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2 'Twas I that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber's snows,
To battle with Montrose.
Beneath the broad claymore,
By Inverlochy's shore.
And tamed the Lindsays' pride ;
O deed of deathless shame!
With one of Assynt’s name-
Or yet within the glen,
Or backed by arméd men-
Who wronged thy sire's renown ;
And strike the caitiff down !
4 They brought him to the Watergate,
Hard bound with hempen span, As though they held a lion there,
And not a fenceless man.
The hangman rode below
And bared his noble brow.
They cheered the common throng,
And bade him pass along.
Grow sad and sick that day,
Bent down on that array.
In balcony and bow,
And their daughters all a-row.
Was full as full might be
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 turn'd aside and wept.
7 But onwards—always onwards,
In silence and in gloom, The dreary pageant laboured,
Till it reached the house of doom.
In jeer and laughter loud,
From the heart of the tossing crowd : EO
He saw the ugly smile
The master-fiend Argyle !
8 The Marquis gazed a moment,
And nothing did he say, But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale,
And he turned his eyes away.
She shook through every limb,
And hands were clenched at him ;
Back, coward, from thy place! For seven long years thou hast not dared 95 To look him in the face.'
And fifty Camerons by,
Had pealed the slogan-cry.
Nor might of mailéd men-
Had borne us backwards then !
Had trod as free as air,
Within the solemn hall,
Amidst their nobles all.
On that polluted floor,
Where good men sate before.
To read the murderous doom ; And then uprose the great Montrose
In the middle of the room.
And by the name I bear,
That waves above us there-
And oh, that such should be ! By that dark stream of royal blood
That lies 'twixt you and me
A wreath of such renown,
Where sleep the good and brave, But a better place ye have named 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.
Give every town a limb-
The rain came flashing down,
Lit up the gloomy town :
The fatal hour was come ;
The 'larum of the drum.
And anger in the sky,
Came forth to see him die.
How dismal 'tis to see
The ladder, and the tree !
The bells begin to toll-
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.
15 '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 colour in his visage,
Though the cheeks of all were wan, And they marvelled as they saw him pass, That great and goodly man !
16 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!
Lay resting on the hill,
All else was calm and still.