{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_Cameronian_s_vision/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_Cameronian_s_vision","id":"wikisource_Cameronian_s_vision","license":"Public Domain / CC-BY-SA (see source)","rights_basis":"wikisource_site_inclusion_policy","source":"wikisource","source_url":"https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Cameronian's_vision","summary":null,"tags":["1874_works","Main_pages_with_authority_control_data","PD-old","Pamphlets","Religion","Scottish_poetry","War","Works_using_categories_parameter"],"text":"THE\n\nCAMERONIAN'S VISION.\n\nBY\n\nJAMES HYSLOP.\n\nJOHN BROWN'S MONUMENT.\n\nPRINTED BY J. CUMMING,\n\nFINTRAY, ABERDEEN.\n\nMDCCCLXXIV.\n\nPREFATORY NOTE.\n\n\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\nJames Hyslop, author of the following Poem, was born in the parish of Kirkconnel, Dumfriesshire. He was for some time a shepherd in the parish of Muirkirk, hence was known as \u201cthe Muirkirk Shepherd.\u201d He was the author of another highly popular poem, beginning, \u201cIn a dream of the night I was wafted away.\u201d This gifted peasant died many years ago, in sailing to a foreign land.\n\nThe present poem was written on the murder of John Brown of Priesthill, Muirkirk, Ayrshire, who on the first day of May, 1685, was shot to death at the door of his own cottage, as narrated in the poem. John Brown\u2019s small possession is situated in one of the most lonely moors in Scotland; not a house or field being in sight of it. But even there the blood-thirsty underlings of an infamous Government could not permit the inoffensive man of 58 years of age to live. To this hour many a pilgrim, with a swelling heart, visits the lonely grave and modest monument of \u201cthe Christian Carrier.\u201d\n\nThe engraving represents the monument erected in 1826. Inside the enclosure is the original flat grave stone, on which is the following inscription:\u2014\n\n\u201cHere lies the body of John Brown, martyr, who was Murdered in this place by Graham of Claverhouse for his testimony to the Covenanted work of Reformation, because he durst not own the authority of the then tyrant destroying the same, who died the first day of May A.D. 1685, and of his age 58.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn death\u2019s cold bed the dusty part here lyes\n\nO f one who did the earth as dust despise.\n\nH ere in this place from earth he took departure:\n\nN ow he has got the garland of the martyr.\n\nB utchered by Claverse and his bloody band,\n\nR aging most ravenously over all the land,\n\nO nly for owning Christ\u2019s supremacy.\n\nW ickedly wronged by encroaching tyranny,\n\nN othing how near soever he too good\n\nEsteemed, nor dear for any truth his blood.\u201d\n\nTHE CAMERONIAN\u2019S VISION.\n\nFrom the climes and the seas of the fair sunny south,\n\nI return\u2019d to the gray hills and green glens of youth:\n\nBy mountain graves musing on days long gone past,\n\nA dream-like illusion around me was cast.\n\nIn a vision, it seem\u2019d that the chariot of time\n\nWas roll\u2019d back till I stood in the ages of erime,\n\nWhen the king was a despot, who deem'd with his nod\n\nHe would cancel the bond, bound a nation to God.\n\nThe religion of Christ, like a lamb took its flight,\n\nAs the horns of the Mitre wax\u2019d powerful in might,\n\nAnd the prelates with priesteraft men\u2019s spirits enchain\u2019d,\n\nTill they fear\u2019d to complain when their heart s blood was drain\u2019d.\n\nStern law made religion no longer a link\n\nThe soul to sustain on eternity\u2019s brink;\n\nBut the gold of the gospel was ehanged to a chain,\n\nThe spirit of Scotland to eurb and restrain:\n\nA political bridle the people to cheek,\n\nWhen the priest or the prince ehose to ride on their neek;\n\nFor churchmen a chariot in splendour who roll'd,\n\nAt the poor man\u2019s expense, whose salvation they sold.