Where the lone streams of Ettrick[146] glide,
And from the silver Teviot’s[147] side;
The dales, where martial clans did ride,
Are now one sheep-walk,[148] waste and wide.
This tyrant of the Scottish throne,
So faithless and so ruthless known,
Now hither comes; his end the same,
The same pretext of silvan game.
What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye
By fate of Border chivalry.