And will Matilda wed the Graeme,
Though sworn to be my bride?
His sword shall sooner pierce my heart,
Than ’reave me of thy charms—
And clasped her to his throbbing breast,
Fast lock’d within his arms.
I spoke to try thy love, she said,
I’ll ne’er wed man but thee;
The grave shall be my bridal bed,
If Graeme my husband be.
Take then, dear youth, this faithful kiss,
In witness of my troth;
And every plague become my lot,
That day I break my oath.—
They parted thus the sun was set,—
Up hasty Donald flies;
And, turn thee, turn thee, beardless youth
He loud insulting cries.
Soon turned about the fearless chief,
And soon his sword he drew?
For Donald’s blade before his breast,
Had pierced his tartans through.
Tis for my brother’s slighted love,
His wrongs sit on my arm,—
Three paces back the youth retired,
And saved himself from harm.
Returning swift, his sword he rear’d
Fierce Donald’s head above,
And through the brain and crashing bone,
The furious weapon drove.
