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A Monument dazzles in brass at Auld Deer,

In the chapel where surplice and altar appear,

To the tool of the tyrant—the foe of the free,

To Claverhouse Graham—to the bloody Dundee.

Oh, he was the Sportsman! Dragoons were his dogs,

That hunted our fathers o’er mountains and bogs,

Till the bible and swords of Drumclog made him flee,

When the speed of his charger saved bloody Dundee.

But, burning with vengeance to Cov’nant and Whig,

When aided by treach’ry at Bothwell’s old Brig,

He butchered the swordless, no quarter gave he—

A wolf among sheep was the bloody Dundee.

From the moss to his cottage he dragged godly Brown,

And scarcely allowed him in prayer to kneel down;

But growled with an oath that he preached on his knee,—

So mad a blasphemer was bloody Dundee.

He turned to his “Satans,”—to fire gave command;

But they drew not a trigger, they raised not a hand;

For the prayer of the Martyr has blinded each e’e,

And they heed not the voice of the bloody Dundee.

But Claver’se his pride and his passion restrained,

While he drew forth a pistol his butcheries had stained,

And the brains of his victim soon spatter the lea,

Then away with his “lambs” rode the bloody Dundee.

Now close to their mother her infants have crept,

As she bound up the fragments, then sat down and wept

Her wings o’er her brood in their terror spread she,

But Rinrory requited the bloody Dundee!