Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two. Various

lad and brave, To good old Pastor Tammons Roy, Now hid in yonder cave, And for whom the bloody Claverhouse Had hunted long in vain, And swore they would not leave that glen Till old Tam Roy was slain. So Jamie Douglas went his way With heart that knew no fear; He turned the great curve in the rock, Nor dreamed that death was near. And there were bloody Claverhouse men, Who laughed aloud with glee, When trembling now within their power, The frightened child they see. He turns to flee, but all in vain, They drag him back apace To where their cruel leader stands, And set them face to face. The cakes concealed beneath his plaid Soon tell the story plain— "It is old Tam Roy the cakes are for," Exclaimed the angry man. "Now guide me to his hiding place And I will let you go." But Jamie shook his yellow curls, And stoutly answered—"No!" "I'll drop you down the mountain-side, And there upon the stones The old gaunt wolf and carrion crow Shall battle for your bones." And in his brawny, strong right hand He lifted up the child, And held him where the clefted rocks Formed a chasm deep and wild So deep it was, the trees below Like stunted bushes seemed. Poor Jamie looked in frightened maze, It seemed some horrid dream. He looked up at the blue sky above Then at the men near by; Had they no little boys at home, That they could let him die? But no one spoke and no one stirred, Or lifted hand to save From such a fearful, frightful death, The little lad so brave. "It is woeful deep," he shuddering cried, "But oh! I canna tell, So drop me down then, if you will— It is nae so deep as hell!" A childish scream, a faint, dull sound, Oh! Jamie Douglas true, Long, long within that lonely cave Shall Tam Roy wait for you. Long for your welcome coming Waits the mother on the moor, And watches and calls, "Come, Jamie, lad," Through the half-open door. No more adown the rocky path You come with fearless tread, Or, on moor or mountain, take The good man's daily bread. But up in heaven the shining ones A wondrous story tell, Of a child snatched up from a rocky gulf That is nae so deep as hell. And there before the great white throne, Forever blessed and glad, His mother dear and old Tam Roy Shall meet their bonny lad.

The Ensign Bearer

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Never mind me, Uncle Jared, never mind my bleeding breast!

They are charging in the valley and you're needed with the rest.