| |
| 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. | |
| |
| ’T was I that led the Highland host | |
| Through wild Lochaber’s 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 Inverlochy’s shore. | 20 |
| I ’ve told thee how we swept Dundee, | |
| And tam’d the Lindsays’ pride; | |
| But never have I told thee yet | |
| How the great Marquis died. | |
| |
| A traitor sold him to his foes; | 25 |
| O deed of deathless shame! | |
| I charge thee, boy, if e’er thou meet | |
| With one of Assynt’s name— | |
| Be it upon the mountain’s side, | |
| Or yet within the glen, | 30 |
| Stand he in martial gear alone, | |
| Or back’d by armed men— | |
| Face him, as thou wouldst face the man | |
| Who wrong’d thy sire’s renown; | |
| Remember of what blood thou art, | 35 |
| And strike the caitiff down! | |
| |
| 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 bar’d his noble brow. | |
| Then, as a hound is slipp’d from leash, | 45 |
| They cheer’d 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, | 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 wither’d dames, | 55 |
| And their daughters all a-row. | |
| And every open window | |
| Was full as full might be | |
| With black-rob’d Covenanting carles, | |
| That goodly sport to see! | 60 |
| |
| But when he came, though pale and wan, | |
| He look’d 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 hero’s 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 turn’d aside and wept. | |
| |
| But onwards—always onwards, | |
| In silence and in gloom, | |
| The dreary pageant labor’d, | 75 |
| Till it reach’d the house of doom. | |
| Then first a woman’s 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 look’d upwards, | |
| He saw the ugly smile | |
| Of him who sold his king for gold, | |
| The master-fiend Argyle! | |
| |
| The Marquis gaz’d a moment, | 85 |
| And nothing did he say, | |
| But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale | |
| And he turn’d 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 clench’d at him; | |
| And a Saxon soldier cried aloud, | |
| “Back, coward, from thy place! | |
| For seven long years thou hast not dar’d | 95 |
| To look him in the face.” | |
| |
| Had I been there with sword in hand, | |
| And fifty Camerons by, | |
| That day through high Dunedin’s streets | |
| Had peal’d 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! | |
| |
| It might not be. They placed him next | |
| Within the solemn hall, | 110 |
| Where once the Scottish kings were thron’d | |
| Amidst their nobles all. | |
| But there was dust of vulgar feet | |
| On that polluted floor, | |
| And perju’d traitors fill’d 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 |
| |
| “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— | 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 dar’d 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 nam’d for me | 135 |
| 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. | 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!” | |
| |
| The morning dawn’d full darkly, | 145 |
| The rain came flashing down, | |
| And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt | |
| Lit up the gloomy town: | |
| The thunder crash’d 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. | |
| |
| 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! | |
| God’s mercy on his soul!” | |
| One last long peal of thunder: | 165 |
| The clouds are clear’d 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, | 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 walk’d to battle | 175 |
| More proudly than to die: | |
| There was color in his visage, | |
| Though the cheeks of all were wan, | |
| And they marvell’d as they saw him pass, | |
| That great and goodly man! | 180 |
| |
| He mounted up the scaffold, | |
| And he turn’d him to the crowd; | |
| But they dar’d not trust the people, | |
| So he might not speak aloud. | |
| But he look’d 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. | |
| |
| 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 veil’d his face for Christ’s dear grace | |
| Beneath the gallows-tree. | 200 |
| 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, | 205 |
| Like a glory round the shriven, | |
| And he climb’d 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 dar’d 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! | |
| |
