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THE TRIAL OF THE DEAD.
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The solemn mockery of the trial of the dead, which was first permitted in Scotland about the fourteenth century, was exhibited in the case of George Gordon, Earl of Huntley, in the year 1664. After this judicial process, the body was removed from Holyrood, and interred at Elgin Cathedral, the burial-place of his family.
The spears at Corrichie were bright,
Where, with a stern command,
The Earl of Huntley ranged his host
Upon their native strand.
Where, with a stern command,
The Earl of Huntley ranged his host
Upon their native strand.
From many a Highland strath and glen
They at his summons came,
A stalwart band of fearless men,
Who counted war a game.
They at his summons came,
A stalwart band of fearless men,
Who counted war a game.
Then, from Edina's royal court
Fierce Murray northward sped,
And rush'd his envied foe to meet
In battle sharp and dread.
Fierce Murray northward sped,
And rush'd his envied foe to meet
In battle sharp and dread.
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They met, they closed, they struggled sore,
Like waves when tempests blow,
The slogan-music high in air,
The sound of groans below.
Like waves when tempests blow,
The slogan-music high in air,
The sound of groans below.
They broke, they wheel'd, they charged again,
Till on the ensanguined ground
The noble Gordon lifeless lay,
Transpierced with many a wound.
Till on the ensanguined ground
The noble Gordon lifeless lay,
Transpierced with many a wound.
Long from her tower his Lady look'd:
“I see a dusky cloud,
And there, behold! comes floating high
Earl Huntley's banner proud.”
“I see a dusky cloud,
And there, behold! comes floating high
Earl Huntley's banner proud.”
Then, deep she sigh'd, for rising mist
Involved her aching sight;
'Twas but an autumn-bough that mock'd
Her chieftain's pennon bright.
Involved her aching sight;
'Twas but an autumn-bough that mock'd
Her chieftain's pennon bright.
His mother by the ingle sate
Her head upon her knee,
And murmur'd low in hollow tone,
“He'll ne'er come back to thee.”
Her head upon her knee,
And murmur'd low in hollow tone,
“He'll ne'er come back to thee.”
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“Hist, Lady, mother! hear I not
Steed-tramp and pibroch-roar?
As when the victor-surf doth tread
Upon a rocky shore?”
Steed-tramp and pibroch-roar?
As when the victor-surf doth tread
Upon a rocky shore?”
Not toward the loop-hole raised her head
That woman wise and hoar,
But whisper'd in her troubled soul,
“Thy Lord returns no more!”
That woman wise and hoar,
But whisper'd in her troubled soul,
“Thy Lord returns no more!”
“A funeral march is in my ear,
A scatter'd host I see,”
And, straining wild, her sunken eye
Gazed out on vacancy.
A scatter'd host I see,”
And, straining wild, her sunken eye
Gazed out on vacancy.
Back to their homes, the Gordon clan
Stole with despairing tread,
While to the vaults of Holyrood
Was borne their chieftain dead.
Stole with despairing tread,
While to the vaults of Holyrood
Was borne their chieftain dead.
Exulting foemen bore him there,
While lawless vassals jeer'd,
Nor spared to mock the haughty brow
Whose living frown they fear'd.
While lawless vassals jeer'd,
Nor spared to mock the haughty brow
Whose living frown they fear'd.
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No earth upon his corse they strew'd,
At no rich shrine inurn'd,
But heavenward, as the warrior fell,
His noble forehead turn'd.
At no rich shrine inurn'd,
But heavenward, as the warrior fell,
His noble forehead turn'd.
Months fled; and while, from castled height
To cot in lowly dell,
O'er Corrichie's disastrous day
The tears of Scotland fell,
To cot in lowly dell,
O'er Corrichie's disastrous day
The tears of Scotland fell,
Behold, a high and solemn court
With feudal pomp was graced,
And at the bar, in princely robes,
A muffled chieftain placed.
With feudal pomp was graced,
And at the bar, in princely robes,
A muffled chieftain placed.
No glance his veiled face might scan,
Though throngs beside him prest;
The Gordon plume his brow adorn'd,
Its tartan wrapp'd his breast.
Though throngs beside him prest;
The Gordon plume his brow adorn'd,
Its tartan wrapp'd his breast.
“Lord George of Gordon, Huntley's earl!
High-treason taints thy name;
For God, and for thy country's cause,
Defend thine ancient fame;
High-treason taints thy name;
For God, and for thy country's cause,
Defend thine ancient fame;
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“Make oath upon thine honour's seal,
Heaven's truth unblenching tell!”
No lip he moved, no hand he raised,
And dire that silence fell.
Heaven's truth unblenching tell!”
No lip he moved, no hand he raised,
And dire that silence fell.
No word he spake, though thrice adjured;
Then came the sentence drear:
“Foul traitor to thy queen and realm,
Our laws denounce thee here.”
Then came the sentence drear:
“Foul traitor to thy queen and realm,
Our laws denounce thee here.”
They stripp'd him of his cloak of state,
They bared his helmed head,
Though the pale judges inly quaked
Before the ghastly dead.
They bared his helmed head,
Though the pale judges inly quaked
Before the ghastly dead.
Light thing to him, that earthly doom
Or man's avenging rod,
Who, in the land of souls, doth bide
The audit of his God.
Or man's avenging rod,
Who, in the land of souls, doth bide
The audit of his God.
Before his face the crowd drew back,
As from sepulchral gloom,
And sternest veterans shrank to breathe
The vapour of the tomb.
As from sepulchral gloom,
And sternest veterans shrank to breathe
The vapour of the tomb.
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And now, this mockery of the dead
With hateful pageant o'er,
They yield him to his waiting friends
Who throng the palace door.
With hateful pageant o'er,
They yield him to his waiting friends
Who throng the palace door.
And on their sad procession press'd,
Unresting day and night,
To where mid Elgin's towers they mark
The fair cathedral's height.
Unresting day and night,
To where mid Elgin's towers they mark
The fair cathedral's height.
And there, by kindred tears bedew'd,
Beneath its hallow'd shade,
With midnight torch and chanted dirge,
Their fallen chief they laid,
Beneath its hallow'd shade,
With midnight torch and chanted dirge,
Their fallen chief they laid,
Fast by king Duncan's mouldering dust,
Whose locks of silver hue
Were stain'd, as Avon's swan hath sung,
With murder's bloody dew.
Whose locks of silver hue
Were stain'd, as Avon's swan hath sung,
With murder's bloody dew.
So, rest thou here, thou Scottish earl
Of ancient fame and power,
No more a valiant host to guide
In battle's stormy hour.
Of ancient fame and power,
No more a valiant host to guide
In battle's stormy hour.
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Yea, rest thee here, thou Scottish earl,
Until that day of dread,
Which to eternity consigns
The trial of the dead.
Until that day of dread,
Which to eternity consigns
The trial of the dead.
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