Classic Poem

I

O who that shared them ever shall forget
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathless in the mart the couriers met
Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime
Hailed news on news, as field on field was won,
When Hope, long doubtful, soared at length sublime,
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun,
Watched Joy's broad banner rise to meet the rising sun!

O these were hours when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears!
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed,
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,
That tracked with terror twenty rolling years,
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee!
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears,
To sigh a thankful prayer amid the glee
That hailed the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty!

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode
When 'gainst the invaders turned the battle's scale,
When Bruce's banner had victorious flowed
O'er Loudoun's mountain and in Ury's vale;
When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,
And fiery Edward routed stout Saint John,
When Randolph's war-cry swelled the southern gale,
And many a fortress, town, and tower was won,
And Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done.

II

Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,
And waked the solitary cell
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell.
Princess no more, fair Isabel,
A votaress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear
Dim veil and woollen scapulare,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,
That stern and rigid vow,
Did it condemn the transport high
Which glistened in thy watery eye
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold? —
And whose the lovely form that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?
No sister she of convent shade;
So say these locks in lengthened braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,
The tremors that unbidden rise,
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame,
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came.

III

Believe, his father's castle won
And his bold enterprise begun,
That Bruce's earliest cares restore
The speechless page to Arran's shore:
Nor think that long the quaint disguise
Concealed her from a sister's eyes;
And sister-like in love they dwell
In that lone convent's silent cell.
There Bruce's slow assent allows
Fair Isabel the veil and vows;
And there, her sex's dress regained,
The lovely Maid of Lorn remained,
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far
Resounded with the din of war;
And many a month and many a day
In calm seclusion wore away.

IV

These days, these months, to years had worn
When tidings of high weight were borne
To that lone island's shore;
Of all the Scottish conquests made
By the First Edward's ruthless blade
His son retained no more,
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers,
Beleaguered by King Robert's powers;
And they took term of truce,
If England's King should not relieve
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve,
To yield them to the Bruce.
England was roused — on every side
Courier and post and herald hied
To summon prince and peer,
At Berwick-bounds to meet their liege,
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege
With buckler, brand, and spear.
The term was nigh — they mustered fast,
By beacon and by bugle-blast
Forth marshalled for the field;
There rode each knight of noble name,
There England's hardy archers came,
The land they trode seemed all on flame
With banner, blade, and shield!
And not famed England's powers alone,
Renowned in arms, the summons own;
For Neustria's knights obeyed,
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good,
And Cambria, but of late subdued,
Sent forth her mountain-multitude,
And Connoght poured from waste and wood
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude
Dark Eth O'Connor swayed.

V

Right to devoted Caledon
The storm of war rolls slowly on
With menace deep and dread;
So the dark clouds with gathering power
Suspend awhile the threatened shower,
Till every peak and summit lower
Round the pale pilgrim's head.
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye
King Robert marked the tempest nigh!
Resolved the brunt to bide,
His royal summons warned the land
That all who owned their king's command
Should instant take the spear and brand
To combat at his side.
O, who may tell the sons of fame
That at King Robert's bidding came
To battle for the right!
From Cheviot to the shores of Ross,
From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss,
All bouned them for the fight.
Such news the royal courier tells
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells;
But Farther tidings must the ear
Of Isabel in secret hear.
These in her cloister walk next morn
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn: —

VI

" My Edith, can I tell how dear
Our intercourse of hearts sincere
Hath been to Isabel? —
Judge then the sorrow of my heart
When I must say the words, We part!
The cheerless convent-cell
Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee;
Go thou where thy vocation free
On happier fortunes fell.
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed,
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high maid
And his poor silent page were one.
Versed in the fickle heart of man,
Earnest and anxious hath he looked
How Ronald's heart the message brooked
That gave him with her last farewell
The charge of Sister Isabel,
To think upon thy better right
And keep the faith his promise plight.
Forgive him for thy sister's sake
At first if vain repinings wake —
Long since that mood is gone:
Now dwells he on thy juster claims,
And oft his breach of faith he blames —
Forgive him for thine own!" —

VII

" No! never to Lord Ronald's bower
Will I again as paramour" —
" Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid,
Until my final tale be said! —
The good King Robert would engage
Edith once more his elfin page,
By her own heart and her own eye
Her lover's penitence to try —
Safe in his royal charge and free,
Should such thy final purpose be,
Again unknown to seek the cell,
And live and die with Isabel."
Thus spoke the maid — King Robert's eye
Might have some glance of policy;
Dunstaffnage had the monarch ta'en,
And Lorn had owned King Robert's reign;
Her brother had to England fled,
And there in banishment was dead;
Ample, through exile, death, and flight,
O'er tower and land was Edith's right;
This ample right o'er tower and land
Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand.

