 | Lyrical Poems |  |
10
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JAMES RENWICK.
James Renwick, the last of the noble
Scottish band of protesters for liberty of conscience, suffered martyrdom in the Grassmarket
of Edinburgh in the month of February 1688. This pure-minded, generous, and intrepid
youth, of whom the then world of hirelings and time-servers was not worthy, publicly
declared and subscribed the great principle of the Revolution of 1688, at a time when the
majority of the best public men of that day were only beginning to dream of its possibility.
Eternal honour to his name, the brave, the heroic, the unsullied! When our petty squabbles of
Church politics shall have passed away from the hearing of Time, as a shallow din of tinkling
cymbals, the name of Renwick shall live in the thoughts of the philosophical historian, as one
of the greatest of the great.
“Strongest minds
Are often those of whom the noisy world
Hears least.” Renwick was born in Glencairn, Dumfriesshire, near the beautiful little village of Minnyhive, where a neat little monument has recently been erected to his memory.
Are often those of whom the noisy world
Hears least.” Renwick was born in Glencairn, Dumfriesshire, near the beautiful little village of Minnyhive, where a neat little monument has recently been erected to his memory.
Weep, Scotland, weep! Thy hills are sad to-day,
But not with mist or rack that skirs the sky.
The violent rule; the godless man holds sway;
The young, the pure, the innocent must die!
Weep, Scotland, weep! thy moors are sad to-day,
Thy plaided people walk with tearful eye.
For why? He dies upon a gallows-tree
Who boldly blew God's trump for Freedom and for thee!
But not with mist or rack that skirs the sky.
The violent rule; the godless man holds sway;
The young, the pure, the innocent must die!
Weep, Scotland, weep! thy moors are sad to-day,
Thy plaided people walk with tearful eye.
For why? He dies upon a gallows-tree
Who boldly blew God's trump for Freedom and for thee!
'Tis a known tale; it hath been so of old,
And will be so again; yet must we weep!
High on red thrones the blushless and the bold
Hold state; the meek are bound in dungeons deep.
Wolves watch the pen; the lion robs the fold,
While on soft down the hireling shepherds sleep.
God's holy church becomes a mart, where lies
Pass free from knave to fool, but Christ's true prophet dies.
And will be so again; yet must we weep!
High on red thrones the blushless and the bold
Hold state; the meek are bound in dungeons deep.
Wolves watch the pen; the lion robs the fold,
While on soft down the hireling shepherds sleep.
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Pass free from knave to fool, but Christ's true prophet dies.
A youth was Renwick, gentle, fair, and fine;
In aspect meek, but firm as rock in soul;
By pious parents nursed, and holy line,
To steer by truth, as seamen by the pole.
In Holland's learned halls the word divine
He read, which to proclaim he made the whole
Theme of his life; then back to Scotland came,
At danger's call, to preach in blessed Jesus' name.
In aspect meek, but firm as rock in soul;
By pious parents nursed, and holy line,
To steer by truth, as seamen by the pole.
In Holland's learned halls the word divine
He read, which to proclaim he made the whole
Theme of his life; then back to Scotland came,
At danger's call, to preach in blessed Jesus' name.
They watched his coming, and the coast with spies
Planted to trap him; but he 'scaped their snare.
To the brown hills and glens of Kyle he hies,
And with a stedfast few finds refuge there.
On the black bogs, and 'neath the inclement skies,
In rocky caves, on mist-wreathed mountains bare,
The youthful prophet voiced God's tidings good,
As free as Baptist John by Jordan's sacred flood.
Planted to trap him; but he 'scaped their snare.
To the brown hills and glens of Kyle he hies,
And with a stedfast few finds refuge there.
On the black bogs, and 'neath the inclement skies,
In rocky caves, on mist-wreathed mountains bare,
The youthful prophet voiced God's tidings good,
As free as Baptist John by Jordan's sacred flood.
Fierce fumed the ruthless king. By statute law,
To sing God's praise upon a purple hill
Was treason. Courtly slaves with envy saw
One unbought soul assert a manly will,
And with his own hands from those fountains draw,
Which sophists troubled with pretentious skill
To make them clearer; as if God's own plan
For fining human dross must beg a stamp from man!
