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LOVE and thee, MARY.
The heath this night must be my bed,The bracken curtain for my head,My lulaby the warder's tread.Far, far, from love ⟨and⟩ the Mary.To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,My couch may be my bloody plaid,My vesper song thy wail sweet maid!It will not waken me Mary.
I may not, dare not, fancy nowThe grief that clouds thy lovely brow,I ⟨dare⟩ not think upon thy vow,And all it promised me Mary.No fond regret must Norman know,When bursts Clan-alpine on the foe,His heart must be like bended bow,His foot like arrow free Mary.
A time will come when feeling fraught,For if I fall in battle fought,Thy haples lover's dying thought,Shall be a thought on the Mary.And if returned from conquered foes,How blythly will evening close,How sweet the ⟨linnet sing⟩ repose,To my young bride and me Mary.
