Close behind a renegado Loudly shouts with taunting cry; Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra, Doeft thou from the battle fly? Well I know thee, haughty Christian, Seen thee win the prize of proof. Well I know thy aged parents, May our prophet grant my wishes, Haughty chief, thou fhalt be mine: Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, Which I drank when I was thine. Like a lion turns the warrior, Back he fends an angry glare: Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, Vainly whizzing thro' the air. Back the hero full of fury Sent a deep and mortal wound: Inftant funk the Renegado, Mute and lifeless on the ground. With a thousand Moors furrounded, Brave Saavedra ftands at bay: Wearied out but never daunted, Cold at length the warrior lay. Near him fighting great Alonzo Furious prefs the hoftile fquadron, Where yon rock the plain o'erfhadows, Fainting funk the bleeding hero, LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET, L A SCOTTISH BALLAD ORD Thomas and fair Annet When night was cum, and fun was fett, Lord Thomas faid a word in jeft, Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, O rede, O rede, mither, he says, And let faire Annet bee? The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, Fair Annet fhe has gat nane; And the little beauty fair Annet haes, O it wull foon be gane! And he has till his brother gane: Now brother rede ye mee; A' fall I marrie the nut-browne bride, The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, The nut-browne bride has kye; I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, And caft fair Annet bye. Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie, And he has till his fifter gane: O fall I marrie the nut-browne bride, Ife rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas, Left No, I will tak my mithers counsel, And I will tak the nut-browne bride; Up then rofe fair Annets father Rife up, rise up, fair Annet, he says, Put on your ficken sheene; Let us gae to St. Maries kirke And fee that rich weddeen. My maides, gae to my dreffing roome, The horse fair Annet rade upon, Four and twanty filler bells Four and twanty gay gude knichts And four and twanty fair ladies, |