Next Shewalton, and noble Grange, And dress'd in linen scarf and band, With lairds, and cits, and rustics round, Now great Sir Archibald is laid In coffin of the yew-tree made; A Popish manual, through life The bane of his religious strife, Is now his pillow, and his breast With cross and rosary is drest; And through the vale of Death, to light The footsteps of the bigot Knight, A consecrated taper meet Is roll'd up in his winding sheet, Are Lord Kilmarnock, Lord Dundee, * His baldric, casque, cuirass, and blade ; By previous arrangement made, Each takes his place in the parade; Postilions mount, and forward slow All on in solemn silence go, Except the saullies, who anon , Proclaim in front,-" Sir Arch'bald's gone!" Is there a scene in Fancy's power More grand, than at the midnight hour The dark-plumed hearse brought half in view; The reader may see that historical fact is not here attended to, as Lord Dundee fell in the battle of Killiecrankie, fought in 1699, and Sir Archibald died in 1710. With here and there the fun'ral train, A moment seen, and lost again? How many paupers would have been Spectators of this mournful scene, With hinds from each surrounding height, Had it not been so wild a night! Portentous of the coming blast, The grey-gull from the ocean pass'd; The black-cock sought his moorland den; Deep shaded in her apogee, The moon for ever seem'd to be: Not darker was the funeral pall, Than now the sky appear'd to all. Since Satan first his legions rose But other spirits soon advance, Attack the first with sword and lance; Wheel, charge, and route the enemy; Shouts from the victor's ranks arise: When steeds, impell'd by whip and spur, Can neither hearse nor coffin stir? Though martingal, nor bit, nor rein, Much dreading that his zeal sincere Could not insure his safety there, The Abbot of Crossraguel fled, Nor Litany said for the dead; Here crape and weepers strew'd the way, The hearse was singed, the coffin riven; |