With black robed covenanting carles,
That goodly sport to see.

And when he came, so pale and wan
He looked, so great and High,
So noble was his manly front,
So calm his steadfast eye,
The rabble rout, forbore to shout,
And each man held his breath,
For well they knew the hero's soul
Was face to face with death.
And then a mournful shuddering
Through all the people crept,
And some that came to scoff at him
Now turned aside and wept.

But onward, always onward,
In silence and in gloom,
The dreary pageant labored
Till it reached the house of doom.
Then first a woman's voice was heard
In jeer and laughter loud,
An angry cry and hiss arose,
From the lips of the angry crowd.
Then as the Græme looked upward
He saw the bitter smile
Of him who sold his king for gold,
The master fiend Argyle.

The Marquis gazed a moment