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.”

  IX.

  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 mailed men—­
  Not all the rebels of 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!

  X.

  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.

  XI.

  “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—­
  I have not sought in battle-field
    A wreath of such renown,
  Nor dared I hope, on my dying day,
    To win the martyr’s crown!”

  XII.

  “There is a chamber far away
    Where sleep the good and brave,
  But a better place ye have named for me
    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. 
  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!”

  XIII.

  The morning dawned full darkly,
    The rain came flashing down,
  And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt
    Lit up the gloomy town: 
  The heavens were thundering out their wrath,
    The fatal hour was come;
  Yet ever sounded sullenly
    The 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.

  XIV.