“It so befell:—
A soldier from our ranks to death was brought,
By sentence deemed too dreadful for his fault;
All was prepared—the coffin and the cart
Stood near twelve muskets, levelled at his heart.
The chief, whose breast for ruth had still some room,
Obtained reprieve a day before his doom;—
But of the awarded boon surmised no breath.
The sufferer knelt, blindfolded, waiting death,—
And met it. Though Glenlyon had desired