VIII

Embarrassed eye and blushing cheek
Pleasure and shame and fear bespeak!
Yet much the reasoning Edith made:
" Her sister's faith she must upbraid,
Who gave such secret, dark and dear,
In council to another's ear.
Why should she leave the peaceful cell? —
How should she part with Isabel? —
How wear that strange attire agen? —
How risk herself midst martial men? —
And how be guarded on the way? —
At least she might entreat delay."
Kind Isabel with secret smile
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile,
Reluctant to be thought to move
At the first call of truant love.

IX

O, blame her not! — when zephyrs wake
The aspen's trembling leaves must shake;
When beams the sun through April's shower
It needs must bloom, the violet flower;
And Love, howe'er the maiden strive,
Must with reviving hope revive!
A thousand soft excuses came
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame.
Pledged by their sires in earliest youth,
He had her plighted faith and truth —
Then, 't was her liege's strict command,
And she beneath his royal hand
A ward in person and in land: —
And, last, she was resolved to stay
Only brief space — one little day —
Close hidden in her safe disguise
From all, but most from Ronald's eyes —
But once to see him more! — nor blame
Her wish — to hear him name her name! —
Then to bear back to solitude
The thought he had his falsehood rued!
But Isabel, who long had seen
Her pallid cheek and pensive mien,
And well herself the cause might know,
Though innocent, of Edith's woe,
Joyed, generous, that revolving time
Gave means to expiate the crime.
High glowed her bosom as she said,
" Well shall her sufferings be repaid!"
Now came the parting hour — a band
From Arran's mountains left the land;
Their chief, Fitz-Louis, had the care
The speechless Amadine to bear
To Bruce with honor, as behoved
To page the monarch dearly loved.

X

The king had deemed the maiden bright
Should reach him long before the fight,
But storms and fate her course delay:
It was on eve of battle-day
When o'er the Gillie's-hill she rode.
The landscape like a furnace glowed,
And far as e'er the eye was borne
The lances waved like autumn-corn.
In battles four beneath their eye
The forces of King Robert lie.
And one below the hill was laid,
Reserved for rescue and for aid;
And three advanced formed vaward-line,
'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine.
Detached was each, yet each so nigh
As well might mutual aid supply.
Beyond, the Southern host-appears,
A boundless wilderness of spears,
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy.
Thick flashing in the evening beam,
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam;
And where the heaven joined with the hill,
Was distant armor flashing still,
So wide, so far, the boundless host
Seemed in the blue horizon lost.

XI

Down from the hill the maiden passed,
At the wild show of war aghast;
And traversed first the rearward host,
Reserved for aid where needed most.
The men of Carrick and of Ayr,
Lennox and Lanark too, were there,
And all the western land;
With these the valiant of the Isles
Beneath their chieftains ranked their files
In many a plaided band.
There in the centre proudly raised,
The Bruce's royal standard blazed,
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore
A galley driven by sail and oar.
A wild yet pleasing contrast made
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid
By these Hebrideans worn;
But O, unseen for three long years,
Dear was the garb of mountaineers
To the fair Maid of Lorn!
For one she looked — but he was far
Busied amid the ranks of war —
Yet with affection's troubled eye
She marked his banner boldly fly,
Gave on the countless foe a glance,
And thought on battle's desperate chance.

