lad and brave,
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To good old Pastor Tammons Roy,
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Now hid in yonder cave,
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And for whom the bloody Claverhouse
|
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Had hunted long in vain,
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And swore they would not leave that glen
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Till old Tam Roy was slain.
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So Jamie Douglas went his way
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With heart that knew no fear;
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He turned the great curve in the rock,
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Nor dreamed that death was near.
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And there were bloody Claverhouse men,
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Who laughed aloud with glee,
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When trembling now within their power,
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The frightened child they see.
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He turns to flee, but all in vain,
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They drag him back apace
|
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To where their cruel leader stands,
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And set them face to face.
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The cakes concealed beneath his plaid
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Soon tell the story plain—
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"It is old Tam Roy the cakes are for,"
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Exclaimed the angry man.
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"Now guide me to his hiding place
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And I will let you go."
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But Jamie shook his yellow curls,
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And stoutly answered—"No!"
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"I'll drop you down the mountain-side,
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And there upon the stones
|
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The old gaunt wolf and carrion crow
|
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Shall battle for your bones."
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And in his brawny, strong right hand
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He lifted up the child,
|
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And held him where the clefted rocks
|
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Formed a chasm deep and wild
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So deep it was, the trees below
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Like stunted bushes seemed.
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Poor Jamie looked in frightened maze,
|
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It seemed some horrid dream.
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He looked up at the blue sky above
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Then at the men near by;
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Had they no little boys at home,
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That they could let him die?
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But no one spoke and no one stirred,
|
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Or lifted hand to save
|
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From such a fearful, frightful death,
|
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The little lad so brave.
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"It is woeful deep," he shuddering cried,
|
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"But oh! I canna tell,
|
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So drop me down then, if you will—
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It is nae so deep as hell!"
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|
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A childish scream, a faint, dull sound,
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Oh! Jamie Douglas true,
|
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Long, long within that lonely cave
|
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Shall Tam Roy wait for you.
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Long for your welcome coming
|
|
Waits the mother on the moor,
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And watches and calls, "Come, Jamie, lad,"
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Through the half-open door.
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No more adown the rocky path
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You come with fearless tread,
|
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Or, on moor or mountain, take
|
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The good man's daily bread.
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But up in heaven the shining ones
|
|
A wondrous story tell,
|
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Of a child snatched up from a rocky gulf
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That is nae so deep as hell.
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And there before the great white throne,
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Forever blessed and glad,
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His mother dear and old Tam Roy
|
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Shall meet their bonny lad.
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The Ensign Bearer
Table of Contents
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Never mind me, Uncle Jared, never mind my bleeding breast!
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They are charging in the valley and you're needed with the rest.
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