204 A BAD SHOT. 



The Earl then he sank on his bended knee, 

 " Mother of God, now hear," pray'd he ; 

 But scarce the words his lips could pass, 

 When in fragments flew the mystic glass. 



Started Lord Atholl in fear and surprise ; 



On the woful wight he fixed his eyes ; 



But his doubts to clear he may not stay, 



For the monarch was mounted, and called him away. 



" Sweet Willie, run, sweet Willie, speed, 

 " And bid them bring my favourite steed." 

 His mouth all foam, his eyes all flame, 

 Snorting and prancing the black steed came. 



But ere on his back Lord Atholl could bound, 

 He heard sweet Willie's bowstring sound ; 

 Whizzing flew the trusty dart, 

 Nor stopp'd ere it pierced the black steed's heart. 



Lord Atholl his face was black with rage ; 

 He struck to the earth sweet Willie the page. 

 " Now pardon, dear master," did Willie exclaim, 

 " I shot at an eagle and err'd in my aim." 



Again Lord Atholl smote him sore, 



And bade him see his face no more, 



Till the Queen-mother prayed him his wrath to assuage, 



And forced him to pardon sweet Willie the page. 



