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 

 And nothing did he say; 

 But Argyle's cheek grew deadly pale, 

 And he turned his eyes away. 

 The painted frail one by his side, 

 She shook through every limb, 

 For warlike thunder swept the streets, 

 And hands were clenched at him, 

 And a Saxon soldier cried, aloud, 

 Back coward, from thy place! 

 For seven long years thou hast not dared 

 To look him in the face! 

 Had I been there with sword in hand 

 And fifty Cameron's by, 

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