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The ticking woodworm mock thee, man!
Thy temples — creeds themselves grow wan,
But there's a dome of nobler span,

A temple given
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban,-

Its space is Heaven !

Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling,
Where, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling,
And God himself to man revealing,

The harmonious spheres
Make music, though unheard in the pealing

By mortal ears.

Fair stars! are not your beings pure ?
Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure ?
Else why so swell the thoughts at your

Aspect above?
Ye must be Heavens that make us sure

Of heavenly love!

And in your harmony sublime
I read the doom of distant time;
That man's regenerate soul from crime

Shall yet be drawn,
And reason on his mortal clime

Inimortal dawn.

What's hallowed ground ? 'T is what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth !
Peace ! Independence ! Truth! go forth

Earth's compass round;
And your high-priesthood shall make earth

All hallowed ground !

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 Came

Lochaber 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.

IOME hither, Evan Cameron! Come, stand beside iny

CO XEhither, Evan Cameron ! Come, stand beside my

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!
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 armed 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 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

common throng, 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, 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.

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. 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 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 0, 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 hoped I, on my dying day, to win a martyr's crown!

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, Ann young and old, and rich and poor, came forth to see him die.

Ah God! that ghastly gibbet ! how dismal 't is 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 luster in his eye, And he never walked to battle more proudly than to die : There was color in his visage, though the cheeks of all were wan, And they marveled as they saw him pass, that great and goodly

man !

A beam of light fell o'er him, like a glory round the shriven, And 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!

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 practiced 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 meinber of the Senate from February, 1841, to March, 1845. He was a brilliant and eloquent advocate, with unrivaled 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.

B

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.

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