4
And will Matilda wed the Græme,
Though sworn to be my bride?
His sword shall'sooner pierce my heart,
Than 'reave me of thy charms—
And clasp'd her to his throbbing breast,
Fast lock'd within his arms.
I spoke no try thy love, she said,
I'll ne'er wed man but thee;
The grave shall be my bridal bed,
If Graeme my husband be.
Take then, dear youth, this faithful kiss,
In witness of my troth;
And every plague become my lot,
That day! break my oath.—
They parted thus—the sun was set—
Up hasty Donald flies;
And, turn thee, turn thee beardless youth,
He loud insulting cries.
Soon turned about the fearless chief,
And soon his sword he drew;
For Donald's blade before his breast,
Had pierc'd his tartans through.
This for my brother's slighted love:
His wrongs sit on my arm—
Three paces back the youth retir'd,
And sav'd himself from harm.
Returning swift, his sword rear'd,
Fierce Donald's head above,
And through the brain and crashing bone,
The furious weapon drove.
