"Now hold your tongue, my well-far'd maid,
Lat a' your mourning be,90
And a' endeavours I shall try,
To bring that youth to thee;
If ye'll tell me where your love stays,
His stile and proper name."
"He's laird o' Taperbank," she says,95
"His stile, Young Hazelgreen."
Then he has coft for that lady
A fine silk riding gown;
Likewise he coft for that lady
A steed, and set her on;100
Wi' menji feathers in her hat,
Silk stockings and siller sheen;
And they are on to Taperbank,
Seeking young Hazelgreen.
They nimbly rode along the way,105
And gently spurr'd their horse,
Till they rode on to Hazelgreen,
To Hazelgreen's own close.
Then forth he came, young Hazelgreen,
To welcome his father free;110
"You're welcome here, my father dear,
And a' your companie."
But when he look'd o'er his shoulder,
A light laugh then gae he;
Says, "If I getna this lady,115
It's for her I must die;
I must confess this is the maid
I ance saw in a dream,
A walking thro' a pleasant shade,
As fair's a cypress queen."120
"Now hold your tongue, young Hazelgreen,
Lat a' your folly be;
If ye be wae for that lady,
She's thrice as wae for thee.
She's thrice as wae for thee, my son;125
As bitter doth complain;
Well is she worthy o' the rigs
That lie on Hazelgreen."
He's taen her in his arms twa,
Led her thro' bower and ha';130
"Cheer up your heart, my dearest dear,
Ye're flower out o'er them a'.
This night shall be our wedding e'en,
The morn we'll say, Amen;
Ye'se never mair hae cause to mourn,—135
Ye're lady o' Hazelgreen."