A landless prince, whose wandering life
Is but one scene of blood and strife-
Yet scant of friends The Bruce shall be,
But he'll find resting-place for thee.-
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,
And well has Allan's fate been wroke ;-
Come, wend we hence--the day has broke.
Seek we our bark-I trust the tale
Was false, that she had hoisted sail."
Yet ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad farewell
To Allan :-" Who shall tell this tale,"
He said, “in halls of Donagaile !
Oh, who his widow'd mother tell,
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell ! -
Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care,
For mass and knell and funeral prayer;