The Execution of James Graham, Marquis of Montrose
'Twas in the year of 1650, and on the twenty-first of May,
The city of Edinburgh was put into a state of dismay
By the noise of drums and trumpets, which on the air arose,
That the great sound attracted the notice of Montrose.
Who enquired at the Captain of the guard the cause of it,
Then the officer told him, as he thought most fit,
That the Parliament dreading an attempt might be made to rescue him,
The soldiers were called out to arms, and that had made the din.
Do I, said Montrose, continue such a terror still?
Now when these good men are about my blood to spill,
But let them look to themselves, for after I am dead,
Their wicked consciences will be in continual dread.
After partaking of a hearty breakfast, he commenced his toilet,
Which, in his greatest trouble, he seldom did forget.
And while in the act of combing his hair,
He was visited by the Clerk Register, who made him stare,
When he told him he shouldn't be so particular with his head,
For in a few hours he would be dead;
But Montrose replied, While my head is my own I'll dress it at my ease,
And to-morrow, when it becomes yours, treat it as you please.
He was waited upon by the Magistrates of the city,
But, alas! for him they had no pity.
He was habited in a superb cloak, ornamented with gold and silver lace;
And before the hour of execution an immense assemblage of people were round the place.
From the prison, bareheaded, in a cart, they conveyed him along the Watergate
To the place of execution on the High Street, where about thirty thousand people did wait,
Some crying and sighing, a most pitiful sight to see,
All waiting patiently to see the executioner hang Montrose, a man of high degree.
Around the place of execution, all of them were deeply affected,
But Montrose, the noble hero, seemed not the least dejected;
And when on the scaffold he had, says his biographer Wishart,
Such a grand air and majesty, which made the people start.
As the fatal hour was approaching when he had to bid the world adieu,
He told the executioner to make haste and get quickly through,
But the executioner smiled grimly, but spoke not a word,
Then he tied the Book of Montrose's Wars round his neck with a cord.
Then he told the executioner his foes would remember him hereafter,
And he was as well pleased as if his Majesty had made him Knight of the Garter;
Then he asked to be allowed to cover his head,
But he was denied permission, yet he felt no dread.
He then asked leave to keep on his cloak,
But was also denied, which was a most grievous stroke;
Then he told the Magistrates, if they could invent any more tortures for him,
He would endure them all for the cause he suffered, and think it no sin.
On arriving at the top of the ladder with great firmness,
His heroic appearance greatly did the bystanders impress,
Then Montrose asked the executioner how long his body would be suspended,
Three hours was the answer, but Montrose was not the least offended.
Then he presented the executioner with three or four pieces of gold,
Whom he freely forgave, to his honour be it told,
And told him to throw him off as soon as he uplifted his hands,
While the executioner watched the fatal signal, and in amazement stands.
And on the noble patriot raising his hands, the executioner began to cry,
Then quickly he pulled the rope down from the gibbet on high,
And around Montrose's neck he fixed the rope very gently,
And in an instant the great Montrose was launched into eternity.
Then the spectators expressed their disapprobation by general groan,
And they all dispersed quietly, and wended their way home
And his bitterest enemies that saw his death that day,
Their hearts were filled with sorrow and dismay.
Thus died, at the age of thirty-eight, James Graham, Marquis of Montrose,
Who was brought to a premature grave by his bitter foes;
A commander who had acquired great military glory
In a short space of time, which cannot be equalled in story.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Bonnie Montrose
Beautiful town of Montrose, I will now commence my lay,
And I will write in praise of thee without dismay,
And in spite of all your foes,
I will venture to call thee Bonnie Montrose.
Your beautiful Chain Bridge is magnificent to be seen,
Spanning the river Esk, a beautiful tidal stream,
Which abounds with trout and salmon,
And can be had for the catching without any gammon.
Then as for the Mid Links, it is most beautiful to be seen, And I'm sure is a very nice bowling green,
Where young men can enjoy themselves and inhale the pure air,
Emanating from the sea and the beautiful flowers there.
And as for the High Street, it's most beautiful to see,
There's no street can surpass it in the town of Dundee,
Because it is so long and wide,
That the people can pass on either side
Without jostling one another
Or going to any bother.
