“I protest,” said the messenger, “here kneels old William Cameron, the Covenanter. Hearken, he pours out some odd old-world malison against Bonshaw. I have heard that the laird hunted him long and sore in his youth, slew his sons, burned his house, threw his two bonny daughters desolate,—that was nae gentle deed, however,—and broke the old mother’s heart with downright sorrow. Sae I canna much blame the dour auld carle for remembering it even now, though the candles of Bonshaw are burning in the socket, and his light will soon be extinguished for ever. Let us hearken to his psalm or his song; it is no every night we have minstrelsy at Bonshaw gate, I can tell ye that.”
The following are the verses, which have been preserved under the title of “Ane godly exultation of William Cameron, a chosen vessel, over Bonshaw, the persecutor.” I have adopted a plainer, but a less descriptive title—
THE DOWNFALL OF DALZELL.
I.
The wind is cold, the snow falls fast,
The night is dark and late,
As I lift aloud my voice and cry
By the oppressor’s gate.
There is a voice in every hill,
A tongue in every stone;