The Execution of Montrose

"Let them bestow on every airth a limb,Then, open all my veins, that I may swimTo thee, my Maker! in that crimson lake;Then place my parboiled head upon a stake--Scatter my ashes--strew them in the air:Lord! since thou know'st where all these atoms are,I'm hopeful thou'lt recover once my dust,And confident thou'lt raise me with the just."

Come hither, Evan Cameron!Come, stand beside my knee--I hear the river roaring downTowards the wintry sea.There's shouting on the mountain side,There's war within the blast--Old faces look upon me,Old forms go trooping past.I hear the pibroch wailingAmidst the din of fight,And my dim spirit wakes againUpon the verge of night!

'Twas I that led the Highland hostThrough wild Lochaber's snows,What time the plaided clans came downTo battle with Montrose.I've told thee how the Southrons fellBeneath the broad claymore,And how we smote the Campbell clanBy Inverlochy's shore.I've told thee how we swept Dundee,And tamed the Lindsay's pride;But never have I told thee yetHow the Great Marquis died!

A traitor sold him to his foes;O deed of deathless shame!I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meetWith one of Assynt's name--Be it upon the mountain's side,Or yet within the glen,Stand he in martial gear alone,Or backed by armèd men--Face him, as thou wouldst face the manWho 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 a 'fenceless 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 the common throng,And blew the note with yell and shout,And bade him pass along.

It would have made a brave man's heartGrow sad and sick that day,To watch the keen malignant eyesBent down on that array.There stood the Whig west-country lordsIn balcony and bow,There sat their gaunt and withered dames,And their daughters all a-row;And every open windowWas full as full might be,With black-robed Covenanting carles,That goodly sport to see!

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,For well they knew the hero's soulWas face to face with death.And then a mournful shudderThrough all the people crept,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 laboured,Till it reach'd the house of doom:Then first a woman's voice was heardIn jeer and laughter loud,And an angry cry and a hiss aroseFrom the heart of the tossing crowd:Then, as the Græme looked upwards,He met the ugly smileOf him who sold his King for gold--The master-fiend Argyle!

The Marquis gazed a moment,And nothing did he say,But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale,And he turned his eyes away.The painted harlot by his side,She shook through every limb,For a roar like thunder swept the street,And hands were clenched at him,And a Saxon soldier cried aloud,"Back, coward, from thy place!For seven long years thou hast not daredTo 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 pealed the slogan cry.Not all their troops of trampling horse,Nor might of mailèd men--Not all the rebels of the southHad borne us backwards then!Once more his foot on Highland heathHad 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 nextWithin the solemn hall,Where once the Scottish Kings were thronedAmidst their nobles all.But there was dust of vulgar feetOn that polluted floor,And perjured traitors filled the placeWhere good men sate before.With savage glee came WarristounTo read the murderous doom,And then uprose the great MontroseIn 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 crossThat waves above us there--Yea, by a greater, mightier oath--And oh, that such should be!--By that dark stream of royal bloodThat lies 'twixt you and me--I have not sought in battle-fieldA wreath of such renown,Nor dared I hope, on my dying day,To win the martyr's crown!"

"There is a chamber far awayWhere sleep the good and brave,But a better place ye have named for meThan 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 stillIn the eye of earth and heaven.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 dawned full darkly,The rain came flashing down,And the jagged streak of the levin-boltLit up the gloomy town:The heavens were thundering out their wrath,The fatal hour was come;Yet ever sounded sullenlyThe trumpet and the drum.There was madness on the earth below,And anger in the sky,And young and old, and rich and poor,Came forth to see him die.

Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet!How dismal 't is to seeThe great tall spectral skeleton,The ladder, and the tree!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--The clouds are cleared away,And the glorious sun once more looks downAmidst the dazzling day.

He is coming! he is coming!Like a bridegroom from his room,Came the hero from his prisonTo the scaffold and the doom.There was glory on his forehead,There was lustre in his eye,And he never walked to battleMore 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!

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 etherThe eye of God shone through:Yet a black and murky battlementLay resting on the hill,As though the thunder slept within--All else was calm and still.

The grim Geneva ministersWith anxious scowl drew near,As you have seen the ravens flockAround the dying deer.He would not deign them word nor sign,But alone he bent the knee;And veiled his face for Christ's dear graceBeneath the gallows-tree.Then radiant and serene he rose,And cast his cloak away:For he had ta'en his latest lookOf earth, and sun, and day.

A beam of light fell o'er him,Like a glory round the shriven,And he climbed the lofty ladderAs it were the path to heaven.Then came a flash from out the cloud,And a stunning thunder roll,And no man dared 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--The work of death was done!