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and me

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

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! "There is a chamber far away

Where sleep the good and brave,
But a better place ye have named for me
Than by my


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!'
The morning dawned full darkly,

The rain came flashing down,
And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt

Lit up the gloomy town :

The thunder 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.
Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet!

How dismal 'tis to see
The 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 down.

Amidst 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 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 ether

The eye of God shone through :

Yet a black and murky battlement

Lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept within

All else was calm and still.

The grim Geneva ministers

With anxious scowl drew near,
As you have seen the ravens flock

Around 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 grace,

Beneath the gallows-tree.
Then radiant and serene he rose,

And cast his cloak away :
For he had ta'en his latest look

Of earth, and sun, and day.
A beam of light fell o'er him,

Like a glory round the shriven,
Ånd he climbed the lofty ladder

As 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!


All hail! thou noble land,

Our father's native soil!
O stretch thy mighty hand,

Gigantic grown by toil,
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore,

For thou, with magic might,
Canst reach to where the light
Of Phæbus travels bright

The world o er.

The genius of our clime,

From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the great sublime;

While tŘe Tritons of the deep
With their conch the kindred league shall proclaim,

Then let the world combine-
O’er the main our naval line,
Like the milky-way, shall shine

Bright in fame!
Though ages long have passed

Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam, -
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !

And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame,
Which no tyranny can tame

By its chains ?
While the language free and bold

Which the bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung,
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;

While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast ;
While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,

Between let ocean roll,
Our joint communion breaking with the sun:

Yet, still, from either beach,
The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,

"We are one !'

OH! it is excellent
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant. --Shakspeare.

MOSES.-7. H. Newman.
MOSES, the patriot fierce, became

The meekest man on earth,
To show us how love's quick’ning flame

Can give our souls new birth.
Moses, the man of meekest heart,

Lost Canaan by self-will,
To show, where Grace has done its part,

How sin defiles us still.

Thou, who hast taught me in Thy fear,

Yet seest me frail at best,
O grant me loss with Moses here,

To gain his future rest!

ALMA.Archbishop Trench. THOUGH till now ungraced in story, scant although thy

waters be, Alma, roll these waters proudly, proudly roll them to

the sea. Yesterday unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering

Tartar known, Now thou art a voice for ever to the world's four corners

blown. In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a deathless

name, And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame. Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower,

and shrine, Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like

thine ; Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a

living head, Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of

the dead. Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly

mourning, say, When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept

itself away

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