8
The lady o’ Dun could never mair sleep;
But aye the moment she winket an e’e,
She sam before her as plain as might be,
The Minstrel wide gapin and wreathin in pain,
And sueing for mercy he couldna obtain,
And wringing bis hands in wild despair,
And waggin his head and his thin white hair,
While vieve in her fancy wad she see,
The ghai«tly glower of his death-set e’e,
And his clay cold hand wad press her cheek ;
Oh then wad she start frae her bed and shriek
‘‘ Hand aff that hand ! oh, withdraw that e’e,
For heaven’s sake, take him away frae me!
His heard seems smeared over with feame,
Oh, 1 wish it were hut it’s nae—a dream !
For he looks sae wildly in my face
That I wish to God he had met wi‘ grace !
Lord send to my soul the balsdm of peace!
Oh, when shall 1 find it? Never, never !
It has fled this bosom for ever and ever!”