\n\nFrom the eourt, over Seotland went forth a decree\u2014\n\n\u201cLet the Kirk of the north to the king bend the knee:\n\nTo the prince and his priesthood divine right is given,\n\nA seeptre to sway both in earth and in heaven.\n\n\u201cLet no one presume from the pulpit to read\n\nThe Scriptures, save eurates by courtiers decreed;\n\nAt their peril, let parents give precepts to youth,\n\nTill prelates and prayer-books put words in their mouth.\n\nAnd none \u2019mong the hills of the heather shall dare\n\nTo meet in the moorlands for praises and prayer;\n\nNor to Heaven in private prefer their request,\n\nExcept as the prince shall appoint by the priest.\u201d\n\nThe nation of Knox held the mandate accurs\u2019d:\n\n(He the fetters of popery and priestcraft had burst-\n\nWith the stamp of his foot brought their towers to the ground,\n\nTill royalty trembling shrunk back when he frown d.\n\nAnd Melville, the fiery, had fearlessly dar\u2019d,\n\nIn a prince\u2019s own presence his priesthood to beard.\n\nOn the archbishop\u2019s head made his mitre to shake.\n\nAnd the circle of courtiers around him to quake.)\n\nSo Scotland\u2019s Assemblies in council sat down,\n\nGod\u2019s word well to weigh with decrees of the crown:\nAnd a Covenant seal'd as they swore by the Lord,\n\nTheir bibles and birthright to guard with the sword.\n\nThese Priests from their kirks by the prelates were driven\n\nA shelter to seek with the fowls of heaven;\n\nThe wet mist their covering, the heather their bed.\n\nBy the springs of the desert in peril they fed.\n\nAt the risk of their lives, with their flocks they would meet,\n\nIn the storm and in tempest, in rain and in sleet;\n\nWhere the mist on the moorglens lay darkest, 'twas there\n\nIn the thick cloud concealed, they assembled for prayer.\n\nAt their wild mountain worship no warning bell rung\n\nBut, the sentries were fix'd ere the psalm could be sung.\n\nWhen the preacher his Bible brought forth from his plaid,\n\nOn the damp rock beside him his drawn sword he laid.\n\nThe sleepless assemblies around him who met\n\nWere houseless and hungry, and weary and wet;\n\nThe wilderness wandering, through peril and strife.\n\nTo be fill'd with the word and the waters of life.\n\nFor in cities the wells of salvation were seal'd,\n\nMore brightly to burst in the moor and the field;\n\nAnd the Spirit, which fled from the dwellings of men,\n\nLike a manna-cloud rain'd round the camp of the glen.\n\nI beheld in my vision a prince on his throne;\n\nAround him in glory the mitred heads shone;\n\nAnd the sovereign assembly said, \"Who shall go forth\n\nIn the moorlands to murder the priests of the north!\n\n\"Our horsemen have hunted the moor and the wood.\n\nBut often they shrink from the shedding of blood;\n\nAnd some we sent forth with commission to slay,\n\nHave with Renwick remain'd in the mountains to pray.\n\n\"Is there no one among us whose soul and whose sword\n\nWill hew down in the desert that priesthood abhorr'd\n\nWith their blood, on the people's minds print our decree?\n\nThe warriors reward shall be 'Viscount Dundee.'\"\n\n'Twas a title of darkness, dishonour, and shame;\n\nNo warrior would wear it, save Claver\u2019se the Graham.\n\nWith a warrant of death like a demon he flew,\n\nIn the blood of his brethren his hands to imbrue.\n\nThat mission of murder full well fitted him,\n\nFor his black heart with malice boil'd up to the brim;\n\nRemorse had his soul made like angels who fell,\n\nAnd his breast was imbued with the spirit of hell.\n\nA gleam of its flame in his bosom had glow'd,\n\nTill his devilish delight was in cursing of God:\n\nHe felt Him a foe, and his soul took a pride\n\nBridle-deep through the blood of his sufferers to ride!