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COME hither, Evan Cameron! | |
Come, stand beside my knee: | |
I hear the river roaring down | |
Towards the wintry sea. | |
There s shouting on the mountain-side, | 5 |
There s war within the blast; | |
Old faces look upon me, | |
Old forms go trooping past: | |
I hear the pibroch wailing | |
Amidst the din of fight, | 10 |
And my dim spirit wakes again | |
Upon the verge of night. | |
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T was I that led the Highland host | |
Through wild Lochabers snows, | |
What time the plaided clans came down | 15 |
To battle with Montrose. | |
I ve told thee how the Southrons fell | |
Beneath the broad claymore, | |
And how we smote the Campbell clan | |
By Inverlochys shore. | 20 |
I ve told thee how we swept Dundee, | |
And tamd the Lindsays pride; | |
But never have I told thee yet | |
How the great Marquis died. | |
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A traitor sold him to his foes; | 25 |
O deed of deathless shame! | |
I charge thee, boy, if eer thou meet | |
With one of Assynts name | |
Be it upon the mountains side, | |
Or yet within the glen, | 30 |
Stand he in martial gear alone, | |
Or backd by armed men | |
Face him, as thou wouldst face the man | |
Who wrongd thy sires renown; | |
Remember of what blood thou art, | 35 |
And strike the caitiff down! | |
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They brought him to the Watergate, | |
Hard bound with hempen span, | |
As though they held a lion there, | |
And not a fenceless man. | 40 |
They set him high upon a cart, | |
The hangman rode below, | |
They drew his hands behind his back | |
And bard his noble brow. | |
Then, as a hound is slippd from leash, | 45 |
They cheerd the common throng, | |
And blew the note with yell and shout | |
And bade him pass along. | |
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It would have made a brave mans heart | |
Grow sad and sick that day, | 50 |
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 witherd dames, | 55 |
And their daughters all a-row. | |
And every open window | |
Was full as full might be | |
With black-robd Covenanting carles, | |
That goodly sport to see! | 60 |
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But when he came, though pale and wan, | |
He lookd so great and high, | |
So noble was his manly front, | |
So calm his steadfast eye, | |
The rabble rout forbore to shout, | 65 |
And each man held his breath, | |
For well they knew the heros soul | |
Was face to face with death. | |
And then a mournful shudder | |
Through all the people crept, | 70 |
And some that came to scoff at him | |
Now turnd aside and wept. | |
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But onwardsalways onwards, | |
In silence and in gloom, | |
The dreary pageant labord, | 75 |
Till it reachd the house of doom. | |
Then first a womans voice was heard | |
In jeer and laughter loud, | |
And an angry cry and a hiss arose | |
From the heart of the tossing crowd: | 80 |
Then as the Graeme lookd upwards, | |
He saw the ugly smile | |
Of him who sold his king for gold, | |
The master-fiend Argyle! | |
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The Marquis gazd a moment, | 85 |
And nothing did he say, | |
But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale | |
And he turnd his eyes away. | |
The painted harlot by his side, | |
She shook through every limb, | 90 |
For a roar like thunder swept the street, | |
And hands were clenchd at him; | |
And a Saxon soldier cried aloud, | |
Back, coward, from thy place! | |
For seven long years thou hast not dard | 95 |
To look him in the face. | |
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Had I been there with sword in hand, | |
And fifty Camerons by, | |
That day through high Dunedins streets | |
Had peald the slogan-cry. | 100 |
Not all their troops of trampling horse, | |
Nor might of mailed men, | |
Not all the rebels in the south | |
Had borne us backwards then! | |
Once more his foot on Highland heath | 105 |
Had trod as free as air, | |
Or I, and all who bore my name, | |
Been laid around him there! | |
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It might not be. They placed him next | |
Within the solemn hall, | 110 |
Where once the Scottish kings were thrond | |
Amidst their nobles all. | |
But there was dust of vulgar feet | |
On that polluted floor, | |
And perjud traitors filld the place | 115 |
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. | 120 |
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Now, by my faith as belted knight, | |
And by the name I bear, | |
And by the bright Saint Andrews cross | |
That waves above us there, | |
Yea, by a greater, mightier oath | 125 |
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, | 130 |
Nor dard I hope on my dying day | |
To win the martyrs crown! | |
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There is a chamber far away | |
Where sleep the good and brave, | |
But a better place ye have namd for me | 135 |
Than by my fathers grave. | |
For truth and right, gainst treasons might, | |
This hand hath always striven, | |
And ye raise it up for a witness still | |
In the eye of earth and heaven. | 140 |
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! | |
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The morning dawnd full darkly, | 145 |
The rain came flashing down, | |
And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt | |
Lit up the gloomy town: | |
The thunder crashd across the heaven, | |
The fatal hour was come; | 150 |
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, | 155 |
Came forth to see him die. | |
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Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet! | |
How dismal t is to see | |
The great tall spectral skeleton, | |
The ladder and the tree! | 160 |
Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms | |
The bells begin to toll | |
He is coming! he is coming! | |
Gods mercy on his soul! | |
One last long peal of thunder: | 165 |
The clouds are cleard away, | |
And the glorious sun once more looks down | |
Amidst the dazzling day. | |
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He is coming! he is coming! | |
Like a bridegroom from his room, | 170 |
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 walkd to battle | 175 |
More proudly than to die: | |
There was color in his visage, | |
Though the cheeks of all were wan, | |
And they marvelld as they saw him pass, | |
That great and goodly man! | 180 |
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He mounted up the scaffold, | |
And he turnd him to the crowd; | |
But they dard not trust the people, | |
So he might not speak aloud. | |
But he lookd upon the heavens, | 185 |
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, | 190 |
As though the thunder slept within | |
All else was clam and still. | |
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The grim Geneva ministers | |
With anxious scowl drew near, | |
As you have seen the ravens flock | 195 |
Around the dying deer. | |
He would not deign them word nor sign, | |
But alone he bent the knee, | |
And veild his face for Christs dear grace | |
Beneath the gallows-tree. | 200 |
Then radiant and serene he rose, | |
And cast his cloak away: | |
For he had taen his latest look | |
Of earth and sun and day. | |
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A beam of light fell oer him, | 205 |
Like a glory round the shriven, | |
And he climbd the lofty ladder | |
As it were the path to heaven. | |
Then came a flash from out the cloud, | |
And a stunning thunder-roll; | 210 |
And no man dard 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 | 215 |
The work of death was done! | |
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