Page:Buchanshire tragedy, or, Sir James the Ross (4).pdf/7

7 By this the valiant Knight awak'd,

The virgin's shrieks he heard,

And up he rose, and drew his sword,

when the fierce band appear'd.

Your sword last night my brother slew,

His blood yet dims it shine;

And ere the rising of the sun,

Your blood shall reek on mine.

You word it well, the Chief repli'd,

But deeds approve the man;

Set by your men, and hand in hand,

We'll try what valour can.

Oft boasting hides a coward's heart,

My weighty sword you fear.

Which shone in front on Flodden-field,

When your's kept in the rear.

With dauntless step he forward strode,

and dar'd him to the fight;

The Grahame gave back, he fear'd his arm,

For well he knew its might.

Four of his men, the bravest four,

Sunk down beneath his sword,

But still he scorn'd this best revenge,

And sought their haughty Lord.

Behind him basely came the Grahame,

And wound him in the side;

Out spouting came the purple stream,

And all his tartans dy'd!

But of his sword ne'er quat the grip,

Nor dropt he to the ground,

Till thro' his en'my's heart his steel

Had forc'd a mortal wound.