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 meikle fame.
His growth was like the youthful oak,
That crowns the mountain's 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 warlike band,
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 to beauty rare;
Ev'n Margaret on the Scottish throne
Was never half so fair.
