Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume VIII. National Spirit. 1904. | | | | I. Patriotism | | The Jacobite on Tower Hill | | George Walter Thornbury (1828–1876) |
| | | HE tripped up the steps with a bow and a smile, | |
| Offering snuff to the chaplain the while, | |
| A rose at his button-hole that afternoon— | |
| ’T was the tenth of the month, and the month it was June. | |
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| Then shrugging his shoulders, he looked at the man | 5 |
| With the mask and the axe, and a murmuring ran | |
| Through the crowd, who below, were all pushing to see | |
| The gaoler kneel down, and receiving his fee. | |
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| He looked at the mob, as they roared, with a stare, | |
| And took snuff again with a cynical air. | 10 |
| “I ’m happy to give but a moment’s delight | |
| To the flower of my country agog for a sight.” | |
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| Then he looked at the block, and with scented cravat | |
| Dusted room for his neck, gayly doffing his hat, | |
| Kissed his hand to a lady, bent low to the crowd, | 15 |
| Then smiling, turned round to the headsman and bowed. | |
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| “God save King James!” he cried bravely and shrill, | |
| And the cry reached the houses at foot of the hill, | |
| “My friend with the axe, à votre service,” he said; | |
| And ran his white thumb ’long the edge of the blade. | 20 |
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| When the multitude hissed he stood firm as a rock; | |
| Then kneeling, laid down his gay head on the block; | |
| He kissed a white rose,—in a moment ’t was red | |
| With the life of the bravest of any that bled. | | | | |
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