Jock O'Hazeldean Songtext
von The Corries

Why weep ye by the tide, lady, why weep ye by the tide?
I′ll wed ye to my youngest son, and you will be his bride
And you will be his bride, lady, sae comely to be seen
And I shill oot the tear doon fa', for Jock o′ Hazeldean

Now let this wilful grief be done, and dry your cheeks that pale
Young Frank is Chief of Errington, and Lord o' Langleydale
His step is fast in peaceful hall, his sword in battle keen
But I shill oot the tear doon fa', for Jock o′ Hazeldean


A chain of gold you shall not lack, nor braid to bind your hair
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, nor poultrie fresh and fair
And you′ll ha' foremost o′ them a', will ride our forest queen
But I shill oot the tear doon fa′, for Jock o' Hazeldean

The church was decked at morning tide, the taper glimmered there
The priest and bridegroom wait the
Bride, and dame and knight are there
They sought her baith by bower and ha′, the lady was nae seen
She's o'er the border and the wa′, wi′ Jock o' Hazeldean