XII

To centre of the vaward-line
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine.
Armed all on foot, that host appears
A serried mass of glimmering spears.
There stood the Marchers' warlike band,
The warriors there of Lodon's land;
Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew,
A band of archers fierce though few;
The men of Nith and Annan's vale,
And the bold Spears of Teviotdale; —
The dauntless Douglas these obey,
And the young Stuart's gentle sway.
Northeastward by Saint Ninian's shrine,
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine
The warriors whom the hardy North
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth.
The rest of Scotland's war-array
With Edward Bruce to westward lay,
Where Bannock with his broken bank
And deep ravine protects their flank.
Behind them, screened by sheltering wood,
The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood:
His men-at-arms bare mace and lance,
And plumes that wave and helms that glance.
Thus fair divided by the king,
Centre and right and leftward wing
Composed his front; nor distant far
Was strong reserve to aid the war.
And 't was to front of this array
Her guide and Edith made their way.

XIII

Here must they pause; for, in advance
As far as one might pitch a lance,
The monarch rode along the van,
The foe's approaching force to scan,
His line to marshal and to range,
And ranks to square, and fronts to change.
Alone he rode — from head to heel
Sheathed in his ready arms of steel;
Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight,
But, till more near the shock of fight,
Reining a palfrey low and light.
A diadem of gold was set
Above his bright steel basinet,
And clasped within its glittering twine
Was seen the glove of Argentine;
Truncheon or leading staff he lacks,
Bearing instead a battle-axe.
He ranged his soldiers for the fight
Accoutred thus, in open sight
Of either host. — Three bowshots far,
Paused the deep front of England's war,
And rested on their arms awhile,
To close and rank their warlike file,
And hold high council if that night
Should view the strife or dawning light.

XIV

O, gay yet fearful to behold,
Flashing with steel and rough with gold,
And bristled o'er with bills and spears,
With plumes and pennons waving fair,
Was that bright battle-front! for there
Rode England's king and peers:
And who, that saw that monarch ride,
His kingdom battled by his side,
Could then his direful doom foretell! —
Fair was his seat in knightly selle,
And in his sprightly eye was set
Some spark of the Plantagenet.
Though light and wandering was his glance,
It flashed at sight of shield and lance.
" Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine,
You knight who marshals thus their line?" —
" The tokens on his helmet tell
The Bruce, my liege: I know him well." —
" And shall the audacious traitor brave
The presence where our banners wave?" —
" So please my liege," said Argentine,
" Were he but horsed on steed like mine,
To give him fair and knightly chance,
I would adventure forth my lance." —
" In battle-day," the king replied,
" Nice tourney rules are set aside. —
Still must the rebel dare our wrath?
Set on him — Sweep him from our path!"
And at King Edward's signal soon
Dashed from the ranks Sir Henry Boune.

XV

Of Hereford's high blood he came,
A race renowned for knightly fame.
He burned before his monarch's eye
To do some deed of chivalry.
He spurred his steed, he couched his lance,
And darted on the Bruce at once.
As motionless as rocks that bide
The wrath of the advancing tide,
The Bruce stood fast. — Each breast beat high
And dazzled was each gazing eye —
The heart had hardly time to think,
The eyelid scarce had time to wink,
While on the king, like flash of flame,
Spurred to full speed the war-horse came!
The partridge may the falcon mock,
If that slight palfrey stand the shock —
But, swerving from the knight's career,
Just as they met, Bruce shunned the spear.
Onward the baffled warrior bore
His course — but soon his course was o'er! —
High in his stirrups stood the king,
And gave his battle-axe the swing.
Right on De Boune the whiles he passed
Fell that stern dint — the first — the last! —
Such strength upon the blow was put
The helmet crashed like hazel-nut;
The axe-shaft with its brazen clasp
Was shivered to the gauntlet grasp.
Springs from the blow the startled horse,
Drops to the plain the lifeless corse;
First of that fatal field, how soon,
How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune!

XVI

One pitying glance the monarch sped
Where on the field his foe lay dead;
Then gently turned his palfrey's head,
And, pacing back his sober way,
Slowly he gained his own array.
There round their king the leaders crowd,
And blame his recklessness aloud
That risked 'gainst each adventurous spear
A life so valued and so dear.
His broken weapon's shaft surveyed
The king, and careless answer made,
" My loss may pay my folly's tax;
I 've broke my trusty battle-axe."
'T was then Fitz-Louis bending low
Did Isabel's commission show;
Edith disguised at distance stands,
And hides her blushes with her hands.
The monarch's brow has changed its hue,
Away the gory axe he threw,
While to the seeming page he drew,
Clearing war's terrors from his eye.
Her hand with gentle ease he took
With such a kind protecting look
As to a weak and timid boy
Might speak that elder brother's care
And elder brother's love were there.

