What do I hear! is this thy vow?
Sir James the Rose replied;
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 locked within his arms.
I spoke to try thy love, sho said,
I’ll ne’er wed man but thee;
Tho grave shall be my bridal bed,
If Graemo my husband be.
Thon take, 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.
This 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 reared,
Fierce Donald’s head above;
And through the brain and crashing bone,
His furious weapon drove.
