Page:Come under my plaidie (2).pdf/6



The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtains for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread:
 * Far, far from love and thee, Mary.

Tomorrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song, thy wail sweet maid!
 * It will not wauken me, Mary!

I may not, dare not, fancy now, The grief that clouds thy lovely brow; I dare not think upon thy vat,
 * And all it promis'd 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 with feeling fraught, For if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying though,
 * Shall be a thought on thee, Mary!

And if return'd from conquer'd foes, How blithely will the evening close,