Sir James the Rose.
Of all the Scottish northern chiefs,
Of high and warlike name,
The bravest was Sir James the Rose,
A knight of meikie fame.
His growth was like a youthful oak.
That crowns the mountains brow,
And waving o'er his shoulders broad,
His locks of yellow flew,
Wide were his fields, his herds were large,
And large his flocks of sheep,
And numerous were his goats and deer,
Upon the mountains steep.
The chieftain of the good clan Rose,
A firm and warlikeband.
Five hundred warriors drew the sword,
Beneath his high command.
⟨In⟩ bloody fight thrice had he stood.
Against the English keen,
Ere two and twenty opening springs,
The blooming youth had seen,
The fair Matilda dear he loved,
A maid of beauty rare;
Even Margaret on the Scottish throne,
Was never half so fair.
Long had he woo'd, long she refused,
With seeming scorn and pride;
Yet oft her eyes confess’d the love,
Her fearful words denied.
