'One effort more and Scotland's free!
Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee1
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-
they fail, they fail!

'Carrick, press on

Press on, brave sons of Innisgail,

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.

See Note 146.

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.1

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!2

In vain the royal Edward threw

His person 'mid the spears,

1 See Note 147.

See Note 148.

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 Southern's scattered rear,