XVII

" Fear not," he said, " young Amadine!"
Then whispered, " Still that name be thine.
Fate plays her wonted fantasy,
Kind Amadine, with thee and me,
And sends thee here in doubtful hour.
But soon we are beyond her power;
For on this chosen battle-plain,
Victor or vanquished, I remain.
Do thou to yonder hill repair;
The followers of our host are there,
And all who may not weapons bear. —
Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care. —
Joyful we meet, if all go well;
If not, in Arran's holy cell
Thou must take part with Isabel;
For brave Lord Ronald too hath sworn,
Not to regain the Maid of Lorn —
The bliss on earth he covets most —
Would he forsake his battle-post,
Or shun the fortune that may fall
To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. —
But, hark! some news these trumpets tell;
Forgive my haste — farewell! — farewell!"
And in a lower voice he said,
" Be of good cheer — farewell, sweet maid!"

XVIII

" What train of dust, with trumpet-sound
And glimmering spears, is wheeling round
Our leftward flank?" — the monarch cried
To Moray's Earl who rode beside.
" Lo! round thy station pass the foes!
Randolph, thy wreath hath lost a rose."
The Earl his visor closed, and said
" My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade. —
Follow, my household!" and they go
Like lightning on the advancing foe.
" My liege," said noble Douglas then,
" Earl Randolph has but one to ten:
Let me go forth his band to aid!" —
" Stir not. The error he hath made,
Let him amend it as he may;
I will not weaken mine array."
Then loudly rose the conflict-cry,
And Douglas's brave heart swelled high, —
" My liege," he said, " with patient ear
I must not Moray's death-knell hear!" —
" Then go — but speed thee back again."
Forth sprung the Douglas with his train:
But when they won a rising hill
He bade his followers hold them still. —
" See, see! the routed Southern fly!
The Earl hath won the victory.
Lo! where you steeds run masterless,
His banner towers above the press.
Rein up; our presence would impair
The fame we come too late to share."
Back to the host the Douglas rode,
And soon glad tidings are abroad
That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph slain,
His followers fled with loosened rein. —
That skirmish closed the busy day,
And couched in battle's prompt array,
Each army on their weapons lay.

XIX

It was a night of lovely June,
High rode in cloudless blue the moon,
Demayet smiled beneath her ray;
Old Stirling's towers arose in light,
And, twined in links of silver bright,
Her winding river lay.
Ah! gentle planet! other sight
Shall greet thee, next returning night,
Of broken arms and banners tore,
And marshes dark with human gore,
And piles of slaughtered men and horse,
And Forth that floats the frequent corse,
And many a wounded wretch to plain
Beneath thy silver light in vain!
But now from England's host the cry
Thou hear'st of wassail revelry,
While from the Scottish legions pass
The murmured prayer, the early mass! —
Here, numbers had presumption given;
There, bands o'ermatched sought aid from Heaven.

XX

On Gillie's-hill, whose height commands
The battle-field, fair Edith stands
With serf and page unfit for war,
To eye the conflict from afar.
O, with what doubtful agony
She sees the dawning tint the sky! —
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun,
And glistens now Demayet dun;
Is it the lark that carols shrill,
Is it the bittern's early hum?
No! — distant but increasing still,
The trumpet's sound swells up the hill,
With the deep murmur of the drum.
Responsive from the Scottish host,
Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were tossed,
His breast and brow each soldier crossed
And started from the ground;
Armed and arrayed for instant fight,
Rose archer, spearman, squire and knight,
And in the pomp of battle bright
The dread battalia frowned.

XXI

Now onward and in open view
The countless ranks of England drew,
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide
When the rough west hath chafed his pride,
And his deep roar sends challenge wide
To all that bars his way!
In front the gallant archers trode,
The men-at-arms behind them rode,
And midmost of the phalanx broad
The monarch held his sway.
Beside him many a war-horse fumes,
Around him waves a sea of plumes,
Where many a knight in battle known,
And some who spurs had first braced on
And deemed that fight should see them won,
King Edward's hests obey.
De Argentine attends his side,
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride,
Selected champions from the train
To wait upon his bridle-rein.
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed —
At once before his sight amazed
Sunk banner, spear, and shield;
Each weapon-point is downward sent,
Each warrior to the ground is bent.
" The rebels, Argentine, repeat!
For pardon they have kneeled." —
" Ay! — but they bend to other powers,
And other pardon sue than ours!
See where yon barefoot abbot stands
And blesses them with lifted hands!
Upon the spot where they have kneeled
These men will die or win the field." —
" Then prove we if they die or win!
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin."

XXII

Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high
Just as the Northern ranks arose,
Signal for England's archery
To halt and bend their bows.
Then stepped each yeoman forth a pace,
Glanced at the intervening space,
And raised his left hand high;
To the right ear the cords they bring —
At once ten thousand bow-strings ring,
Ten thousand arrows fly!
Nor paused on the devoted Scot
The ceaseless fury of their shot;
As fiercely and as fast
Forth whistling came the gray-goose wing
As the wild hailstones pelt and ring
Adown December's blast.
Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide,
Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide;
Woe, woe to Scotland's bannered pride,
If the fell shower may last!
Upon the right behind the wood,
Each by his steed dismounted stood
The Scottish chivalry; —
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain
His own keen heart, his eager train,
Until the archers gained the plain;
Then, " Mount, ye gallants free!"
He cried; and vaulting from the ground
His saddle every horseman found.
On high their glittering crests they toss,
As springs the wild-fire from the moss;
The shield hangs down on every breast,
Each ready lance is in the rest,
And loud shouts Edward Bruce,
" Forth, Marshal! on the peasant foe!
We 'll tame the terrors of their bow,
And cut the bow-string loose!"

XXIII

Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks,
They rushed among the archer ranks,
No spears were there the shock to let,
No stakes to turn the charge were set,
And how shall yeoman's armor slight
Stand the long lance and mace of might?
Or what may their short swords avail
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail?
Amid their ranks the chargers sprung,
High o'er their heads the weapons swung,
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout
Give note of triumph and of rout!
Awhile with stubborn hardihood
Their English hearts the strife made good.
Borne down at length on every side,
Compelled to flight they scatter wide. —
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee,
And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee!
The broken vows of Bannock's shore
Shall in the greenwood ring no more!
Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now
The maids may twine the summer bough,
May northward look with longing glance
For those that wont to lead the dance,
For the blithe archers look in vain!
Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en,
Pierced through, trode down, by thousands slain,
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain.

XXIV

The king with scorn beheld their flight.
" Are these," he said, " our yeomen wight?
Each braggart churl could boast before
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore!
Fitter to plunder chase or park
Than make a manly foe their mark. —
Forward, each gentleman and knight!
Let gentle blood show generous might
And chivalry redeem the fight!"
To rightward of the wild affray,
The field showed fair and level way;
But in mid-space the Bruce's care
Had bored the ground with many a pit,
With turf and brushwood hidden yet,
That formed a ghastly snare.
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came,
With spears in rest and hearts on flame
That panted for the shock!
With blazing crests and banners spread,
And trumpet-clang and clamor dread,
The wide plain thundered to their tread
As far as Stirling rock.
Down! down! in headlong overthrow,
Horseman and horse, the foremost go,
Wild floundering on the field!
The first are in destruction's gorge,
Their followers wildly o'er them urge; —
The knightly helm and shield,
The mail, the acton, and the spear,
Strong hand, high heart, are useless here!
Loud from the mass confused the cry
Of dying warriors swells on high,
And steeds that shriek in agony!
They came like mountain-torrent red
That thunders o'er its rocky bed;
They broke like that same torrent's wave
When swallowed by a darksome cave.
Billows on billows burst and boil,
Maintaining still the stern turmoil,
And to their wild and tortured groan
Each adds new terrors of his own!

