Michael Bruce, Tragedy of Sir James the Rose
“ But yet his hand dropp'd not the sword, Nor sunk he to the ground, Till thro' his enemie's heart the steel, Had forced a mortal wound. Graeme, like a tree by wind o'erthrown, Fell breathless on the clay ; And down beside him sank the Rose, And faint and dying lay. ”
Michael Bruce, Tragedy of Sir James the Rose
“ Art thou asleep Matilda dear? Awake my love! awake! Behold thy lover waits without, A long farewell to take. For I have slain fierce Donald Graeme, His blood, is on my sword, And far, far distant are my men. Nor can defend their lord. ”
Michael Bruce, Tragedy of Sir James the Rose
“ Conceal'd among the underwood, The crafty Donald lay, The brother of Sir John the Graeme, To watch what they might way. When thus the maid began: My Sire, Our passion disapproves He bids we wed Sir John the Graeme, So here must end our loves. ”
