There's no look of a traitor upon the young brow

That's raised to the tempters so haughtily now;

No traitor e'er held up the firm head so high—

No traitor e'er show'd such a proud flashing eye.

On the high gallows tree! on the brave gallows

tree!

Where smil'd leaves and blossoms, his sad doom

met he!

But it never bore blossom so pure or so fair,

As the heart of the martyr that hangs from it