Unroll your parchments black with lies—shut fast your coward doors—
And brand the aged chief with crimes his generous heart abhors:
When truth avails not, well you know how to supply the lack
With secret tales and with wild words extorted by the rack!
There is an hour for every power—an hour of darkness this!
Spur on, ye slaves of Antichrist! or ye the goal may miss!
His strength, increasing with his need, he raises bold and high,
And fixes on Mackenzie[15] a clear and searching eye:
"How canst thou thus, my lord, 'gainst me such accusations bring,
That I have been a man of strife in plots against the king?
I hate the way of violence—the anarchist I spurn;
Who scatters firebrands little knows where they may fall and burn.
In my degree I have been bold to guard the nation's right,
And keep alive within these realms the lamp of Gospel light:
But in my gloomy dungeon laid, didst thou not visit me,
And solemnly avow that I from wicked plots was free?
How canst thou, then, unto my charge such grievous actions lay,
And all thou hast so solemn said as solemnly unsay?"
The whole assembled multitude full on Mackenzie turn'd,
That even his harden'd countenance with shame and anger burn'd:
"True, Jervieswoode, I told thee so, as my own private view—
Here I discharge the functions which to the crown are due."
"If thou hast a conscience for thyself, and another for this place,
I leave thee to the God of heaven and His all pardoning grace!
My lords, I add no more—proceed—right well I know my doom:
Death hath no terrors for my soul—the grave it hath no gloom!"
'Tis one from old Saint Giles! The blasts of midnight shake the hall,
Hoarse sounding like a demon's voice, which the stoutest hearts appal!
His doom is utter'd!—"Twelve hours hence thy traitorous head shall fall,
And for a terror be exposed upon the city wall;
Thy limbs shall quarter'd be, and hung, all mutilate and bare,
At Jedburgh, and Lanark town, at Glasgow, and at Ayr;
That all good subjects thence may learn obedience to the State,
Their duty to our gracious king, and bloody treason's fate."
A horror seizes every breast—a stifled cry of dread:
"Who sheds the blood of innocence, the blood on his own head!"
That pack'd and perjured jury shrink in conscience-struck dismay,
And wish their hands as clear of guilt as they were yesterday.
Mackenzie's cold and flinty face is quivering like a leaf,
Whilst with quick and throbbing finger he turns o'er and o'er his brief;
And the misnamed judges vainly try their rankling thoughts to hide
Beneath an outward painted mask of loftiness and pride.
Even she, the sweet heroic one! aye watchful at his side,
Whose courage ne'er hath blanch'd as yet, though sorely, sharply tried—
Even she is crush'd beneath the weight of this last and deadly blow,
And sinks upon her brother's neck, o'erwhelm'd in speechless woe.
He, he alone, is calm of soul! Powers of no mortal birth
Are gently loosening every tie that links him to the earth;
And inward faith gives outward force—strong is his deep dark eye—
And his brow and lip are beautiful as in the days gone by.
Meekly he rises to depart, but pauses for a space,
And looks upon his cowering foes with calm and saintly grace:
"The time is short, the sentence sharp—your malice I forgive;
For God hath made me fit to die, as ye, my lords, to live!"
And meekly he departs! his toils, his work, and warfare done—
And his martyr chariot waits him, and his triumphs are begun!
And twelve hours thence, upon the block, his reverend head did fall,
And for a terror was exposed upon the city wall;
His limbs were quarter'd, and were hung, all mutilate and bare,
At Jedburgh, and Lanark town, at Glasgow, and at Ayr:
And thus through all broad Scotland these martyr'd relics go,
Like a fiery cross to rouse the land to the tyrant's overthrow!
The ancient halls of Jervieswoode are desolate and gray,
And its ancient oaks and lime trees are sinking in decay;
These are of things that perish, and their place soon knows them not,
But a glory from the past illumes this consecrated spot.
To him who braves the martyr's death is deathless honour given,
For the faith that breeds heroic deeds is dear to earth and heaven;
And through all succeeding ages, amongst the wise and good,
Enshrined shall be the memory of the noble Jervieswoode.