The morning dawned full darkly,
    The rain came flashing down,
  And the jagged streak of the levin bolt
    Lit up the gloomy town. 
  The thunder crashed across the heaven,
    The fatal hour was come;
  Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat,
    The ’larum of the drum. 
  There was madness on the earth below
    And anger in the sky,
  And young and old, and rich and poor,
    Came forth to see him die.

  Ah God! that ghastly gibbet! 
    How dismal ’tis to see
  The great tall spectral skeleton,
    The ladder and the tree! 
  Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms,—­
    The bells begin to toll,—­
  “He is coming! he is coming! 
    God’s mercy on his soul!”
  One last long peal of thunder,—­
    The clouds are cleared away. 
  And the glorious sun once more looks down
    Amidst the dazzling day.

  “He is coming! he is coming!”
    Like a bridegroom from his room
  Came the hero from his prison
    To the scaffold and the doom. 
  There was glory on his forehead,
    There was lustre in his eye,
  And he never walked to battle
    More proudly than to die. 
  There was color in his visage,
    Though the cheeks of all were wan;
  And they marvelled as they saw him pass,
    That great and goodly man!

  He mounted up the scaffold,
    And he turned him to the crowd;
  But they dared not trust the people,
    So he might not speak aloud. 
  But he looked upon the heavens,
    And they were clear and blue,
  And in the liquid ether
    The eye of God shone through: 
  Yet a black and murky battlement
    Lay resting on the hill,
  As though the thunder slept within,—­
    All else was calm and still.

  The grim Geneva ministers
    With anxious scowl drew near,
  As you have seen the ravens flock
    Around the dying deer. 
  He would not deign them word nor sign,
    But alone he bent the knee;
  And veiled his face for Christ’s dear grace
    Beneath the gallows-tree. 
  Then, radiant and serene, he rose,
    And cast his cloak away;
  For he had ta’en his latest look
    Of earth and sun and day.

  A beam of light fell o’er him,
    Like a glory round the shriven,
  And he climbed the lofty ladder
    As it were the path to heaven. 
  Then came a flash from out the cloud,
    And a stunning thunder-roll;
  And no man dared to look aloft,—­
    Fear was on every soul. 
  There was another heavy sound,
    A hush, and then a groan;
  And darkness swept across the sky,—­
    The work of death was done!

WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN.

* * * * *

BORDER BALLAD.