XXV

Too strong in courage and in might
Was England yet to yield the fight.
Her noblest all are here;
Names that to fear were never known,
Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton,
And Oxford's famed De Vere.
There Gloster plied the bloody sword,
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford,
Bottetourt and Sanzavere,
Ross, Montague, and Mauley came,
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame —
Names known too well in Scotland's war
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar,
Blazed broader yet in after years
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers.
Pembroke with these and Argentine
Brought up the rearward battle-line.
With caution o'er the ground they tread,
Slippery with blood and piled with dead,
Till hand to hand in battle set,
The bills with spears and axes met,
And, closing dark on every side,
Raged the full contest far and wide.
Then was the strength of Douglas tried,
Then proved was Randolph's generous pride,
And well did Stewart's actions grace
The sire of Scotland's royal race!
Firmly they kept their ground;
As firmly England onward pressed,
And down went many a noble crest,
And rent was many a valiant breast,
And Slaughter revelled round.

XXVI

Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set,
Unceasing blow by blow was met;
The groans of those who fell
Were drowned amid the shriller clang
That from the blades and harness rang,
And in the battle-yell.
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot,
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot;
And O, amid that waste of life
What various motives fired the strife!
The aspiring noble bled for fame,
The patriot for his country's claim;
This knight his youthful strength to prove,
And that to win his lady's love:
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood,
From habit some or hardihood.
But ruffian stern and soldier good,
The noble and the slave,
From various cause the same wild road,
On the same bloody morning, trode
To that dark inn, the grave!

XXVII

The tug of strife to flag begins,
Though neither loses yet nor wins.
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust.
Douglas leans on his war-sword now,
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow;
Nor less had toiled each Southern knight
From morn till mid-day in the fight.
Strong Egremont for air must gasp,
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp,
And Montague must quit his spear,
And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere!
The blows of Berkley fall less fast,
And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast
Hath lost its lively tone;
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word,
And Percy's shout was fainter heard, —
" My merry-men, fight on!"

XXVIII

Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye,
The slackening of the storm could spy.
" One effort more and Scotland 's free!
Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee
Is firm as Ailsa Rock;
Rush on with Highland sword and targe,
I with my Carrick spearmen charge;
Now forward to the shock!"
At once the spears were forward thrown,
Against the sun the broadswords shone;
The pibroch lent its maddening tone,
And loud King Robert's voice was known —
" Carrick, press on — they fail, they fail!
Press on, brave sons of Inuisgail,
The foe is fainting fast!
Each strike for parent, child, and wife,
For Scotland, liberty, and life, —
The battle cannot last!"

XXIX

The fresh and desperate onset bore
The foes three furlongs back and more,
Leaving their noblest in their gore.
Alone, De Argentine
Yet bears on high his red-cross shield,
Gathers the relics of the field,
Renews the ranks where they have reeled,
And still makes good the line.
Brief strife but fierce his efforts raise,
A bright but momentary blaze.
Fair Edith heard the Southern shout,
Beheld them turning from the rout,
Heard the wild call their trumpets sent
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament.
That rallying force, combined anew,
Appeared in her distracted view
To hem the Islesmen round;
" O God! the combat they renew,
And is no rescue found!
And ye that look thus tamely on,
And see your native land o'erthrown,
O, are your hearts of flesh or stone?"

XXX

The multitude that watched afar,
Rejected from the ranks of war,
Had not unmoved beheld the fight
When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right;
Each heart had caught the patriot spark,
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk,
Bondsman and serf; even female hand
Stretched to the hatchet or the brand;
But when mute Amadine they heard
Give to their zeal his signal-word
A frenzy fired the throng; —
" Portents and miracles impeach
Our sloth — the dumb our duties teach —
And he that gives the mute his speech
Can bid the weak be strong.
To us as to our lords are given
A native earth, a promised heaven;
To us as to our lords belongs
The vengeance for our nation's wrongs;
The choice 'twixt death or freedom warms
Our breasts as theirs — To arms! to arms!"
To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear —
And mimic ensigns high they rear,
And, like a bannered host afar,
Bear down on England's wearied war.

XXXI

Already scattered o'er the plain,
Reproof, command, and counsel vain,
The rearward squadrons fled amain
Or made but doubtful stay; —
But when they marked the seeming show
Of fresh and fierce and marshalled foe,
The boldest broke array.
O, give their hapless prince his due!
In vain the royal Edward threw
His person mid the spears,
Cried, " Fight!" to terror and despair,
Menaced and wept and tore his hair,
And cursed their caitiff fears;
Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein
And forced him from the fatal plain.
With them rode Argentine until
They gained the summit of the hill,
But quitted there the train: —
" In yonder field a gage I left,
I must not live of fame bereft;
I needs must turn again.
Speed hence, my liege, for on your trace
The fiery Douglas takes the chase,
I know his banner well.
God send my sovereign joy and bliss,
And many a happier field than this! —
Once more, my liege, farewell!"

