Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen,
Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by arméd 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,

mon throng,

- the com

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 forebore 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.

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

Yea, by a greater, mightier oath, and oh, 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,
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,
And 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 lustre 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 marvelled as they saw him pass, that great and goodly man!

A beam of light fell on 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
W. E. Aytoun.

done!

CCCIII.

THE FACE AGAINST THE PANE.

MABEL, little Mabel,

With her face against the pane,

Looks out across the night,
And sees the beacon light
A-trembling in the rain.

She hears the sea-bird screech,
And the breakers on the beach
Making moan, making moan,
And the wind about the eaves
Of the cottage sobs and grieves, -
And the willow-tree is blown

To and fro, to and fro,

Till it seems like some old crone

Standing out there all alone with her woe,
Wringing, as she stands,

Her gaunt and palsied hands;
While Mabel, timid Mabel,

With her face against the pane,
Looks out across the night,
And sees the beacon light
A-trembling in the rain.

Set the table, maiden Mabel,
And make the cabin warm ;
Your little fisher lover

Is out there in the storm;

And your father: you are weeping,
O Mabel, timid Mabel;

Go spread the supper-table,
And set the tea a-steeping;
Your lover's heart is brave,

The heavens are veined with fire!
And the thunder, how it rolls!
In the lullings of the storm
The solemn church-bell tolls;
But no sexton sounds the knell;
In that belfry, old and high,
Unseen fingers sway the bell
As the wind goes tearing by!
How it tolls for the souls
Of the sailors on the sea!
God pity them! God pity them!
Wherever they may be.

God pity wives and sweethearts
Who wait and wait in vain ;
And pity little Mabel,

With her face against the pane!

A boom! the light-house gun!
How its echo rolls and rolls!
"I is to warn home-bound ships
Off the shoals.

See, a rocket cleaves the sky,
From the fort, a shaft of light!
See, it fades, and, fading, leaves
Golden furrows on the night!
What makes Mabel's cheeks so pale?
What makes Mabel's lips so white?

Did she see the helpless sail
That, tossing here and there

Like a feather in the air,

Went down out of sight, -
Down, down, and out of sight?
Oh, watch no more, no more,
With face against the pane;

You cannot see the men that drown
By the beacon in the rain!

From a shoal of richest rubies

Breaks the morning clear and cold;
And the angel on the village spire,
Frost-touched, is bright as gold.
Four ancient fishermen,

In the pleasant autumn air,
Come toiling up the sands,
With something in their hands,
Two bodies, stark and white,
Ah! so ghastly in the light,
With sea-weed in their hair.
O ancient fishermen,
Go up to yonder cot!

You'll find a little child

With face against the pane,
Who looks towards the beach,
And looking sees it not.
She will never watch again,
Never watch, and wake at night;
For those pretty, saintly eyes
Look beyond the stormy skies,
And they see the beacon light

T. B. Aldrich.