As though they held a lion there,
And not a fenceless man.

They set him high upon a cart,

The hangman rode below,

They drew his hands behind his back,
And bared his noble brow.

Then, as a hound is slipped from leash,
They cheered, the common throng,
And blew the note with yell and shout,
And bade him pass along.

It would have made a brave man's heart
Grow sad and sick that day,

To watch the keen malignant eyes
Bent down on that array.

There stood the Whig west-country lords

In balcony and bow;

There sat their gaunt and withered dames, And their daughters all a-row.

And every open window

Was full as full might be

With black-robed Covenanting carles,

That goodly sport to see!

But when he came, though 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 shudder
Through all the people crept,

And some that came to scoff at him
Now turned aside and wept.

Had I been there with sword in hand,

And fifty Camerons by,

That day through high Dunedin's streets
Had pealed the slogan-cry.

Not all their troops of trampling horse,

Nor might of mailèd men,

Not all the rebels in the south

Had borne us backwards 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 sate before.
With savage glee came Warristoun
To read the murderous doom;

And then uprose 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 Saint Andrew's cross
That waves above us there,

Yea, by a greater, mightier oath,
And O, 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,

Nor dared I hope on my dying day
To win the martyr's crown!

"There is a chamber far away

Where sleep the good and brave,
But a better place ye have named for me
Than by my father's grave.

For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might,
This hand hath always striven,
And ye raise it up for a witness still
In the eye of earth and heaven.
Then nail my head on yonder tower
Give every town a limb —

And God who made shall gather them :
I go from you to Him!”

The morning dawned full darkly,
The rain came flashing down,

And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt
Lit up the gloomy town:

The thunder crashed across the heaven,

The fatal hour was come;

Yet aye broke in with muffled beat

The 'larum of the drum.

There was madness on the earth below,

And anger in the sky,

And young and old, and rich and poor,
Came forth to see him die.

Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet!

How dismal 't is to see
The great tall spectral skeleton,

The ladder and the tree!

Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms

The bells begin to toll "He is coming! he is coming! God's mercy on his soul!"

One last long peal of thunder

The clouds are cleared

away,

And the glorious sun once more looks down Amidst the dazzling day.

"He is coming! he is coming!"

Like a bridegroom from his room,
Came the hero from his prison

To the scaffold and the doom.
There was glory on his forehead,
There was lustre in his eye,
And he never walked to battle
More proudly than to die:
There was color in his visage,

Though the cheeks of all were wan, And they marvelled as they saw him pass, That great and goodly man!

He mounted up the scaffold,

And he turned him to the crowd;
But they dared not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud.
But he looked upon the heavens,
And they were clear and blue,
And in the liquid ether

The eye of God shone through!
Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,

As though the thunder slept within, —–
All else was calm and still.

15

The grim Geneva ministers

With anxious scowl drew near, As you have seen the ravens flock

Around the dying deer.

He would not deign them word nor sign,

But alone he bent the knee;

And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace,

Beneath the gallows-tree.

Then radiant and serene he rose,

And cast his cloak away:

For he had ta'en his latest look
Of earth and sun and day.

A beam of light fell o'er him,
Like a glory round the shriven,
And he climbed the lofty ladder

As it were the path to heaven,
Then came a flash from out the cloud,
And a stunning thunder-roll;
And no man dared to look aloft,
For fear was on every soul.
There was another heavy sound,
A hush and then a groan;
And darkness swept across the sky,

The work of death was done.

WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN.