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Page 21
And when he came, so pale and wan
He looked, so great and High,
So noble was his manly front,
So calm his steadfast eye,
The rabble rout, forbore to shout,
And each man held his breath,
For well they knew the hero's soul
Was face to face with death.
And then a mournful shuddering
Through all the people crept,
And some that came to scoff at him
Now turned aside and wept.
But onward, always onward,
In silence and in gloom,
The dreary pageant labored
Till it reached the house of doom.
Then first a woman's voice was heard
In jeer and laughter loud,
An angry cry and hiss arose,
From the lips of the angry crowd.
Then as the Gr�me looked upward
He saw the bitter smile
Of him who sold his king for gold,
The master fiend Argyle.
The Marquis gazed a moment
And nothing did he say;
But Argyle's cheek grew deadly pale,
And he turned his eyes away.
The painted frail one by his side,
She shook through every limb,
For warlike thunder swept the streets,
And hands were clenched at him,
And a Saxon soldier cried, aloud,
Back coward, from thy place!
For seven long years thou hast not dared
To look him in the face!
Had I been there with sword in hand
And fifty Cameron's by,
That day, through high Dunadin's streets,
Had pealed the Slogan cry
Not all their troops of trampling horse,
Nor might of mailed men;
Nor all the rebels of the South
Had borne us backward then.
Once more his, foot on highland heath
Had trod, as free as air,
Or I and all who bore my name,
Been laid around him there.
It might not be! they placed him next,
Within the solemn hall,
Where once the Scottish kings were throned
Amidst their nobles all.
But there was dust of vulgar feet
On that polluted floor
And perjured traitors filled the place,
Where good men sat before.
With savage glee came there,
To read the murderous doom
And then up rose the great Montrose
In the middle of the room,--
Now by my faith as belted knight,
And by the name I bear,
And by the bright St. Andrew's Cross,
That waves above us there;
Yea, by a greater mightier oath,
And oh! that such should be--
By that dark stream of royal blood,
That lies 'twixt you and me,
I have not sought in battle field
A wreath of such renown,
Or dared to hope my dying day
Would win a martyr's crown.
There is a chamber far away,
Where sleeps the good and brave
But a better place ye have named for me
Than by my fathers grave,
For truth and right 'gainst treason's might
This hand has always striven,
And ye raise it up for a witness still
For the eye of earth and heaven.
Then nail my heart on yonder tower,
Give every town a limb
And God who made, shall gather them;--
I go from you to him!
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