5
Art thou asleep, Matilda dear?
Awake, my love, awake!
Thy luckless lover calls to thee,
A long farewell to take:
For I ha'e slain fierce Donald Grahame,
His blood is on my sword,
And distant are my faithful men,
Nor can assist their Lord
To Sky I'll now direct my way,
Where my two brothers bide,
And raise the valiant of the Isles,
To combat on my side.
O do not so! the maid repli'd,
With me till morning stay,
⟨For⟩ dark and dreary is the night,
And dangerous is the way:
⟨All⟩ night I'll watch you in the park,
My faithful page I'll send
⟨To⟩ run and raise the Ross's clan,
Their master to defend.
⟨Beneath⟩ a bush he laid him down,
And wrapt 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 lowly glen,
⟨He⟩ met the furious Sir John Grahame,
With twenty of his men.
⟨Where⟩ goest thou, Little page? he said;
So late who did thee send?
⟨I⟩ go to raise the Ross's clan,
Their master to defend:
