PART III.

Being near Fort Niagara in the year fifty-nine,
On the thirtieth of July, as he always did incline
To frequent the green-wood, at some distant place,
To breathe out his sorrows his mind to solace.
Among the savage Indians, alas! there he fell,
But how he was murdered we cannot well tell,
For on the next morning they found him there dead.
Two Indians lay by him, each wanting his head.

Cut off with his broadsword, as is understood,
As there all about him was nothing but blood;
Five wounds on his body, his hair scalped away,
His clothes, sword, and pistol, all made a prey.
And one of his fingers from his hand they had cut,
On which was the ring from his lover he got.
In that very moment in Scotland we hear,
A dreadful spectre to his love did appear.

As she was a-weeping under the green oak,
He quickly passed by her and not a word spoke,
Yet shaking his left hand, where the ring he did wear,
It wanted a finger, and blood dropped there.
Whereat the young lady was struck with amaze,
And rose to run after and on him to gaze,
She knew it was Grigor, but how in that place,
It made her to wonder and dread the sad case.

With terror and grief home she did repair,
And spent the whole night in weeping and prayer;
So early next morning she rose with the sun,
And went back to the green oak to weep all alone.
For always she esteemed that place as we hear,
As on it she got the last sight of her dear;
As there she sat weeping and tearing her hair;
Again the pale spectre to her did appear.

And with a wild aspect it stared in her face,
Then said, " O dear Katie, do not me embrace,
For I'm but a spirit though shining in blood,
My body lies murdered in yon foreign wood.
There's two wounds in my body and three in my side,
With hatchets and arrows, and all deep and wide;
My scalp and fine hair for a premium are sold,
And also my finger with the ring of pure gold,
Which you drew upon it as a mark of true love,
Love's stronger than death, for it does remove,
But my earnest desire it is for you, my dear,
And till you are with me I'll still wander here,
This world's but vanity, all's a vain show,
'Tis nought to the pleasures where we are to go. "
She went to embrace him, being void of all fright,
But he in a moment went out of her sight.

Then home in great horror to her father did run,
Crying " O! cruel father, now what have you done?
Grigor, lov'd Grigor, came to me in blood,
And his body lies slain in an American wood,
He showed me his wounds, and each bleeding sore,
And therefore my pleasures on earth are no more,
Her father looked at her as one being amazed,
Then said, " My dear Katie, your brains they are craz'd. "

But still she maintained it, and cried like a child,
Never after was seen for to laugh or to smile;
Brought to her all doctors, whose skill was in vain,
But still gave opinion she was sound in the brain.
Her body decayed, her face grew wan and pale,
She soared to her true love, beyond death's dark vale,
First her, then her mother, in one night expired.
I hope she enjoys the bliss she desired.

Now the old father cries, bereft of all joys,
He has plenty of gold, but no girls or boys.
Let all cruel parents to this take great heed,
His pretty young daughter is now with the dead.