6
While trembling for her lover's fate,
At distance stood the maid—
Swift 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, litte page: he said,
So late who did the send?—
I go to raise the brave Clan Ross,
Their master to defend.
For he has slain fierce Donald Graeme,
His blood is on his sword
And far, far stistant 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 Ross?
I will thee well reward—
He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park;
Matilda is his guard.—
They spurred their steeds, and furious flew,
Like lightning o'er the sea:
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 dawn,
