The ticking woodworm mock thee, man! Thy temples creeds themselves grow wan, Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban, – Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling, The harmonious spheres Make music, though unheard in the pealing Fair stars! are not your beings pure ? Ye must be Heavens that make us sure And in your harmony sublime And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn. What's hallowed ground? 'T is what gives birth Peace Independence! Truth! go forth And your high-priesthood shall make earth LXXXI. — THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. AYTOUN. THE following extract is from the "Lays of the Scotch Cavaliers," a collection of stirring ballads illustrating the history of Scotland. James Graham, Marquis of Montrose, was executed in Edinburgh, May 21, 1650, for an attempt to overthrow the power of the Commonwealth, and restore Charles II. The ballad is a narrative of the event, supposed to be related by an aged Highlander, who had followed Montrose throughout his campaigns, to his grandson, Evan CamieLochaber is a district of Scotland in the southwestern part of the county of Inverness. Dundee is a seaport town in the county of Forfar. Inverlochy was a castle in Inverness-shire. Montrose was betrayed by a man named MacLeod of Assynt. Dunedin is the Gaelic name for Edinburgh. Warristoun was Archibald Johnston of Warristoun, an inveterate enemy of Montrose. ron. COME OME 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. 'T was I that led the Highland host through wild Lochaber's snows, What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Mon trose. I've told thee how the Southrons fell beneath the broad clay more, And how we smote the Campbell clan by Inverlochy'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! * An air played on the bagpipe before the Highlanders, when they go out to battle. A traitor sold him to his foes, O deed of deathless shame! Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen, Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by arméd men, 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 an unarmed 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 And blew the note with yell and shout, and bade him pass along. 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, 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 mailéd 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. *The war-cry of a clan. It might not be. Where once the nobles all. They placed him next within the solemn hall, But there was dust of vulgar feet on that polluted floor, 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 O, that such should be! By that dark stream of royal blood that lies 'twixt you and I have not sought in battle-field a wreath of such renown, The morning dawned full darkly, the rain came flashing down, Ah God! that ghastly gibbet! how dismal 't is to see 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, man! A beam of light fell o'er him, like a glory round the shriven, roll, And no man dared to look aloft, for fear was on every soul. done! LXXXII. AMERICAN NATIONALITY. CHOATE. RUFUS CHOATE was born in Essex, Massachusetts, October 1, 1799; and died July 13, 1859. He was graduated at Dartmouth College in 1819, and admitted to the bar in 1824. He practised his profession first at Danvers, then at Salem, and for the last twenty-five years of his life at Boston. He was chosen to the House of Representatives in 1832, and served there a single term. He was a member of the Senate from February, 1841, to March, 1845. He was a brilliant and eloquent advocate, with unrivalled power over a jury, a thoroughly instructed lawyer, and a scholar of wide range and various cultivation. His writings, consisting of lectures, addresses, and speeches, are distinguished by a combination of logical power and imaginative splendor. The following extract is from an oration delivered in Boston on the eightysecond anniversary of American Independence, July 5, 1858. UT now, by the side of this and all antagonisms higher than they, stronger than they, there rises colossal the fine, sweet spirit of nationality, -the nationality of America. See there the pillar of fire which God has kindled, and lifted, and moved, for our hosts and our ages. Gaze on that, worship that, worship the highest in that. |