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"I list no more the tuck of drum,

No more the trumpet hear;

But when the beetle sounds his hum,
My comrades take the spear.

CHORUS

45 "And, O! though Brignall banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay,

50

Yet mickle must the maiden dare,
Would reign my Queen of May!

"Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die;

The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
Were better mate than I!

And when I'm with my comrades met,
Beneath the greenwood bough,

55 What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.

60

CHORUS

"Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,

And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen."-

SONG

A WEARY LOT IS THINE

(From the same)

CANTO III. XXVIII.

“A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine!

5 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green,-
No more of me you knew
My love!

10 No more of me you knew.

"This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;

But she shall bloom in winter snow,
Ere we two meet again."

15 He turn'd his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore,

He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said, "Adieu forever more,
My love!

20 And adieu forever more."

SONG

ALLAN-A-DALE

(From the same)

CANTO III. XXX.

Allan-a-Dale has no faggots for burning, Allan-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, Allan-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, Yet Allan-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 5 Come, read me my riddle! come, harken my tale! And tell me the craft of bold Allan-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 10 The chase for the wild, and the park for the

tame;

Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale.
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allan-a-Dale!

Allan-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,
Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as
bright;

15 Allan-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeoman will draw at his word;
And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail,
Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allan-a-
Dale.

Allan-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

66

20 The mother, she ask'd of his household and home:
Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on
the hill,

My hall," quoth bold Allan, "shows gallanter
still;

'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent

so pale,

And with all its bright spangles!" said Allan-a

Dale.

25 The father was steel, and the mother was stone; They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone; But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their

cry:

He has laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black

eye,

And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,

30 And the youth it was told by was Allan-a-Dale!

SONG

THE CAVALIER

(From the same)

CANTO V. XX

While the dawn on the mountain was misty and

gray,

My true love has mounted his steed and away,

Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down; Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown!

5 He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear,

He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing

hair,

From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down,

Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown!

For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws;

10 Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause; His watchword is honour, his pay is renown,— God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown!

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all

The round-headed rebels of Westminster Hall; 15 But tell those bold traitors of London's proud

town,

That the spears of the North have encircled the
Crown.

There's Derby and Cavendish,. dread of their

foes;

There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's
Montrose!

Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey,
and Brown,

20 With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown?

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier!
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear,
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may
drown,

In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her
Crown.

HUNTING SONG

(1808)

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear;
5 Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,

"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

10 The mist has left the mountain gray,

Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been

To track the buck in thicket green; 15 Now we come to chant our lay,

"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the green-wood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
20 Fleet of foot, and tall of size;

We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay,

"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

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