Old friends would look beyond his grave, to my dishonored one,
And hide the virtues of the sire behind the recreant son.
And I can fancy, if there my corse its fettered limbs should lay,
His frowning skull and crumbling bones would shrink from me away;
But I swear to God I'm innocent, and never blood have shed!
And they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

Lay me in my coffin, mother, as you've sometimes seen me rest:
One of my arms beneath my head, the other on my breast.
Place my Bible upon my heart--nay, mother, do not weep--
And kiss me as in happier days you kissed me when asleep.
And for the rest--for form or rite--but little do I reck;
But cover up that cursed stain--_the black mark on my neck!_
And pray to God for his great mercy on my devoted head;
For they'll hang me to the gallows, mother--hang me till I'm dead!

But hark! I hear a mighty murmur among the jostling crowd!
A cry!--a shout!--a roar of voices!--it echoes long and loud!
There dashes a horseman with foaming steed and tightly-gathered rein!
He sits erect!--he waves his hand!--good Heaven! 'tis Allen Bayne!
The lost is found, the dead alive, my safety is achieved!
For he waves his hand again, and shouts, "The prisoner is reprieved!"
Now, mother, praise the God you love, and raise your drooping head;
For the murderous gallows, black and grim, is cheated of its dead!





UP THE LINE.