III.

"'Where now is Donald dear?' Maids cry with taunting sneer; 'Say, is he still sincere To his loved Flora?' Parents upbraid my moan, Each heart is turn'd to stone: 'Ah, Flora! thou 'rt now alone, Friendless in Mora!'

"Come, then, O come away! Donald, no longer stay; Where can my rover stray From his loved Flora! Ah! sure he ne'er can be False to his vows and me; Oh, Heaven!--is not yonder he, Bounding o'er Mora!"

"Never, ah! wretched fair!" Sigh'd the sad messenger, "Never shall Donald mair Meet his loved Flora! Cold as yon mountain snow Donald thy love lies low; He sent me to soothe thy woe, Weeping in Mora.