Flora McDonald

Had you seen Flora at dew-dawn alone,
Her tresses of gold by the sea-breezes blown,
No jewel she wore, but lamenting did go
And smiting her fair hands in sorrow and woe.

The briars of the mountains had wounded her sore,
Her eyes were like fountains with tears flowing o'er,
Her troubled heart forced her a watcher to be
In hope of beholding some ship on the sea.

I hearkened, with grieving, the plaint that she made,
And fain would have freed her from sorrow's cold shade.
She spoke, and her sigh would have rended a stone,
"O dark darling Charles, 'tis for thee I make moan.

"They'll follow thee over the heather and scar,
A- thirsting for blood like the wolves that they are;
Nor e'en let thee lie on the rock cold and bare,
To the cave by the billows, they'd follow thee there!

"Why fear they a fugitive, lorn, in defeat —
No sentry, save hunger, to guard thy retreat?
Yet 'tis oft in thy perils, by forest and field,
The hosts of high Heaven were thy shelter and shield!

"But with Might over Right now oppressors prevail, —
Stay, stay! — on the ocean there flashes a sail! —
'Tis the foam! "— and in tears died a smile bright and
And I turned from her sorrow in silence away.