8
Wha wadna ha'e shared that Lady's joy
When watching the wounded hind,
Rather than those of the feast and the dance,
Which her kind heart resign'd?
Wha wadna rather share that Lady's fate,
When the stars shall melt away,
Than that of the sternest anchorite,
That can naething but graen and pray?
Where Bothwell's bridge connects the margin steep,
And Clyde, below, runs silent, strong, and deep,
The hardy peasant by oppression driven,
To battle, deemed his cause the cause of heaven;
Unskilled in arms, with useless courage stood,
While gentle Monmouth grieved to shed his blood,
But fierce Dundee, inflamed with deadly hate,
In vengeance for the great Montrose's fate,
Let loose the sword, and to the hero's shade,
A barbarous hecatomb of victims paid.