Beautiful town of Montrose, near by the seaside,
With your fine shops and streets so wide,
'Tis health for the people that in you reside,
Because they do inhale the pure fragrant air,
Emanating from the sea waves and shrubberies growing there;
And the inhabitants of Montrose ought to feel gay,
Because you are one of the bonniest towns in Scotland at the present day.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Montrose
Beautiful town of Montrose, I will now commence my lay,
And I will write in praise of thee without dismay,
And in spite of all your foes,
l will venture to call thee Bonnie Montrose.
Your beautiful Chain Bridge is magnificent to be seen,
Spanning the river Esk, a beautiful tidal stream,
Which abounds with trout and salmon,
Which can be had for the catching without any gammon.
Then as for the Mid Links, it is most beautiful to be seen, And I'm sure is a very nice bowling green,
Where young men can enjoy themselves and inhale the pure air,
Emanating from the sea and the beautiful flowers there,
And as for the High Street, it's most beautiful to see,
There's no street can surpass it in the town of Dundee,
Because it is so long and wide,
That the people can pass on either side
Without jostling one another or going to any bother.
Beautiful town of Montrose, near by the seaside,
With your fine shops and streets so wide,
'Tis health for the people that in you reside,
Because they do inhale the pure fragrant air,
Emanating from the pure salt wave and shrubberies growing there;
And the inhabitants of Montrose ought to feel gay,
Because it is one of the bonniest towns in Scotland at the present day.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You know, you don't please everybody.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I don't recall getting a first guitar.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
But it has been a long process because I'm kind of a renaissance person.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I was working with Bill Graham management at the time and it was obvious to everyone concerned that albums like Open Fire, while they were good for me creatively, were not going to be commercially successful.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I was following my muse and I was very fortunate in having good people around me and it turned out to be a pretty good recording in my opinion.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I was too broke to buy a guitar so I more borrowed guitars from friends.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Gamma was a logical progression after doing the Open Fire record.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I would say seeing the original Yardbirds with Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page at the old Fillmore was a pretty powerful influence on me.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
There was a young man from Montrose
Who counted by fingers and toes;
But try as he may
He miscounted one day
When a finger got stuck up his nose.
quote by by John Carter Brown (2012)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There is a young man from Montrose
Who possesses a peculiar nose;
He cannot abide
With it bent to one side,
And it hurts very much when he blows.
quote by by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Space Station No 5
(MontroseHagar)
[Originally by Montrose]
Start, with the sun
And move on out
The future's in the skies above
The heavens unfold
And a new star is born
Space and time makin' love
[Chorus:]
Oh what a time we had
Living on the ground
I've moved to station
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I shared guitars before I actually got one of my own and played a guy's Silver tone and played another guys Danelectro 12 string and it was at about age 17 that I actually started playing.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Execution Of Montrose
COME hither, Evan Cameron!
Come, stand beside my knee:
I hear the river roaring down
Towards the wintry sea.
There ’s shouting on the mountain-side,
There ’s war within the blast;
Old faces look upon me,
Old forms go trooping past:
I hear the pibroch wailing
Amidst the din of fight,
And my dim spirit wakes again
Upon the verge of night.
’T was I that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber’s snows,
What time the plaided clans came down
To battle with Montrose.
I ’ve told thee how the Southrons fell
Beneath the broad claymore,
And how we smote the Campbell clan
By Inverlochy’s shore.
I ’ve told thee how we swept Dundee,
And tam’d the Lindsays’ pride;
But never have I told thee yet
How the great Marquis died.
A traitor sold him to his foes;
O deed of deathless shame!
I charge thee, boy, if e’er thou meet
With one of Assynt’s name—
Be it upon the mountain’s side,
Or yet within the glen,
Stand he in martial gear alone,
Or back’d by armed men—
Face him, as thou wouldst face the man
Who wrong’d thy sire’s renown;
Remember of what blood thou art,
And strike the caitiff down!
They brought him to the Watergate,
Hard bound with hempen span,
As though they held a lion there,
And not a fenceless man.
They set him high upon a cart,
The hangman rode below,
They drew his hands behind his back
And bar’d his noble brow.
