The hour I've long looked for hath come at the last—
Art thou willing to part?—all its anguish is past."
"Yes willing," she said, and she sought his embraee.
While the tears triekled down on her little one's face,
"'Tis the last time I ever shall cling to thy heart.
Yet with thee I am willing, yes, willing to part."
'Twas a seene would have softened the savage's ire;
But Claver'se eommanded his horsemen to fire;
As they cursed his command, turning round to retreat,
The demon himself shot him dead at his feet.
His temples, all shatter'd and bleeding she bound,
While Claver'se with insult his eruelty erown'd;
"Well, what thinkest thou of thy heart's cherished pride!
It were justiee to lay thee in blood by his side.”
"I doubt not, if God gave permission to thee,
That thou gladly wouldst murder my offspring and me:
But thy mouth he hath muzzled, and doom'd thee, in vain,
Like a bloodhound, to bay at the end of thy chain.
"Thou friendless, forsaken, hast left me and mine.
But my lot is a bless'd one when balaneed with thine,
With the viper remorse on thy vitals to prey,
And the blood on thy hands that will ne'er wash away.
"Thy fame shall be wafted to all future time,
A proverb for cruelty, eursing, and erime;
Thy dark pieture, painted in blood, shall remain
While the heather waves green o’er the graves of the slain.
"Thy glory shall wither; its wreaths have been gain'd
By the slaughter of shepherds, thy sword which disdain'd:
That sword thou hast drawn on thy eountry for hire,
And the title it brings shall in blackness expire.
"Thy name shall be Claver’se, the bloodthirsty Scot,
The godly, the guiltless, the grayhair'd, who shot.
Bound my Brown’s bloody brow glory's garlands shall wave,
When the muse marketh 'murderer' over thy grave!"
BANKS OF THE CRAWICK.