To sing God's praise upon a purple hill
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One unbought soul assert a manly will,
And with his own hands from those fountains draw,
Which sophists troubled with pretentious skill
To make them clearer; as if God's own plan
For fining human dross must beg a stamp from man!
Wide o'er the moors now tramp the red dragoons,
To hunt God's plaided saints from every nook;
And from a court of bravoes and poltroons
Goes forth the law which takes the blessed book
From the free shepherds' hands, that hireling loons
May spell it to a sense that kings may brook.
Far raged o'er heath and hill the despot's sword,
But faithful Renwick preached, and owned no human lord.
To hunt God's plaided saints from every nook;
And from a court of bravoes and poltroons
Goes forth the law which takes the blessed book
From the free shepherds' hands, that hireling loons
May spell it to a sense that kings may brook.
Far raged o'er heath and hill the despot's sword,
But faithful Renwick preached, and owned no human lord.
Bold as when Peter in the temple stood
With John, and, at the gate called Beautiful,
Healed the lame man, and stirred the spiteful mood
Of priest and high-priest, holding haughty rule;
Witless! who weened that God's apostles should
With human law and lawyers go to school:
So boldly Renwick stood; and, undismayed,
With firm unfaltering faith, God and not man obeyed.
With John, and, at the gate called Beautiful,
Healed the lame man, and stirred the spiteful mood
Of priest and high-priest, holding haughty rule;
Witless! who weened that God's apostles should
With human law and lawyers go to school:
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With firm unfaltering faith, God and not man obeyed.
And faithful people loved him. From green Ayr,
Nithsdale, Glencairn, Sanquhar, and founts of Ken,
Free pilgrim feet o'er perilous pathways fare,
To hear young Renwick preach in treeless glen;
And mothers bring their new-born babes, to bear
Baptismal blessings from his touch; and when
Fearless he flings the glowing word abroad,
Full many a noble soul is winged with fire from God.
Nithsdale, Glencairn, Sanquhar, and founts of Ken,
Free pilgrim feet o'er perilous pathways fare,
To hear young Renwick preach in treeless glen;
And mothers bring their new-born babes, to bear
Baptismal blessings from his touch; and when
Fearless he flings the glowing word abroad,
Full many a noble soul is winged with fire from God.
Yet must he die! The fangs of Law are keen;
False Law, the smooth pretender of the Right,
That still to knaves a sharp-edged tool hath been,
To give a fair name to usurping Might!
By Law round noble Hamilton, I ween,
The faggot blazed to feed proud Beaton's spite;
And now when Scotland's best, to please the Pope
And Romish James, must die—'tis Law that knots the rope!
False Law, the smooth pretender of the Right,
That still to knaves a sharp-edged tool hath been,
To give a fair name to usurping Might!
By Law round noble Hamilton, I ween,
The faggot blazed to feed proud Beaton's spite;
And now when Scotland's best, to please the Pope
And Romish James, must die—'tis Law that knots the rope!
Let loose your hounds, cold-blooded lawyers! pay
The knave to trap the saint! Your work is done.
Young Renwick falls, to venal spies a prey,
And lawless Law kills Scotland's purest son.
The grey Grassmarket heard him preach to-day,
On the red scaffold's floor. His race is run.
Now kings and priests, with brave light-hearted joy,
May drain their cups, nor fear that bold truth-speaking boy!
The knave to trap the saint! Your work is done.
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And lawless Law kills Scotland's purest son.
The grey Grassmarket heard him preach to-day,
On the red scaffold's floor. His race is run.
Now kings and priests, with brave light-hearted joy,
May drain their cups, nor fear that bold truth-speaking boy!
Weep! Scotland, weep! but only for a day;
Frail stands the throne, whose props are glued with gore;
For a short hour the godless man holds sway,
And Justice whets her knife at Murder's door.
Weep, Scotland! but let noble Pride this day
Beam through thine eye with sorrow streaming o'er;
For why?—Thy Renwick's dead, whose noble crime
Gave Freedom's trumpet breath, an hour before the time!
Frail stands the throne, whose props are glued with gore;
For a short hour the godless man holds sway,
And Justice whets her knife at Murder's door.
Weep, Scotland! but let noble Pride this day
Beam through thine eye with sorrow streaming o'er;
For why?—Thy Renwick's dead, whose noble crime
Gave Freedom's trumpet breath, an hour before the time!
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