Then, as a hound is slipp’d from leash,
They cheer’d the common throng,
And blew the note with yell and shout
And bade him pass along.
It would have made a brave man’s heart
Grow sad and sick that day,
To watch the keen malignant eyes
Bent down on that array.
There stood the Whig west-country lords,
In balcony and bow;
There sat their gaunt and wither’d dames,
And their daughters all a-row.
And every open window
Was full as full might be
With black-rob’d Covenanting carles,
That goodly sport to see!
But when he came, though pale and wan,
He look’d so great and high,
So noble was his manly front,
So calm his steadfast eye,
The rabble rout forbore to shout,
And each man held his breath,
For well they knew the hero’s soul
Was face to face with death.
And then a mournful shudder
Through all the people crept,
And some that came to scoff at him
Now turn’d aside and wept.
But onwards—always onwards,
In silence and in gloom,
The dreary pageant labor’d,
Till it reach’d the house of doom.
Then first a woman’s voice was heard
In jeer and laughter loud,
And an angry cry and a hiss arose
From the heart of the tossing crowd:
Then as the Graeme look’d upwards,
He saw the ugly smile
Of him who sold his king for gold,
The master-fiend Argyle!
The Marquis gaz’d a moment,
And nothing did he say,
But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale
And he turn’d his eyes away.
The painted harlot by his side,
She shook through every limb,
For a roar like thunder swept the street,
And hands were clench’d at him;
And a Saxon soldier cried aloud,
“Back, coward, from thy place!
For seven long years thou hast not dar’d
To look him in the face.”
Had I been there with sword in hand,
And fifty Camerons by,
That day through high Dunedin’s streets
Had peal’d the slogan-cry.
Not all their troops of trampling horse,
Nor might of mailed men,
Not all the rebels in the south
Had borne us backwards 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 thron’d
Amidst their nobles all.
But there was dust of vulgar feet
On that polluted floor,
And perju’d traitors fill’d the place
Where good men sate before.
With savage glee came Warristoun
To read the murderous doom;
And then uprose the great Montrose
In the middle of the room.
“Now, by my faith as belted knight,
And by the name I bear,
And by the bright Saint Andrew’s cross
That waves above us there,
Yea, by a greater, mightier oath—
And oh, that such should be!
By that dark stream of royal blood
That lies ’twixt you and me,
I have not sought in battle-field
A wreath of such renown,
Nor dar’d I hope on my dying day
To win the martyr’s crown!
“There is a chamber far away
Where sleep the good and brave,
But a better place ye have nam’d for me
Than by my father’s grave.
For truth and right, ’gainst treason’s might,
This hand hath always striven,
And ye raise it up for a witness still
In the eye of earth and heaven.
Then nail my head on yonder tower,
Give every town a limb,
And God who made shall gather them:
I go from you to Him!”
The morning dawn’d full darkly,
The rain came flashing down,
And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt
Lit up the gloomy town:
The thunder crash’d across the heaven,
The fatal hour was come;
Yet aye broke in with muffled beat
The ’larum of the drum.
There was madness on the earth below
And anger in the sky,
And young and old, and rich and poor,
Came forth to see him die.
Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet!
How dismal ’t is to see
The great tall spectral skeleton,
The ladder and the tree!
Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms—
The bells begin to toll—
“He is coming! he is coming!
God’s mercy on his soul!”
One last long peal of thunder:
The clouds are clear’d away,
And the glorious sun once more looks down
Amidst the dazzling day.
“He is coming! he is coming!”
Like a bridegroom from his room,
Came the hero from his prison
To the scaffold and the doom.
There was glory on his forehead,
There was lustre in his eye,
And he never walk’d to battle
More proudly than to die:
There was color in his visage,
Though the cheeks of all were wan,
And they marvell’d as they saw him pass,
That great and goodly man!
He mounted up the scaffold,
And he turn’d him to the crowd;
But they dar’d not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud.
But he look’d upon the heavens,
And they were clear and blue,
And in the liquid ether
The eye of God shone through;
Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept within—
All else was clam and still.
The grim Geneva ministers
With anxious scowl drew near,
As you have seen the ravens flock
Around the dying deer.
He would not deign them word nor sign,
But alone he bent the knee,
And veil’d his face for Christ’s dear grace
Beneath the gallows-tree.
