Woe, and woe, and lamentation! What a piteous cry was there! Widows, maidens, mothers, children, Shrieking, sobbing in despair! Through the streets the death-word rushes, Spreading terror, sweeping on— “Jesu Christ! our King has fallen— O great God, King James is gone! Holy Mother Mary, shield us, Thou who erst didst lose thy Son! O the blackest day for Scotland That she ever knew before! O our King—the good, the noble, Shall we see him never more? Woe to us, and woe to Scotland! O our sons, our sons and men! Surely some have ‘scaped the Southron, Surely some will come again!” Till the oak that fell last winter Shall uprear its shattered stem— Wives and mothers of Dunedin— Ye may look in vain for them! IX. But within the Council Chamber All was silent as the grave, Whilst the tempest of their sorrow Shook the bosoms of the brave. Well indeed might they be shaken With the weight of such a blow, He was gone—their prince, their idol, Whom they loved and worshipped so! Like a knell of death and judgment Rung from heaven by angel hand, Fell the words of desolation On the elders of the land. Hoary heads were bowed and trembling, Withered hands were clasped and wrung; God had left the old and feeble, He had ta’en away the young. X.