But curse on Party's hateful strife,
That led the favoured Youth astray!
The day the Rebel Clans appeared
(O, had he never seen that day!),

Their colours and their sash he wore ;
And in the fatal dress was found:
And now he must that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keenest wound!

How pale was then his True Love's cheek, When JEMMY'S sentence reached her ear! For never yet did Alpine snows

So pale, or yet so chill, appear!

With faltering voice, she weeping said,
'O, DAWSON! Monarch of my heart!
Think not thy death shall end our loves;
For thou and I will never part!

'Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to JEMMY's woes;
O, GEORGE! without a prayer for thee,
My orisons should never close!

'The gracious Prince that gave him life, Would crown a never-dying flame!

And every tender babe I bore,

Should learn to lisp the giver's name!

'But though he should be dragged, in scorn, To yonder ignominious tree;

He shall not want one constant friend
To share the cruel Fates' decree!'

O, then her mourning coach was called.
The sledge moved slowly on before;
Though borne in a triumphal car,

She had not loved her fav'rite more!

She followed him, prepared to view
The terrible behests of Law:

And the last scene of JEMMY's woes,
With calm and steadfast eye she saw.

Distorted was that blooming face,

Which she had fondly loved so long! And stifled was that tuneful breath, Which in her praise had sweetly sung !

And severed was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly closed!
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her lovesick head reposed!

And ravished was that constant heart,
She did to ev'ry heart prefer!
For though it could its King forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her!

Amid those unrelenting flames,

She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas mouldered into dust, 'Yet, yet,' she cried, 'I follow thee!

'My death, my death alone can shew The pure, the lasting, love I bore! Accept, O, Heaven! of woes like ours; And let us, let us, weep no more!'

The dismal scene was o'er and past.

The Lover's mournful hearse retired. The Maid drew back her languid head, And, sighing forth his name, expired.

Though Justice ever must prevail,
The tear my KITTY sheds is due!
For seldom shall she hear a Tale
So sad, so tender, yet so true!