Why weep ye by the tide, lady?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed thee to my youngest son
And ye shall be his bride.
And ye shall be his bride, lady,
So comely to be seen.
But aye, she loot the tears doon fa'
For Jock O' Hazeldean.
Now let this willfu' grief be done
And dry your cheek so pale.
Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord o' Langleydale.
His step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen.
But aye, she loot the tears doon fa'
For Jock O' Hazeldean.
A chain o' gold ye shall not lack
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair.
And ye, the foremost of them a'
Shall ride our forest queen.
But aye, she loot the tears doon 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 lady was not seen.
For she's o'er the border and awa'
Wi' Jock O' Hazeldean.