3
At length she bless'd his well try'd love,
Allow'd his tender claim;
She vow d to him her virgin heart,
And own'd an equal flame.
Her father, Buchan's cruel lord,
Their passion disapprov d:
He bade her wed Sir John the Graeme,
And leave the youth she lov'd-
One night they met, as they were wont,
Deep in a shady wood;
Where on the bank, beside the burn,
A blomming saugh tree stood
Conceal'd among the underwood
The crafty Donald lay,
The brother of Sir John the Graeme,
To watch what they might say
When thus the maid began; My sire
Our passion disapproves:
He bids me wed Sir John the Graeme,
So here must end our loves.
My father's will must be obey'd;
Nought boots me to withstand,
Some fairer maid in beauty's bloom
Shall bless thee with her hand.
Soon will Matilda be forgot
And from thy mind effac'd;
But may that happiness be thine,
Which I can never taste!-
What do I hear? Is this the vow?