Then radiant and serene he rose,
And cast his cloak away:
For he had ta’en his latest look
Of earth and sun and day.
A beam of light fell o’er him,
Like a glory round the shriven,
And he climb’d the lofty ladder
As it were the path to heaven.
Then came a flash from out the cloud,
And a stunning thunder-roll;
And no man dar’d to look aloft,
For fear was on every soul.
There was another heavy sound,
A hush and then a groan;
And darkness swept across the sky—
The work of death was done!
poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I was producing demos for a band that was called Physical Ed. Out of production of demos I went and did a few jam sessions with then in Northern California clubs, but I never actually toured with them.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
0314 Executive Decision
‘Look! now briefly, mortal living head -
As severed from thy now so lifeless limbs
In brief and, who knows, truthful, godly view,
So solemn, oncely, rare - that fleshly instrument
That thou hath used, misused…
And learn this last of life’s live lessons, quick and dread
In these few seconds of a living death…’
So Dean John Donne might have wrung out
that detail, had he known it – tolled
his solemn, tortured, feargod, ringing knell
- had he but known this ‘metaphysical’ quaint fact:
that, when the executioner’s sharp axeblade
slices through your neck with such finality,
the head maintains its human faculties
for eight brief seconds after body falls;
the executioner, it’s said, with great formality, then
takes hold that still-life head by its warm hair,
and turns it round with all solemnity,
to gaze its last repentence or regret
upon its frail accomplice on life’s way;
the gathered audience awed to silent, ice-cold heart..
last freeze-frame photo of an undeveloped film.
This solemn final courtesy of soul to soul
I’ll leave to metaphysicals, to speak life whole.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Because it was the original 4 guys, and the dynamic of those 4 guys interacting together that had the power.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Attempting to write vocal oriented songs to me felt like going through the motions and if you are going to go through the motions you might as well just do any gig that caused you to do repetitive motions like banging a hammer or serving fries.
quote by Ronnie Montrose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Summary History of Sir William Wallace
Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie,
I'm told he went to the High School in Dundee,
For to learn to read and write,
And after that he learned to fight,
While at the High School in Dundee,
The Provost's son with him disagree,
Because Wallace did wear a dirk,
He despised him like an ignorant stirk,
Which with indignation he keenly felt,
And told him it would become him better in his belt.
Then Wallace's blood began to boil,
Just like the serpent in its coil,
Before it leaps upon its prey;
And unto him he thus did say:
'Proud saucy cur, come cease your prate,
for no longer shall i wait,
For to hear you insult me,
At the High School in Dundee;
For such insolence makes my heart to smart,
And I'll plunge my dagger in you heart,'
Then his heart's blood did quickly flow,
And poor Wallace did not know where to go;
And he stood by him until dead.
Then far from him he quickly fled,
Lamenting greatly the deed he had done,
the murdering of the Provost's son.
The scene shifts to where he was fishing on day,
Where three English soldiers met him by the way,
And they asked him fo give them some fish,
And from them they would make a delicious dish,
then Wallace gave them share of his fish,
For to satisfy their wish;
But they seemed dissatisfied with the share they got,
So they were resolved to have all the lot.
Then Wallace he thought it was time to look out,
When they were resolved to have all his trout;
So he swung his fishing-rod with great force round his head,
And struck on of them a blow that killed him dead;
So he instantly seized the fallen man's sword,
And the other two fled without uttering a word.
Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie,
You were a warrior of great renown,
And might have worn Scotland's crown;
Had it not been for Monteith, the base traitor knave,
That brought you to a premature grave;
Yes! you were sold for English gold,
And brought like a sheep from the fold,
To die upon a shameful scaffold high,
Amidst the derisive shouts of your enemies standing by.
But you met your doom like a warrior bold,
Bidding defiance to them that had you sold,
And bared your neck for the headsman's stroke;
And cried, 'Marion, dear, my heart is broke;
My lovely dear I come to thee,
Oh! I am longing thee to see!'
But the headsman was as stolid as the rock,
And the axe fell heavily on the block,
And the scaffold did shake with the terrible shock,
As the body of noble Wallace fell,
Who had fought for Scotland so well.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!