text:  But he raised his hand for silence--"Soldiers I have sworn a vow; Ere the evening star shall glisten on Schehallion's lofty brow Either we shall rest in triumph or another of the Graemes Shall have died in battle harness for his country and King James! Think upon the Royal Martyr--think of what his race endure-- Think on him whom butchers murder'd on the field of Magus Muir;-- By his sacred blood I charge ye--by the ruin'd hearth and shrine-- By the blighted hopes of Scotland--by your injuries and mine-- Strike this day as if the anvil lay beneath your blows the while Be they Covenanting traitors or the brood of false Argyle! Strike! and drive the trembling rebels backwards o'er the stormy Forth; Let them tell their pale Convention how they fared within the North