3
Her father, Buchan's cruel Lord,
Her passion disapprov'd,
And bade her wed Sir John the Grahame,
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 Grahame)
To hear what they might say.
When thus the maid began, My sire
Your passion disapproves,
And bids me wed Sir John the Grahame,
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 effac'd;
But may that happines be thine,
Which I can never taste.
What do I hear! Is this thy vow?
Sir James the Ross repli'd:
And will Matilda wed the Grahame,
Tho' sworn to be my bride?
His sword shall sooner pierce my heart,
Than 'reave me of thy charms:
Then clasp'd her to his beating breast
Fast locked'd into his arms.
