| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895. |
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| The Jacobite on Tower Hill |
| | | George Walter Thornbury (1828–76) |
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| HE tripp’d up the steps with a bow and a smile, | |
| Offering snuff to the chaplain the while, | |
| A rose at his button-hole that afternoon— | |
| ’Twas the tenth of the month, and the month it was June. | |
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| Then shrugging his shoulders he look’d at the man | 5 |
| With the mask and the axe, and a murmuring ran | |
| Through the crowd, who, below, were all pushing to see | |
| The gaoler kneel down, and receiving his fee. | |
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| He look’d at the mob, as they roar’d, with a stare, | |
| And took snuff again with a cynical air. | 10 |
| “I ’m happy to give but a moment’s delight | |
| To the flower of my country agog for a sight.” | |
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| Then he look’d at the block, and with scented cravat | |
| Dusted room for his neck, gaily doffing his hat, | |
| Kiss’d his hand to a lady, bent low to the crowd, | 15 |
| Then smiling, turn’d round to the headsman and bow’d. | |
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| “God save King James!” he cried bravely and shrill, | |
| And the cry reach’d the houses at foot of the hill, | |
| “My friend, with the axe, à votre service,” he said; | |
| And ran his white thumb ’long the edge of the blade. | 20 |
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| When the multitude hiss’d he stood firms as a rock; | |
| Then kneeling, laid down his gay head on the block; | |
| He kiss’d a white rose,—in a moment ’t was red | |
| With the life of the bravest of any that bled. | |
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