\n\nHis heart hard as flint, was in cruelty mail'd;\n\nNo tear of the orphan with him ere prevail'd,\n\nIn the blood of its sire, while his sword was defil'd,\n\nThe red blade he wav'd o'er the widow, and smil'd.\n\nMy vision was changed, and I stood in a glen\n\nOf the moorlands, remote from the dwellings of men,\n\n'Mong Priesthill's black scenery, a pastoral abode,\n\nWhere the shepherds assembled to worship their God.\n\nA light hearted maiden met there with her love,\n\nWho had won her affections, and fix'd them above:\n\nConcealed 'mong the mist on the dark mountain side,\n\nStood Peden the prophet, with Brown and his bride.\n\nA silent assembly encircled the seer,\n\nA breathless expectance bent forward to hear;\n\nFor the glance of his grey eye wax'd bright and sublime,\n\nAs it fixed on the far flood of fast coming time.\n\n\"Oh Scotland! the Angel of darkness and death\n\nOne hour the Almighty hath staid on his path:\n\nI see on yon bright cloud his chariot stand still;\n\nBut his red sword is naked and ready to kill.\n\n\"In mosses, in mountain, in moor and in wood,\n\nThat sword must be bath'd yet in slaughter and blood,\n\nTill the number of saints who shall suffer be seal'd,\n\nAnd the breaches of backsliding Scotland be heal'd.\n\n\"Then a prince of the south shall come over the main,\n\nWho in righteousness over the nation shall reign;\n\nThe race of the godless shall fade from the throne.\n\nAnd the kingdom of Christ shall have kings of its own.\n\n\"But think not, ye righteous, your sufferings are past;\n\nIn the midst of the furnace ye yet must be cast;\nBut the seed we have sown in affliction and tears,\n\nShall be gathered in gladness in far distant years.\n\n\"On the scroll of the Covenant blood must be spilt,\n\nTill its red hues shall cancel the backslider's guilt.\n\nRemember my warning. Around me are some\n\nWho may watch, for they know not the hour He shall come.\n\n\"And thou, pretty maiden, rejoice in the truth\n\nOf the lover I link for thy husband of youth.\n\nBe kind while he lives; clasp him close to thy heart;\n\nFor the time is not far when the fondest must part.\n\n\"The seal of the Saviour is printed too deep\n\nOn the brow of thy bridegroom for thee long to keep.\n\nThe wolf round the sheepfold will prowl for his prey,\n\nAnd the lamb be led forth for the lion to slay.\n\n\"His winding-sheet linen keep woven by thee;\n\nIt will soon be requir'd, and it bloody will be.\n\nA morning of terror and tears is at hand,\n\nBut the Lord will give strength in thy trial to stand.\"\n\nMy vision was changed: happy summer had fled\n\nO'er the heath-circled home where the lovers were wed;\n\nAffection's springs bursting from hearts in their prime,\n\nThe stream of endearment grew deeper with time.\n\nAt the door of his home, in a glad summer's night,\n\nWith his children to play was the father's delight;\n\nOne dear little daughter he fondly caress'd,\n\nFor she look\u2019d like the young bride who slept on his breast.\n\nOf her sweet smiling offspring the mother was fain,\n\nEach added a new link to love's wedded chain;\n\nOne clung to her bosom, one play'd round her knee,\n\nAnd one 'mong the heather ran chasing the bee\n\nIn union of warm hearts, of wishes, of thought,\n\nThe prophet's prediction was almost forgot;\n\nWith wedded affection their hearts overflow'd,\n\nAnd their lives passed in rearing their offspring to God.\n\nThe mist of May morning lay dark on the mountains\u00a0;\n\nThe lambs crept the flowers springing fresh by the fountains;\n\nThe waters, the woods, and the green holms of hay, lay\n\nIn sunshine asleep down in Wellwood's wild valley.\n\nIn Priesthill at dawing the psalm had ascended,\n\nThe chapter been read, and the humble knee bended;\n\nNow in moors thick with mist, at his pastoral employment,\n\nThe meek soul of Brown with his God found enjoyment.