XXXII

Again he faced the battle-field, —
Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield.
" Now then," he said, and couched his spear,
" My course is run, the goal is near;
One effort more, one brave career,
Must close this race of mine."
Then in his stirrups rising high,
He shouted loud his battle-cry,
" Saint James for Argentine!"
And of the bold pursuers four
The gallant knight from saddle bore;
But not unharmed — a lance's point
Has found his breastplate's loosened joint,
An axe has razed his crest;
Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord,
Who pressed the chase with gory sword,
He rode with spear in rest,
And through his bloody tartans bored
And through his gallant breast.
Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer
Yet writhed him up against the spear,
And swung his broadsword round!
Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way
Beneath that blow's tremendous sway,
The blood gushed from the wound;
And the grim Lord of Colonsay
Hath turned him on the ground,
And laughed in death-pang that his blade
The mortal thrust so well repaid.

XXXIII

Now toiled the Bruce, the battle done,
To use his conquest boldly won;
And gave command for horse and spear
To press the Southron's scattered rear,
Nor let his broken force combine,
When the war-cry of Argentine
Fell faintly on his ear;
" Save, save his life," he cried, " O, save
The kind, the noble, and the brave!"
The squadrons round free passage gave,
The wounded knight drew near;
He raised his red-cross shield no more,
Helm, cuish, and breastplate streamed with gore,
Yet, as he saw the king advance,
He strove even then to couch his lance —
The effort was in vain!
The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse;
Wounded and weary, in mid course
He stumbled on the plain.
Then foremost was the generous Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to loose; —
" Lord Earl, the day is thine!
My sovereign's charge and adverse fate
Have made our meeting all too late;
Yet this may Argentine
As boon from ancient comrade crave —
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave."

XXXIV

Bruce pressed his dying hand — its grasp
Kindly replied; but, in his clasp,
It stiffened and grew cold —
" And, O farewell!" the victor cried,
" Of chivalry the flower and pride,
The arm in battle bold,
The courteous mien, the noble race,
The stainless faith, the manly face! —
Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine
For late-wake of De Argentine.
O'er better knight on death-bier laid
Torch never gleamed nor mass was said!"

XXXV

Nor for De Argentine alone
Through Ninian's church these torches shone
And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.
That yellow lustre glimmered pale
On broken plate and bloodied mail,
Rent crest and shattered coronet,
Of baron, earl, and banneret;
And the best names that England knew
Claimed in the death-prayer dismal due.
Yet mourn not, Land of Fame!
Though ne'er the Leopards on thy shield
Retreated from so sad a field
Since Norman William came.
Oft may thine annals justly boast
Of battles stern by Scotland lost;
Grudge not her victory
When for her freeborn rights she strove;
Rights dear to all who freedom love,
To none so dear as thee!

XXXVI

Turn we to Bruce whose curious ear
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear;
With him a hundred voices tell
Of prodigy and miracle,
" For the mute page had spoke." —
" Page!" said Fitz-Louis, " rather say
An angel sent from realms of day
To burst the English yoke.
I saw his plume and bonnet drop
When hurrying from the mountain top;
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave,
To his bright eyes new lustre gave,
A step as light upon the green,
As if his pinions waved unseen!"
" Spoke he with none?" — " With none — one word
Burst when he saw the Island Lord
Returning from the battle-field." —
" What answer made the chief?" — " He kneeled,
Durst not look up, but mattered low
Some mingled sounds that none might know,
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear
As being of superior sphere."

XXVII

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain
Heaped then with thousands of the slain,
Mid victor monarch's musings high,
Mirth laughed in good King Robert's eye: —
" And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair?
Hath Ronald kneeled to him?" he said;
" Then must we call the church to aid —
Our will be to the abbot known
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight he pass
And deck the church for solemn mass,
To pay for high deliverance given
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.
Let him array besides such state,
As should on princes' nuptials wait.
Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite,
That once broke short that spousal rite,
Ourself will grace with early morn
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."