7
When days had eome and days had passed,
Lord Leslie had no' swung,
But for him aud the Lady Arabel Stewart,
The wedding bells were rung.
And he has gotten a trusty page
His messages all to bear,
And sent him on to Mary Hay
To break the tidings with eare.
To offer her gold, to offer her gear,
To offer her houses or land—
To tell her that she was free to love
And marry a lowlier man.
The news were said, the offers were made,
And the salt tears did no' come;
But she sat like a statue, or eorpse of the dead,
As motionless, paly, and dumb.
She never cast blame on her faithless lord,
Nor uttered one word to displease,
But she drooped her head like a frost-nipt rose,
And faded by slow degrees.
And day by day she withered away,
Till the fell destroyer Death
Laid his skeleton hand on her marble lips,
And cheeked their quivering breath.
Now word’s gone on to Edinburgh town,
And reached Lord Leslie’s ear,
That the eold earth lay on the Mary Hay
Whom he onee had valued so dear.
"O woe’s me now!" Lord Leslie cried,
As he tore his raven hair,
"I’ve killed the fairest, dearest wife,
That ever breathed Northern air.
Love me, Lady Arabel Stewart!
Well may you love me noo,
For I’ve blighted the fairest flower of the North,
And all for the sake of you!
Well may ye sigh, Lady Arabel Stewart,
And well may your tears be shed;
But ye eanna bring peaee to this perjured heart,
Unless ye bring back the dead!"
