No rose of Eden's bosom meek,

Could match that maiden's moistened cheek;

No drifted wreath of morning snow,

The whiteness of her lofty brow;

Nor gem of India's purest dye,

The lustre of her eagle eye.

When beauty, Eden's bowers within,

First stretched the arm to deeds of sin; When passion burned, and prudence slept,

The pitying angels bent and wept.

But tears more soft were never shed,

No, not when angels bowed the head, ́

A sigh more mild did never breathe

O'er human nature whelmed in death,
Nor woe and dignity combine

In face so lovely, so benign,

As Douglas saw that dismal hour,
Bent o'er a corse on Cample-moor;
A lady o'er her shield, her trust,
A brave, an only brother's dust.

What heart of man unmoved can lie, When plays the smile in beauty's eye? Or when a form of grace and love

To music's notes can lightly move?

Yes: there are hearts unmoved can see
The smile, the ring, the revelry;

But heart of warrior ne'er could bear
The beam of beauty's crystal tear.
Well was that morn the maxim proved-

The Douglas saw, the Douglas loved.

"O, cease thy tears, my lovely May, Sweet floweret of the banks of Ae, His soul thou never canst recall;

He fell as warrior wont to fall.
Deep, deep the loss we both bewail:
But that deep loss to countervail,
Far as the day-flight of the hern,
From Locherben to green Glencairn,
From where the Shinnel torrents pour
To the lone vales of Crawford-moor,

The fairy links of Tweed and Lyne,

All, all the Douglas has, is thine,

And Douglas too; whate'er betide,

Straight thou shalt be Dumlanrig's bride."

"What! mighty chief, a bride to thee!
No, by yon heaven's High Majesty,
Sooner I'll beg, forlorn and poor,
Bent at thy meanest vassal's door,
Than look thy splendid halls within,
Thou deer, wrapt in a lion's skin!

"Here lies thy bravest knight in death;

Thy kinsmen strew the purple heath;
What boots thy boasted mountains green?
Nor flock, nor herd, can there be seen;

All driven before thy vaunting foe

To ruthless slaughter, bleat and low,
Whilst thou-shame on thy dastard head !—

A wooing com'st amid the dead.

"O, that this feeble maiden hand

Could bend the bow, or wield the brand!
If yeomen mustered in my hall,
Or trooped obsequious at my call,
My country's honour I'd restore,
And shame thy face for evermore.
Go, first thy flocks and herds regain;
Revenge thy friends in battle slain;
Thy wounded honour heal; that done,
Douglas may ask May Morison."

Dumlanrig's blood to's bosom rushed, His manly cheek like crimson blushed. He called three yeomen to his side: "Haste, gallant warriors, haste and ride! Warn Lindsay on the banks of Daur, The fierce M'Turk and Lochinvaur;

Tell them that Lennox flies amain;

That Maxwell and Glencairn are ta'en; Kilpatrick with the spoiler rides;

The Johnston flies, and Jardine hides:

That I alone am left to fight,

For country's cause and sovereign's right.
My friends are fallen-my warriors toiled-
My towns are burnt-my vassals spoiled:
Yet say-before to-morrow's sun
With amber tips the mountain dun,
Either that host of ruthless thieves
I'll scatter like the forest leaves,
Or my wrung heart shall cease to play,
And my right hand the sword to sway.
At Blackwood I'll their coming bide:
Haste, gallant warriors, haste and ride!”—

He spoke :-each yeoman bent his eye, And forward stooped in act to fly; No plea was urged, no short demur; Each heel was turned to strike the spur.

As ever ye saw the red deer's brood, From covert sprung, traverse the wood;