\n\nAt home, Isabella was busy preparing\n\nThe meal, with a husband so sweet aye in sharing;\n\nIn the cradle beside her the infant lay smiling,\n\nThe mother with sweet songs its fancy beguiling.\n\nHis daughter went forth in the dews of the morning\n\nTo meet on the footpath her father returning;\n\nAlone 'mong the mist she expected to find him,\n\nBut horsemen in armour came riding behind him.\n\nThe mother, in trembling, in tears, and dismay,\n\nClasped her babe to her bosom, and hasted away;\n\nShe clung to her husband, distracted and dumb,\n\nFor she felt that the hour of her trial was come.\n\nBut vain her distraction, her tears and her prayer.\n\nHer sufferings by Claver'se were held light as air;\n\nWith his little ones weeping around him, he brought\n\nThe fond father forth, in their sight to be shot.\n\n\"Bid farewell thy family, and welcome thy death,\n\nSinee thou choosest so fondly to cherish thy faith;\n\nSome minutes my mercy permits thee for prayer.\n\nLet six of my horsemen their pistols prepare.\"\n\n\"My widow, my orphan, O God, I resign\n\nTo thy care; and the babe yet unborn, too, is thine;\n\nLet thy blessing be round them, to guard and to keep,\n\nWhen over my green grave forsaken they weep.\"\n\nAt the door of his home, on the heather he knelt;\n\nHis prayer for his family the pitiless felt;\n\nThe rough soldiers listened with tears and with sighs,\n\nTill Claverhouse cursed him, and caused him to rise.\n\nFor the last time the lips of his young ones he kiss'd.\n\nHis dear little daughter he clasped to his breast:\n\n\"To thy mother be kind, read thy Bible, and pray;\n\nThe Lord will protect thee when I am away.\n\n\"Isabella, farewell! Thou shalt shortly behold\n\nThy love on the heather stretch\u2019d bloody and cold.\nThe hour I've long looked for hath come at the last\u2014\n\nArt thou willing to part?\u2014all its anguish is past.\"\n\n\"Yes willing,\" she said, and she sought his embraee.\n\nWhile the tears triekled down on her little one's face,\n\n\"'Tis the last time I ever shall cling to thy heart.\n\nYet with thee I am willing, yes, willing to part.\"\n\n'Twas a seene would have softened the savage's ire;\n\nBut Claver'se eommanded his horsemen to fire;\n\nAs they cursed his command, turning round to retreat,\n\nThe demon himself shot him dead at his feet.\n\nHis temples, all shatter'd and bleeding she bound,\n\nWhile Claver'se with insult his eruelty erown'd;\n\n\"Well, what thinkest thou of thy heart's cherished pride!\n\nIt were justiee to lay thee in blood by his side.\u201d\n\n\"I doubt not, if God gave permission to thee,\n\nThat thou gladly wouldst murder my offspring and me:\n\nBut thy mouth he hath muzzled, and doom'd thee, in vain,\n\nLike a bloodhound, to bay at the end of thy chain.\n\n\"Thou friendless, forsaken, hast left me and mine.\n\nBut my lot is a bless'd one when balaneed with thine,\n\nWith the viper remorse on thy vitals to prey,\n\nAnd the blood on thy hands that will ne'er wash away.\n\n\"Thy fame shall be wafted to all future time,\n\nA proverb for cruelty, eursing, and erime;\n\nThy dark pieture, painted in blood, shall remain\n\nWhile the heather waves green o\u2019er the graves of the slain.\n\n\"Thy glory shall wither; its wreaths have been gain'd\n\nBy the slaughter of shepherds, thy sword which disdain'd:\n\nThat sword thou hast drawn on thy eountry for hire,\n\nAnd the title it brings shall in blackness expire.\n\n\"Thy name shall be Claver\u2019se, the bloodthirsty Scot,\n\nThe godly, the guiltless, the grayhair'd, who shot.\n\nBound my Brown\u2019s bloody brow glory's garlands shall wave,\n\nWhen the muse marketh 'murderer' over thy grave!\"\n\nBANKS OF THE CRAWICK.\n\nThis work was published before January 1, 1931, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.\n\nPublic domainPublic domainfalsefalse","title":"Cameronian's vision","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":2502}