8
Grahame, like a tree by wind o'erthrown,
Fell breathless on the clay,
And down beside him sunk the Ross,
And faint and dying lay.
The sad Matilda saw him fall,
O spare his life! she cri'd;
Lord Buchan's daughter craves his life,
Let her not be deni'd.
Her well-known voice the hero heard,
He rais'd his death-clos'd eyes,
And fix'd them on the weeping maid,
And weakly thus replies:
In vain Matilda begs the life,
By death's arrest deni'd;
My race is run!—Adieu, my love!
Then clos'd his eyes and di'd.
The sword yet warm, from his left side,
With fantic hand she drew.
I come, Sir James the Ross, she cries,
I come to follow you!
She lean'd the hilt against the ground,
And bar'd snowy breast;
Then fell upon her lover's face,
And sunk to endless rest!
Then by this fatal Tragedy
Let parents warning take,
And ne'er entice their children dear
Their sacred vows to break.
FINIS.
