Old Year Leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Scottish Presbyterians, forbidden by the arbitrary enactments of Charles II. to hold religious services according to their much-cherished manner, were fain to do so in secret. Graham of Claver-house, Viscount Dundee, has earned immortal infamy by the cruelties he exercised while dispersing these assemblies with his troopers. It is one of those occasions which is here attempted to be described.

I.

'Tis Sabbath morn—fair Nature's face
Showers smiles of freshly glowing grace
On mountain, crag, and glen,—
As if to prove to Him above
Its silent share of lowly love
Amid proud sullen men;
And blithely birds chant loud their lays
Of adoration and of praise.

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II.

Much people from around are here,
Yet with a mien of awe and fear,—
But oft their faces seem to cheer
As though some blessed boon were near.
Women and men with one accord
Are gathered now upon the sward,
Vanished at once each petty feud,—
They are resolved to serve the Lord
In way which unto them seems good.

III.

“Have ye heard of that rash raid
Ruthless Claverhouse has made?”
Thus in accents firm yet low
Oft they murmur to and fro—
“He has ta'en of us the best,
But he shall not seize the rest—
Until at least we struggle sore
To hold our own in fight,
And pray amid the conflict's roar
‘For Scotland and the right.’

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IV.

“Why should the King dictate to us
An alien way to serve the Lord?
We will not bear such thrall, and thus
Are met this day with one accord;
Place sentinels on every hill
To give us all fit warning due:
Then put good trust in God's wise will
And in our cause and weapons true.”

V.

“If our sweet sisters see the sign
Of danger passed along the line
Of distant scouts, they quit the glen,—
The strife not left to craven men.”
So speaks a patriarch in the midst, and now
The congregation at God's footstool bow,
And with united voices humbly there
They plead for pardon and for peace in prayer.

VI.

Then plaintively they sing a psalm,
And hear the “Word of Life;”

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Yet bodes around a baneful calm
Presaging coming strife.
For see! there hastes a messenger,
Of toil-worn form but dauntless air:
“Look to your ranks, rouse ye like men,—
The black dragoons have gained the glen.”

VII.

Full speedily the men divide
In companies, on either side
According to their arms;
A motley host indeed they seem,
As now the sun's meridian beam
Makes scythes and mattocks burnished gleam
Among the weapons soldiers deem
Fitter for war's alarms.

VIII.

The aged minister with head made bare
Amid a solemn silence offers prayer;
“Lord, spare the green and take the ripe; we know
Thou rulest all things in this world of woe;
Then grant but this and Scotland's just demand,
Aught else we leave in Thy Almighty Hand.”

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IX.

The pleading ends; each peasant hies
His proper place to fill;
Along their front a marsh there lies—
Behind their post a hill.
While resolutely thus they tread,
Of father, mother, wife,
Doubtless they think, yet dare the dread
And danger of the strife,
Feeling its issue will restore
Freedom to their down-trodden shore.

X.

Lo! list to the sound which now bursts on the ear,
A sound that full oft hath begotten wild fear—
The prelude to plunder and rapine and woe,
As all in the bold little army well know.
Pricking swift as the billows when ploughed by the gale,
While their steeds spurn the turf as they dash up the vale,
The dragoons are seen moving, and every man
Views the dark crest of Claverhouse leading the van.

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XI.

“Now look to your carbines,” cries he with a laugh—
“And each ranting rebel you'll scatter like chaff,
The harvest is over, the thrashers are come,
With swords for their flails, for their music a drum,
And your famous leech-craft will certainly heal
The festering wound of the Covenant's zeal.”

XII.

Sharp comes the volley—from the vale
Shrouded in sable smoke
Strange sounds arise; and when a wail
Pierces its cloud-wrapt cloak,
Perchance it is a sign that one
Ends there his earthly strife—
His lowly race at last hath run,
Entering eternal life.
Perchance a sign that one of those
Who scoffed and had no fear,
His summons come, reluctant goes
Before God to appear.

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XIII.

Yet still the peasants ne'er o'erthrown
With patient courage hold their own;
Try as they may, the soldiers see
They win not thus the victory.
So Claverhouse recalls each man
Till he direct some further plan,
The lines upon his stubborn face
Showing he feels the dire disgrace
That well-tried troops—false Charles's boast—
Should vanquished be by peasant host.

XIV.

But soon enraged he orders all
The cavalry within his call
Full at the charge with frenzied force
Across the moss to take their course,
Seeking to make the rout complete
By crushing all beneath their feet.
And gallantly the men advance
With pointed sword, and glittering lance,
And crests which in the sun-beams dance.

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XV.

But every effort is in vain,
And steeds, though guided by the rein,
Are all around fast falling;
And their fierce foemen now are closing
Thick in upon them, and opposing,
Their ranks now past recalling.
The marsh has stopped their march indeed
There can be no denying,
And many a man and many a steed
Dyed darkly now lie dying.
And all their splendour melts away
Like dew-drops at the dawn of day.

XVI.

Like as a vulture when bereft of prey
Long hovers ere it baffled soars away,
Stern Claverhouse had waited thus in vain,
Till now he turns his rampant charger's rein;
Shouting, in his rough voice, the loud command,
“Retreat,” unto the remnant of his band

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XVII.

And thus the victory is won,
And many hearts made glad—
Yet grieving that a Sabbath's sun
Should see a sight so sad.
And well they know they have not broke
The rigour of the Despot's yoke,
And oft they pause and ponder wearily
On what must hap ere Scotland can be free.

XVIII.

Loudon! thy fame shall ne'er be lost,
Even if it only showed the cost
Our fathers paid for Liberty,
That priceless jewel of the free,
Thus nerving us with effort strong
To combat Tyranny and Wrong.