6
Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale,
Till, in a lonely glen,
He met the furious John the Græme,
With twenty of his men.
Where goest thou, little page, he said,
So late? who did thee send?—
I go to raise the brave clan Rose,
Their master to defend.
For he has slain fierce Donald Græme,
His blood is on his sword;
And far, far distant are his men,
Nor can assist their lord.
Aud has he slain my brother dear?
The furious chief replies;
Dishonour blast my name, but he
By me, ere morning dies!
Say, page, where is Sir James the Rose?
I will thee well reward:—
He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park,
Matilda is his guard.
They spurred their steeds and furious flew,
Like lightning o'er the lee;
They reached Lord Buchan's lofty towers,
By dawning of the day.
Matilda stood without the gate,
Upon a rising ground—
And watched each object in the dawn,
All ear to every sound.
Where sleeps the Rose? began the Græme,
Or has the felon fled?
This hand shall lay the wretch on earth,
By whom my brother bled.
