Yet 't is sweet balm to our despair,

Fond, fairest boy,

That heaven is God's and thou art there,
With him in joy ;

There past are death and all its woes;
There beauty's stream forever flows;
And pleasure's day no sunset knows,
Casa Wappy!

Farewell, then, for a while, farewell, Pride of my heart!

It cannot be that long we dwell,

Thus torn apart.

Time's shadows like the shuttle flee;
And dark howe'er life's night may be,
Beyond the grave I'll meet with thee,
Casa Wappy!

WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.

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,

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,

And my dim spirit wakes again
Upon the verge of night.

'Twas I that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber's snows,

What time the plaided clans came down
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.

I've told thee how we swept Dundee,

And tamed the Lindsays' pride;

But never have I told thee yet
How the great Marquis died.

A traitor sold him to his foes;
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,
Stand he in martial gear alone,
Or backed by armèd men

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 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 heart Grow sad and sick that day,

To watch the keen, malignant eyes

Bent down on that array.

There stood the Whig west-country lords,

In balcony and bow;

There sat the gaunt and withered dames,

And their daughters all a-row.

And every open window

Was 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 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 turned aside and wept.

In silence and in gloom,

The dreary pageant labored,

Till it reached 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:
Then as the Græme looked upwards,
He saw the ugly smile

Of 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 dared
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 pealed the slogan-cry.

Not all their troops of trampling horse,
Nor might of mailèd 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 sate 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 there

Yea, by a greater, mightier oath

And oh, that such should be!

--

By that dark stream of royal blood

That lies 'twixt you and me