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.
North-eastward 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, screen'd by sheltering wood,
The gallant Keith, lord-marshal, stood:
His men-at-arms bear mace and lance,
And plumes that wave, and helms that glance.
Thus fair divided by the king,
Centre, and right, and left-ward 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, (13)
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 bassinet,
And clasp'd 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 the 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 flash'd at sight of shield and lance.

«Know'st thou,» he said, « De Argentine, Yon 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
Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Boune.

The Bruce stood fast.-Each breast beat high,
And dazzled was each gazing eye-
The heart had hardly time to think,
The eye-lid scarce had time to wink,
While on the king, like flash of flame,
Spurr'd 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 shunn'd 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 pass'd,
Fell that stern dint-the first-the last!-
Such strength upon the blow was put,
The helmet crash'd like hazel-nut;
The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp,
Was shiver'd 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 turn'd his palfrey's head,
And, pacing back his sober way,
Slowly he gain'd his own array.
There round their king the leaders crowd,
And blame his recklessness aloud,
That risk'd 'gainst each adventurous spear
A life so valued and so dear.
His broken weapon's shaft survey'd
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 whisper'd, « 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 vanquish'd, 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 left-ward flank?» (14)—the monarch cried To Moray's Earl, who rode beside.

<< Lo! round thy station pass the foes! Randolph, thy wreath has 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 swell'd 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 yon 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 loosen'd rein.-
That skirmish closed the busy day,
And, couch'd 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 slaughter'd 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 murmur'd prayer, the early mass!
Here numbers had presumption given;
There, bands o'er-match'd sought aid from Heaven.

Το

XX.

On Gillie's hill, whose height commands
The battle-field, fair Edith stands,
With serf and page unfit for war,
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 toss'd, (15)
His breast and brow each soldier cross'd,
And started from the ground;
Arm'd and array'd for instant fight,
Rose archer, spearman, squire, and knight,
And in the pomp of battle bright
The dread battalia frown'd.

XXI.

Now onward, and in open view,
The countless ranks of England drew, (16)
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 deem'd that fight should see them won,
King Edward's hests obey.

De Argentine attends his side,

With stout De Valance, Pembroke's bride,
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, repent!

Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high,
Just as the northern ranks arose,
Signal for England's archery

To halt and bend their bows.
Then stepp'd 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 hail-stones 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 banner'd 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 gain'd 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!» (18)

XXIII.

Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks, They rush'd 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 armour 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, Compell'd to flight, they scatter wide.Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee, And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee! The broken bows of Bannock's shore Shall in the green-wood 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, trod 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! (19)
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 right-ward of the wild affray,
The field show'd 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 form'd 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 clamour dread,
The wide plain thunder'd on their tread,

As far as Stirling rock.

Down! down! in headlong overthrow,
Horseman and horse, the foremost go, (20)
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! (21)
They came like mountain-torrent red,
That thunders o'er its rocky bed;

They broke like that same torrent's wave,
When swallow'd 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.

courage

Too strong in
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 rear-ward 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 Stuart's actions grace
The sire of Scotland's royal race!

Firmly they kept their ground;
As firmly England onward press'd,
And down went many a noble crest,
And rent was many a valiant breast,
And Slaughter revell'd round.

XXVI.

Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set,
Unceasing blow by blow was met;
The groans of those who fell
Were drown'd 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 toil'd 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; (22)
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 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 reel'd,
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,
Appear'd, 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 watch'd 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; e'en female hand
Stretch'd 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, (23)
And, like a banner'd host afar,
Bear down on England's wearied war.

O! give their hapless prince his due! (24) 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 turn'd his bridle-rein,
And forced him from the fatal plain,
With them rode Argentine, until
They gain'd 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 licge, 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.» —

Ile shouted loud his battle-cry,

<< Saint James for Argentine!»> And, of the bold pursuers, four The gallant knight from saddle bore; But not unharm'd-a lance's point Has found his breast-plate's loosen'd joint, An axe has razed his crest; Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord, Who press'd the chase with gory sword, He rode with spear in rest, And through his bloody tartans bored, And through his gallant breast. Nail'd 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 gush'd from the wound; And the grim lord of Colonsay Hath turn'd him on the ground, And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade The mortal thrust so well repaid.

XXXIII.

Now toil'd the Bruce, the battle done,
To use his conquest boldly won;
And gave command for horse and spear
To press the southern's scatter'd 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 breast-plate stream'd with gore;
Yet, as he saw the king advance,

He strove e'en then to couch his lance

The effort was in vain !

The spur-stroke fail'd 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 press'd his dying hand-its grasp
Kindly replied; but, in his clasp,
It stiffen'd 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 gleam'd nor mass was said!»-