That day, through high Dunadin's streets, 

 Had pealed the Slogan cry 

 Not all their troops of trampling horse, 

 Nor might of mailed men; 

 Nor all the rebels of the South 

 Had borne us backward then. 

 Once more his, foot on highland heath 

 Had trod, as free as air, 

 Or I and all who bore my name, 

 Been laid around him there. 

 It might not be! they placed him next, 

 Within the solemn hall, 

 Where once the Scottish kings were throned 

 Amidst their nobles all. 

 But there was dust of vulgar feet 

 On that polluted floor 

 And perjured traitors filled the place, 

 Where good men sat before. 

 With savage glee came there, 

 To read the murderous doom 

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