Bill Nye.
JAMIE DOUGLAS.
It was in the days when Claverhouse Was scouring moor and glen, To change, with fire and bloody sword, The faith of Scottish men.
They had made a covenant with the Lord Firm in their faith to bide, Nor break to him their plighted word, Whatever might betide.
The sun was well-nigh setting, When o’er the heather wild, And up the narrow mountain path, Alone there walked a child.
He was a bonny, blithesome lad, Sturdy and strong of limb: A father’s pride, a mother’s love, Were fast bound up in him.
His bright blue eyes glanced fearless round, His step was firm and light: What was it underneath his plaid His little hands grasped tight?
It was bannocks which, that very morn, His mother made with care, From out her scanty store of meal, And now, with many a prayer,
Had sent by Jamie, her ane boy, A trusty lad and brave, To good old Pastor Tammus Roy, Now hid in yonder cave,