Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/187

Rh Quoth Douglas: "Friends, if me ye mourn,

With drooping heads and looks forlorn,

Now for your sorrows comfort ye,—

And fetch my lass to welcome me!

'T is true that I from out the wars

Bring back a wound and many scars,—

But life is mine, and I am free,

And my brave lass hath ransom'd me!"

Up spoke an ancient servitor:

We mourn indeed the wrongs of war:

We bless thy loved return,— but she

No more shall rise to welcome thee!"

Sudden as falls the giant oak

When smitten by the lightning stroke,

So swoonèd Douglas to the ground,

And bled afresh his healing wound.

They strove to stay life's ebbing tide,

They chafed his hands, they swathed his side,

But Donald wailed,—"Ah, woe is me!—

Thy little lass hath welcomed thee!"