of 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 of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-tide, The tapers glimmered 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 awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

Walter Scott [1771-1832]