This Narrative is supposed to be addressed by an aged Highlander to
his Grandson shortly before the battle of Killiecrankie.
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 riding past.
I hear the pibrock 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 South'rons fell
Beneath his broad claymore,
And how he smote the Campbell clan
By Inverlocky's shore.
I've told thee how we swept Dundee
And tamed the Lindsay's pride;
But never have I told thee yet
How the great Marquis died.
A traitor sold him to his foes:
Oh, deed of deathless shame!
I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet
With one of Assynt's name,
Be it upon the mountain side,
Or yet within the glen,
Stand he in martial gear alone,
Or backed by armed men;
Face him as thou wouldst face a man
That 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 lord
In Balcony and Bow;
There sat three gaunt and withered Dames
And daughters in a row,
And every open window
Was full, as full might be,
With black robed covenanting carles,
That goodly sport to see.
And when he came, so 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 shuddering
Through all the people crept,
And some that came to scoff at him
Now turned aside and wept.
But onward, always onward,
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,
An angry cry and hiss arose,
From the lips of the angry crowd.
Then as the Græme looked upward
He saw the bitter smile
Of him who sold his king for gold,
The master fiend Argyle.
The Marquis gazed a moment
And nothing did he say;
But Argyle's cheek grew deadly pale,
And he turned his eyes away.
The painted frail one by his side,
She shook through every limb,
For warlike thunder swept the streets,
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 Cameron's by,
That day, through high Dunadin's streets,
Had pealed the Slogan cry
Not all their troops of trampling horse,
Nor might of mailed men;
Nor all the rebels of the South
Had borne us backward 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 there,
To read the murderous doom
And then up rose 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 St. 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,
I have not sought in battle field
A wreath of such renown,
Or dared to hope my dying day
Would win a martyr's crown.
There is a chamber far away,
Where sleeps the good and brave
But a better place ye have named for me
Than by my fathers grave,
For truth and right 'gainst treason's might
This hand has always striven,
And ye raise it up for a witness still
For the eye of earth and heaven.
Then nail my heart 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 forky streak of lightning's bolt,
Lit up the gloomy town.
The thunders' crashed across the heaven,
The fatal hour was come;
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
Came forth to see him die.
Oh God! that ghastly gibbet,
How dismal 't is to see,
The great spectral skeleton--
The ladder and the tree.
Hark! hark! the clash of arms
The bells begin to toll,--
He is coming! He is coming!
God have mercy on his soul!
One last long peal of thunder,--
The clouds are cleared away
And the glorious sun once more look'd down
Upon the dazzling 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.
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 he passed them,
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 look'd up toward heaven,
And it all was 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,
As though the thunder slept therein,
All else was calm and still.
Then radiant and serene he rose,
And cast his cloak away;
For he had taken his latest look
Of earth and sun and day.
A beam of light fell o'er him,
Like a glory round the shriven,
And he climbed the lofty ladder,
As it were a path to heaven.
Then came a flash from out the cloud,
And a stunning thunder's roll,
And no man dared to look aloft,
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!