Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen, Face him as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy sire's renown; Remember of what blood thou art, 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 an unarmed 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, mon throng, - the com And blew the note with yell and shout, and bade him pass along. 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 forebore to shout, and each man held his breath, 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 mailéd 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 sat 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 Yea, by a greater, mightier oath, and oh, that such should be! By that dark stream of royal blood that lies 'twixt you and I have not sought in battle-field a wreath of such renown, The morning dawned full darkly, the rain came flashing down, Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet! how dismal 't is to see 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; wan, And they marvelled as they saw him pass, that great and goodly man! A beam of light fell on him, like a glory round the shriven, roll, And no man dared to look aloft, for fear was on every soul. done! CCCIII. THE FACE AGAINST THE PANE. MABEL, little Mabel, With her face against the pane, Looks out across the night, She hears the sea-bird screech, To and fro, to and fro, Till it seems like some old crone Standing out there all alone with her woe, Her gaunt and palsied hands; With her face against the pane, Set the table, maiden Mabel, Is out there in the storm; And your father: you are weeping, Go spread the supper-table, The heavens are veined with fire! God pity wives and sweethearts With her face against the pane! A boom! the light-house gun! See, a rocket cleaves the sky, Did she see the helpless sail Like a feather in the air, Went down out of sight, - You cannot see the men that drown From a shoal of richest rubies Breaks the morning clear and cold; In the pleasant autumn air, You'll find a little child With face against the pane, T. B. Aldrich. |