"Then, woman, thou shalt surely die
Who darest me to my face!" The husband heard these words of doom
And left his hiding place.
Alack, the courtly cavalier!
The bonnie, braw[Note] Dundee! What odium of saintly blood
Must ever cling to thee.
He stood his human target up,
He gave the order "Fire!" Yet, every gun was mute, for ance
His veterans braved his ire.
He raised aloft a coward hand
And shot his victim down;— But lang in Scotia's heart will live
The memory o' John Brown.
The widowed knelt upon the sward,
Her apron she unbound; And tenderly, her loved dead
In reddening shroud she wound;
"What think ye o' your husband now?"
The murderer demands Of the humble woman, in her woe
Clasped firm by bairnies' hands.
She raised the head upon her lap,
She kissed the yet warm brow; "I aye thocht muckle o'm," she said
"But mair than ever now."
Oh, woe for Scotland when her king
Stept 'twixt her and her God! And baptized in her martyrs' gore
Each cave and moorland sod.
And woe to every servile hand
O' persecution's slaves! Who load their weakling souls wi' guilt
At beck o' deeper knaves.
Beyond a' creeds and rites o' rule;
True faith shall never fail; As lighthouse built on solid rock
'Twill weather every gale.