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Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, And the Pass was wrapped 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 Nuir: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 honor
Is not to be bought nor sold,
That we scorn their Prince's anger
As we loath 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 re-echoed
With our answer to his call,
But a deeper echo sounded
In the bosoms of us all.

For the lands of wide Breadalbane,
Not a man who heard him speak
Would that day have left the battle.
Flashing eye and burning 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 mountains Start to life with arméd men!

Like a tempest down the ridges

Swept the hurricane of steel,
Rose the slogan of Macdonald,—

Flashed the broadsword of Lochiel!
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 drift-wood
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!

Open wide the vaults of Atholl,

Where the bones of heroes rest,—

Open wide the hallowed portals
To receive another guest!

Last of Scots, and last of freemen,-
Last of all that dauntless race,

Who would rather die unsullied
Than outlive the land's disgrace!

O thou lion-hearted warrior!

Reck not of the after-time;
Honor may be deemed dishonor,
Loyalty be called a crime.
Sleep in peace with kindred ashes
Of the noble and the true,
Hands that never failed their country,
Hearts that never baseness knew.
Sleep!-and till the latest trumpet
Wakes the dead from earth and sea,
Scotland shall not boast a braver

Chieftain than our own Dundee!

W. Edmondstoune Aytoun.

MILES STANDISH'S ENCOUNTER WITH THE

INDIANS.

After a three days' march he came to an Indian encamp

ment

Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest;

Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, horrid with war-paint,

Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together; Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of

the white men,

Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and saber and musket,

Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing,

Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a

present;

Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred.

Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers gigantic in

stature,

Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan;

One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wat

tawamat.

Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of wampum,

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Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle.

Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty.

"Welcome, English!" they said, these words they had learned from the traders

Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries.

Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish,

Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white man,

Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder,

Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars,

Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man! But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible,

Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster.

Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the

other,

And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain:

"Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain,

Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave Wat

tawamat

Is not afraid of the sight. He was not born of a woman, But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning,

Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat?'"'

Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand,

Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning: "I have another at home, with the face of a man on the

handle;

By and by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children!"

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