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Lord Malcolm’s son, whose proffer’d love
I had refused with scorn;
He slew my guards and seiz’d on me
Upon that fatal morn;
And in these dreary, hated walls,
He kept me close confin’d;
And fondly sued and warmly press’d
To win me to his mind.
Each rising morn increas’d my pain,
Each night increas’d my fear;
When wand’ring in this northern garb
Thy brother found me here.
He quickly form’d his brave design,
To set me captive free;
And on the moor his horses wait,
Tied to a neighbouring tree.
Then haste, my love, escape away,
And for thyself provide;
And sometimes fondly think on her
Who should have been thy bride.
Thus pouring comfort on my soul,
Even with her latest breath,
She gave one parting fond embrace,
And clos’d her eyes in death.
In wild amaze, in speechless woe;
Devoid of sense I lay:—
Then sudden, all in frantic mood,
I meant myself to slay.
And rising up in furious haste,
I seiz’d the bloody brand;
A sturdy arm here interpos’d,
And wrench’d it from my hand.
A crowd that from the castle came,
Had miss’d their lovely ward:
And seizing me, to prison bare,
And deep in dungeon barr’d.
It chanc’d that on that very morn
Their chief was prisoner ta’en;
Lord Percy had us soon exchang’d,
And strove to soothe my pain.
And soon those honour’d dear remains
To England were convey’d;
And there within their silent tombs,
With holy rites were laid.
