8
Till thro' his enemies' heart the steel,
Had forced a mortal wound.
Graeme, like a tree by wind o'erthrown,
Fell breathless on the clay;
And down beside him sunk the Rose,
And faint and dying lay.
Matilda saw and fast she ran,
O spare his life, she cried.
Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life,
Let her not be deny'd.
Her well-known voice the hero heard,
He rais'd his death clos'd eyes,
He fix'd them on the weeping maid,
And weakly thus replies.
In vain Matilda begs a life,
By death's arret deny'd;
My race is run———adieu my love,
Then clos'd his eyes and dy’d.
The sword yet warm, from his left side,
With frantic hand she drew,
I come, Sir James the Rose she cry’d,
I come to follow you.
The hilt she lean'd against the ground,
And bar’d her snowy breast;
Then fell upon her lover’s face,
And suck to endless rest.
FINIS.
