Walter Sele

O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread,

Nor step unhallow'd roam;

For here the grave hath found a grave,

The wanderer a home.

This little mound encircles round

A heart that once could feel;

For none possess'd a warmer heart

Than gallant Walter Sele.

The primrose pale, from Derwen vale,

Through spring shall sweetly bloom,

And here, I ween, the evergreen

Shall shed its death perfume;

The branching tree of rosemary

The sweet thyme may conceal;

But both shall wave above the grave

Of gallant Walter Sele.

They brand with shame my true love's name,

And call him traitor vile,

Who dar'd disclose to Charlie's foes

The secret postern aisle;

But though, alas! that fatal pass

He rashly did reveal,

He ne'er betray'd his maniac maid,--

My gallant Walter Sele!