KILLIECRANKIE

(The Burial-March of Dundee)

WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN

THE children of James II. were two daughters, Mary and Anne, both Protestants. Men hoped that the death of the king would bring the Romanizing policy to an end. But when (1688) a prince was born, this hope was frustrated, and the leading English statesmen determined to depose James and place his daughter Mary on the throne. They appealed to William of Orange, Mary's husband, to come to their aid. The Revolution of 1688 was accomplished without bloodshed so far as England was concerned. The Toleration Act, allowing freedom of worship to all but Roman Catholics, was a satisfactory settlement of the religious controversy. There was little enthusiasm for the obstinate old king, and James, remembering his father's fate, made revolution easy by fleeing to France. But in Scotland, the slight put upon the Stuart king was hotly resented. Under the inspiring leadership of the Viscount of Dundee, the Highlanders fought and won the battle of Killiecrankie. The death of Dundee was a fatal blow to James's cause, for there was no other man who could unite the jealous Scotch clans in his support.

On the heights of Killiecrankie
Yester-morn our army lay:
Slowly rose the mist in columns
From the river's broken way;
Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent,
And the Pass was wrapt in gloom,
When the clansmen rose together

From their lair amidst the broom.
Then we belted on our tartans,

And our bonnets down we drew,
And we felt our broadswords' edges,
And we proved them to be true;

And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, And we cried the gathering-cry, And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, And we swore to do or die!

Then our leader rode before us

On his war-horse black as night Well the Cameronian rebels

Knew that charger in the fight!And a cry of exultation

From the bearded warriors rose; For we loved the house of Claver'se, And we thought of good Montrose. But he raised his hand for silence

Soldiers! I have sworn a vow:
Ere the evening star shall glisten
On Schehallion's lofty brow,
Either we shall rest in triumph,
Or another of the Græmes

Shall have died in battle-harness

For his country and King James! Think upon the Royal Martyr

Think of what his race endure Think of him whom butchers murdered On the field of Magus Muir:

By his sacred blood I charge ye,

By the ruined hearth and shrine-
By the blighted hopes of Scotland,
By your injuries and mine-
Strike this day as if the anvil
Lay beneath your blows the while,

Be they covenanting traitors,
Or the brood of false Argyle!
Strike! and drive the trembling rebels
Backwards o'er the stormy Forth;
Let them tell their pale Convention
How they fared within the North.
Let them tell that Highland honour
Is not to be bought nor sold,
That we scorn the prince's anger
As we loathe his foreign gold.
Strike! and when the fight is over,
If ye look in vain for me,

Where the dead are lying thickest

Search for him that was Dundee!"

Loudly then the hills reëchoed

With our answer to his call,
But a deeper echo sounded
In the bosoms of us all.

For the lands of wide Breadelbane
Not a man who heard him speak
Would that day have left the battle.
Burning eye and flushing cheek
Told the clansmen's fierce emotion,
And they harder drew their breath;
For their souls were strong within them,
Stronger than the grasp of death.
Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet
Sounding in the Pass below,
And the distant tramp of horses,

And the voices of the foe:

Down we crouched amid the bracken,

Till the Lowland ranks drew near, Panting like the hounds in summer, When they scent the stately deer. From the dark defile emerging,

Next we saw the squadrons come,
Leslie's foot and Leven's troopers
Marching to the tuck of drum ;
Through the scattered wood of birches,
O'er the broken ground and heath,
Wound the long battalion slowly,

Till they gained the plain beneath;
Then we bounded from our covert
Judge how looked the Saxons then,
When they saw the rugged mountain
Start to life with armèd men!
Like a tempest down the ridges
Swept the hurricane of steel,
Rose the slogan of Macdonald, —
Flashed the broadsword of Lochiell!
Vainly sped the withering volley
'Mongst the foremost of our band.
On we poured until we met them,
Foot to foot and hand to hand.

Horse and man went down like driftwood
When the floods are black at Yule,
And their carcasses are whirling

In the Garry's deepest pool.

Horse and man went down before us
Living foe there tarried none

On the field of Killiecrankie,

When that stubborn fight was done!

And the evening star was shining
On Schehallion's distant head,
When we wiped our bloody broadswords,
And returned to count the dead.
There we found him gashed and gory,

Stretched upon the cumbered plain,

As he told us where to seek him,
In the thickest of the slain.
And a smile was on his visage,
For within his dying ear

Pealed the joyful note of triumph,

And the clansmen's clamorous cheer;
So, amidst the battle's thunder,

Shot, and steel, and scorching flame,

In the glory of his manhood

Passed the spirit of the Græme!

THE JACOBITE ON TOWER HILL

GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY

THE Revolution was hardly accomplished when the men who were friendly to James or were disappointed in William and Mary, began plotting for the restoration of the Stuart line. In 1696, a conspiracy was formed to assassinate the king. The plot was betrayed, however, and the leaders arrested and executed.

He tripp'd up the steps with a bow and a smile,
Offering snuff to the chaplain the while,