Scenes and legends of the north of Scotland : $b or, The traditional history of Cromarty — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
Scenes and legends of the north of Scotland : $b or, The traditional history of Cromarty
John Stuart Mill · en
The younger was a ship-boy at the time, and the ship in which he
sailed was captured with a lading of Government stores, by a party
of the rebels. He was named Robertson, and there were several of the
Robertsons of Struan among the party. He was soon on excellent terms
with them; and on one occasion, when rallying some of the Struans on
their undertaking, he spoke of their leader as the Pretender. “Beware,
my boy,” said an elderly Highlander, “and do not again repeat that
word; there are men in the ship who, if they but heard you, would
perhaps take your life for it; for remember we are not all Robertsons.”
The other old man who died at this time, had been an officer, it was
said, in the Prince’s army; but he was a person of a distant, reserved
cast of character; and there was little known of his history, except
that he had been bred to the profession of medicine, and had been
unfortunate through his adherence to the Prince. It was remarked by
the town’s-people that his spirit and manners were superior to his
condition.
Among the old papers in Sandison’s scrutoire, I found a curious version
of the 137th Psalm, the production of some unfortunate Jacobite of
this period. It seems to have been written at Paris shortly after the
failure of the enterprise, and when the Prince and his party were in
no favour at court; for the author, a man apparently of keen feelings,
applies, with all the sorrowful energy of a wounded spirit, the curses
denounced against Edom and Babylon to England and France.
[Sidenote: JACOBITE PSALM.]
PSALM CXXXVII.
By the sad Seine we sat and wept
When Scotland we thought on;
Reft of her brave and true, and all
Her ancient spirit gone.
“Revenge,” the sons of Gallia said,
“Revenge your native land;
Already your insulting foes
Crowd the Batavian strand.”
How shall the sons of freedom e’er
For foreign conquest fight?
How wield anew the luckless sword
That fail’d in Scotland’s right?
If thee, O Scotland! I forget
Till fails my latest breath,
May foul dishonour stain my name,
Be mine a coward’s death!
May sad remorse for fancied guilt
My future days employ,
If all thy sacred rights are not
Above my chiefest joy!
Remember England’s children, Lord,
Who on Drumossie day,
Deaf to the voice of kindred love,
“Raze, raze it quite,” did say.
And thou, proud Gallia! faithless friend,
Whose ruin is not far,
Just Heaven on thy devoted head
Pour all the woes of war!
When thou thy slaughter’d little ones
And ravish’d dames shalt see,
Such help, such pity mayst thou have
As Scotland had from thee.
CHAPTER XXIII.
“_Mop._--Is it true, think you?
_Aut._--Very true;--why should I carry lies abroad?”
WINTER’S TALE.
[Sidenote: THE DROPPING-CAVE.]