Thou frown'st, De Argentine,-My gage
Is prompt to prove the strife I wage."-

XXVII.

"Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's knight,1
"That thou shalt brave alone the fight!
By saints of isle and mainland both,
By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath,) 2

And ask'd what men should off them do.
Then look'd he angryly them to,

He said, grinning, 'HANGS AND DRAWS.'
That was wonder of sic saws,

That he, that to the death was near,
Should answer upon sic maner,
Forouten moaning and mercy;
How might he trust on him to cry,
That sooth-fastly dooms all thing
To have mercy for his crying,
Off him that, throw his felony,

Into sic point had no mercy?"

There was much truth in the Leonine couplet, with which
Matthew of Westminster concludes his encomium on the first
Edward:

"Scotos Edwardus, dum vixit, suppeditavit,
Tenuit, afflixit, depressit, dilaniavit."

1 [In the MS. this couplet is wanting, and, without breaking the stanza, Lord Ronald continues,

"By saints of isle," &c.]

2 The MacLeods, and most other distinguished Hebridean families, were of Scandinavian extraction, and some were late or imperfect converts to Christianity. The family names of Torquil, Thormod, &c. are all Norwegian.

Let Rome and England do their worst,
Howe'er attainted or accursed,

If Bruce shall e'er find friends again,
Once more to brave a battle plain,
If Douglas couch again his lance,
Or Randolph dare another chance,
Old Torquil will not be to lack
With twice a thousand at his back.-
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold,
Good Abbot! for thou know'st of old,
Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will
Smack of the wild Norwegian still;
Nor will I barter Freedom's cause

For England's wealth, or Rome's applause."

XXVIII.

The Abbot seem'd with eye severe

The hardy Chieftain's speech to hear;
Then on King Robert turn'd the Monk,'
But twice his courage came and sunk,
Confronted with the hero's look;
Twice fell his eye, his accents shook;
At length, resolved in tone and brow,
Sternly he question'd him-"And thou,
Unhappy! what hast thou to plead,
Why I denounce not on thy deed
That awful doom which canons tell
Shuts paradise and opens hell;

1 [MS. "Then turn'd him on the Bruce the Monk."]

Anathema of power so dread,
It blends the living with the dead,
Bids each good angel soar away,
And every ill one claim his prey;
Expels thee from the church's care,
And deafens Heaven against thy prayer;
Arms every hand against thy life,
Bans all who aid thee in the strife,

Nay, each whose succour, cold and scant,1
With meanest alms relieves thy want;
Haunts thee while living,-and, when dead,
Dwells on thy yet devoted head,

Rends Honour's scutcheon from thy hearse, Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse,

And spurns thy corpse from hallow'd ground,
Flung like vile carrion to the hound;
Such is the dire and desperate doom
For sacrilege, decreed by Rome;
And such the well-deserved meed
Of thine unhallow'd, ruthless deed."-

XXIX.

"Abbot!" The Bruce replied, "thy charge It boots not to dispute at large.

This much, howe'er, I bid thee know,
No selfish vengeance dealt the blow,
For Comyn died his country's foe.

Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed
Fulfill'd my soon-repented deed,

1 [MS." Nay, curses each whose succour scant."]

Nor censure those from whose stern tongue
The dire anathema has rung.

I only blame mine own wild ire,
By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire.
Heaven knows my purpose to atone,
Far as I may, the evil done,
And hears a penitent's appeal
From papal curse and prelate's zeal.
My first and dearest task achieved,
Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved,
Shall many a priest in cope and stole
Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul,
While I the blessed cross advance,
And expiate this unhappy chance,
In Palestine, with sword and lance.1
But, while content the church should know
My conscience owns the debt I owe,2
Unto De Argentine and Lorn

The name of traitor I return,

Bid them defiance stern and high,3

And give them in their throats the lie!
These brief words spoke, I speak no more.
Do what thou wilt; my shrift is o'er."

1 Bruce uniformly professed, and probably felt, compunction for having violated the sanctuary of the church by the slaughter of Comyn; and finally, in his last hours, in testimony of his faith, penitence, and zeal, he requested James Lord Douglas to carry his heart to Jerusalem, to be there deposited in the Holy Sepulchre.

2 [The MS. adds:-" For this ill-timed and luckless blow."] 8 [MS."bold and high."]

XXX.

Like man by prodigy amazed,
Upon the King the Abbot gazed;
Then o'er his pallid features glance,
Convulsions of ecstatic trance.

His breathing came more thick and fast,
And from his pale blue eyes were cast
Strange rays of wild and wandering light;
Uprise his locks of silver white,

Flush'd is his brow, through every vein

In azure tide the current strain,
And undistinguish'd accents broke
The awful silence ere he spoke.1

XXXI.

"De Bruce! I rose with purpose dread To speak my curse upon thy head,2 And give thee as an outcast o'er

To him who burns to shed thy gore ;—

1 [MS.-"Swell on his wither'd brow the veins, Each in its azure current strains,

And interrupted tears express'd

The tumult of his labouring breast."]

2 So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter reached Rome, Bruce and his adherents were excommunicated. It was published first by the Archbishop of York, and renewed at different times, particularly by Lambyrton, Bishop of St. Andrews, in 1308; but it does not appear to have answered the purpose which the English monarch expected. Indeed, for reasons which it may be difficult to trace, the thunders of Rome descended upon the Scottish mountains with less effect than in more fertile countries. Probably the comparative