6
While trembling for her lover's fate,
At distance stood the maid—
Swrift ran the page o'er hill and dale;
Till in a lowly glen.
He met the furious Sir John Graeme,
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;
Ner 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;
Matida is his guard.
They spurr’d their steeds and furious flow,
Like lightning o’er the lea:
They reach'd Lord Buchan’s lofty tow'rs,
By dawning of the day.
Matilda stood without the gate,
Upon a rising ground,
And watch’d each object in the down,
All ear to every sound.
