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Her father, Buchan's cruel lord.
her paſſion diſaprov'd,
And bade her wed Sir John the Graeme
and leave the youth ſhe lov'd.
At night they met as they were wont,
within a ſhady wood,
Where on a bank beſide a burn,
a blooming ſaugh tree ſtood.
Conceal'd among the under-wood,
the crafty Donald lay,
(The brother of Sir John the Graeme)
to hear what they might ſay.
When thus the maid began, My ſire
your paſſion diſaproves,
And 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,
muſt bleſs thee with her hand.
Matilda ſoon ſhall be forgot,
and from thy mind defac'd;
But may that happineſs be thine,
which I can never taſte.
What do I hear! Is this thy vow!
Sir James the Roſs reply'd;
And will Matilda wed the Graeme,
Tho' ſworn to be my bride?
His ſword all ſooner pierce my heart,
than reave me of thy charms:
Then claſp'd her to his beating breaſt,
