ut in the Lives
of Plutarch--has sustained in his own country the cause of the King his
master, with a greatness of soul that has not found its equal in our
age."

But the success of the victorious leader and patriot, is almost thrown
into the shade by the noble magnanimity and Christian heroism of the man
in the hour of defeat and death. It is impossible now to obliterate the
darkest page of Scottish history, which we owe to the vindictive cruelty
of the Covenanters--a party venal in principle, pusillanimous in action,
and more than dastardly in their revenge; but we can peruse it with the
less disgust, since that very savage spirit which planned the woful
scenes connected with the final tragedy of Montrose, has served to
exhibit to the world, in all time to come, the character of the martyred
nobleman in by far its loftiest light.

There is no ingredient of fiction in the historical incidents recorded
in the following ballad. The indignities that were heaped upon Montrose
during his procession through Edinburgh, his appearance before the
Estates, and his last passage to the scaffold, as well as his undaunted
bearing, have all been spoken to by eyewitnesses of the scene. A graphic
and vivid sketch of the whole will be found in Mr Mark Napier's volume,
"The Life and Times of Montrose"--a work as chivalrous in its tone as
the Chronicles of Froissart, and abounding in original and most
interesting materials; but, in order to satisfy all scruple, the
authorities for each fact are given in the shape of notes. The ballad
may be considered as a narrative of the transactions, related by an
aged Highlander, who had followed Montrose throughout his campaigns, to
his grandson, shortly before the splendid victory of Killiecrankie:--

I.

Come hither, Evan Cameron,
Come, stand beside my knee--
I hear the river roaring down
Towards the wintry sea.
There's shouting on the mountain side,
There's war within the blast--
Old faces look upon me,
Old forms go trooping past.
I hear the pibroch wailing
Amidst the din of fight,
And my old spirit wakes again
Upon the verge of night!

II.

'Twas I that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber's snows,
What time the plaided clans came down
To battle with Montrose.
I've told thee how the Southrons fell
Beneath the broad claymore,
And how we smote the Campbell clan
By I