Chapter 24 No.24

'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.

'WHY WEEP YE BY THE TIDE, LADIE?'