Page:Caladonia (sic).pdf/3



I sing and lament me in vain, these walls can but echo my moan, Alas; it increases my pain, when I think on the days that are gone.

Through the gate of my prison I see, the birds as they wanton in air. My heart how it pants to be free, my looks they are wild with dispair.

Above, though opprest by my fate, I burn with contempt for my foes, Though fortune has alter'd my state, she ne'er can subdue me to those.

False woman, in ages to come, thy malice detested shall be, And when we are cold in the tomb, some heart will still sorrow for me.

Ye roofs where cold damps and dismay, with silence and solitude dwell. How comfortless passes the day? how sadly tolls the evening bell;

The owls from the battlement cry, hollow winds seem to murmur around, O Mary! prepare thee to die, my blood it rune cold at the sound.