6
In haste to raise the brave clan Rose,
Their master to defend.
He laid him down beneath a bush,
And wrapp'd him in his plaid—
While trembling for her lover's fate,
At distance stood the maid.
Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale,
Till, in a lonely glen,
He met the furious Sir John Græme,
With twenty of his men.
Where goest thou, little page, he said,
So late? who did thee send?—
I go to raise the brave clan Rose,
Their master to defend.
For he has slain fierce Donald Graeme,
His blood is on his sword;
And far, far distant are his men,
Nor can assist their lord.
And has he slain my brother dear,
The furious chief replies;
Dishonour blast my name but he
By me ere morning dies.
Say, page, where is Sir James the Rose?
I will thee well reward—
He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park,
Matilda is his guard.
They spurred their steeds and fnrious flew,<
Like lightning o'er the lee;
They reach'd Lord Buchan's lofty tow'rs,
By dawning of the day.
