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Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd,
His nerves hath strung-he will not yield!
Since that poor breath, that little word,
May yield Lord Ronald to the sword.-
Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide,
The grisly headsman 's by his side;

Along the green-wood chase they bend,
And now their march has ghastly end!
That old and shatter'd oak beneath
They destine for the place of death.
-What thoughts are his, while all in vain
His eye for aid explores the plain?
What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear,

He hears the death-prayer mutter'd near?
And must he die such death accurst,
Or will that bosom-secret burst?
Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew,
His trembling lips are livid blue;

The agony of parting life

Has nought to match that moment's strife!

XXVII.

But other witnesses are nigh,

Who mock at fear, and death defy!
Soon as the dire lament was play'd,
It waked the lurking ambuscade.

The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied
The cause, and loud in fury cried,

By Heaven they lead the page to die,
And mock me in his agony!

They shall abye it!»-On his arm

Bruce laid strong grasp, « They shall not harm
A ringlet of the stripling's hair;
But, till I give the word, forbear.
-Douglas, lead fifty of our force
Up yonder hollow water-course,

And couch thee mid-way on the wold,
Between the flyers and their hold:

A

spear above the copse display'd,

Be signal of the ambush made.

-Edward, with forty spearmen, straight
Through yonder copse approach the gate,
And, when thou bear'st the battle-din,
Rush forward, and the passage win,
Secure the draw-bridge-
e-storm the port-
And man and guard the castle-court.-
The rest move slowly forth with me,
In shelter of the forest tree,
Till Douglas at his post I see.»>

XXVIII.

Like war-horse eager to rush on,
Compell'd to wait the signal blown,
Hid, and scarce hid, by green-wood bough,
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now,
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue,
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue.-
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye,
Sees the dark death-train moving by,
And heedful measures oft the space,
The Douglas and his band must trace,
Ere they can reach their destined ground.
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound,
Now cluster round the direful tree
That slow and solemn company,

While hymn mistuned and mutter'd prayer
The victim for his fate prepare.-
What glances o'er the green-wood shade?—
The spear that marks the ambuscade!—
<< Now, noble chief! I leave thee loose;
Upon them, Ronald!» said the Bruce.

XXIX.

« The Bruce, the Bruce!» to well-known cry His native rocks and woods reply.

« The Bruce, the Bruce!» in that dread word
The knell of hundred deaths was heard.
The astonish'd southern gazed at first,
Where the wild tempest was to burst,
That waked in that presaging name!
Before, behind, around it came !
Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side
Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died.
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged,

And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged!
Full soon the few who fought were sped,
Nor better was their lot who fled,
And met, 'mid terror's wild career,
The Douglas's redoubted spear!
Two hundred yeomen on that morn
The castle left, and none return.

XXX.

Not on their flight press'd Ronald's brand,
A gentler duty claim'd his hand.
He raised the page, where on the plain
His fear had sunk him with the slain;
And, twice that morn, surprise well near
Betray'd the secret kept by fear.
Once, when, with life returning, came
To the boy's lip lord Ronald's name,
And hardly recollection drown'd
The accents in a murmuring sound;
And once, when scarce he could resist
The chieftain's care to loose the vest,
Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast.
But then the Bruce's bugle blew,
For martial work was yet to do.

XXXI.

A harder task fierce Edward waits.
Ere signal given, the castle-gates
His fury had assail'd;
Such was his wonted reckless mood,
Yet desperate valour oft made good,
Even by its daring, venture rude,

Where prudence might have fail'd. Upon the bridge his strength he threw, And struck the iron chain in two

By which its planks arose; The warder next his axe's edge Struck down upon the threshold ledge, 'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge!

The gate they may not close. Well fought the southern in the fray, Clifford and Lorn fought well that day, But stubborn Edward forced his way

Against an hundred foes.

Loud came the cry, « The Bruce, the Bruce!» No hope or in defence or truce,

Fresh combatants pour in;

Mad with success, and drunk with gore,
They drive the struggling foe before,

And ward on ward they win.
Unsparing was the vengeful sword,

And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd, The cry of death and conflict roar'd,

And fearful was the din!

The startling horses plunged and flung,
Clamour'd the dogs till turrets rung,
Nor sunk the fearful cry,

Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groan'd in their agony!

XXXII.

The valiant Clifford is no more;
On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his
But better hap had he of Lorn,'
Who, by the foeman backward borne,
Yet gain'd with slender train the port,
Where lay his bark beneath the fort,

And cut the cable loose.

Short were his shrift in that debate,
That hour of fury and of fate,

If Lorn encounter'd Bruce!
Then long and loud the victor shout
From turret and from tower rung out,

The rugged vaults replied;

And from the donjon tower on high,
The men of Carrick may descry

Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry

Of silver, waving wide!

XXXIII.

gore,

The Bruce hath won his fathers' hall! (8)
-« Welcome, brave friends and comrades all,
Welcome to mirth and joy!

The first, the last, is welcome here,
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer,

To this poor speechless boy.
Great God! once more my sire's abode
Is mine-behold the floor I trode

In tottering infancy!

And there the vaulted arch, whose sound
Echoed my joyous shout and bound
In boyhood, and that rung around

To youth's unthinking glee!
O first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven,
Then to my friends, my thanks be given!»—
He paused a space, his brow he cross'd-
Then on the board his sword he toss'd,
Yet steaming hot; with southern gore
From hilt to point 't was crimson'd o'er.

XXXIV.

« Bring here, he said, «the mazers four,
My noble fathers loved of yore. (9)
Thrice let them circle round the board,
The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored!
And he whose lip shall touch the wine,
Without a vow as true as mine,
To hold both lands and life at nought,
Until her freedom shall be bought-
Be brand of a disloyal Scot,
And lasting infamy bis lot!

Sit, gentle friends! our hour of glee
Is brief, we 'll spend it joyously!
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams,
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams.
Well is our country's work begun,

But more, far more, must yet be done!-
Speed messengers the country through;
Arouse old friends, and gather new; (10)
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail,
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale,

Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts, The fairest forms, the truest hearts! (11) Call all, call all! from Reedswair path, To the wild confines of Cape Wrath; Wide let the news through Scotland ring, The Northern Eagle claps his wing !»

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Believe, his fathers' 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
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes;
And sister-like in love they dwell
la that lone convent's silent cell.
There Bruce's slow assent allows
Fair Isabel the veil and vows;
And there, her sex's dress regain'd,
The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd,
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 retain'd no more,

Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers,
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers;
And they took term of truce, (5)
If England's king should not relieve
The

Siege e'er 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, (6)
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege,

With buckler, brand, and spear.
The term was nigh-they muster'd fast,
By beacon and by bugle-blast

Forth marshall'd for the field;
There rode each knight of noble name,
There England's hardy archers came,
The land they trode seem'd all on flame,
With banner, blade, and shield!
And not famed England's powers alone,
Renown'd in arms, the summons own;
For Neustria's knights obey'd,
Gascoyne hath lent her horsemen good,
And Cambria, but of late subdued,
Sent forth her mountain-multitude, (7)
And Connaught pour'd from waste and wood
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude
Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd. (8)

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 threaten'd shower,
Till every peak and summit lour

Round the pale pilgrim's head.
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye
King Robert mark'd the tempest nigh!
Resolved the brunt to bide,

His royal summons warn'd the land,
That all who own'd 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 boun'd 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 heart,

My Edith, can I tell how dear
Our intercourse of hearts sincere
Hath been to Isabel?-
Judge then the sorrow of
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 betray'd,
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high maid
And his poor silent page were one.
Versed in the fickle heart of man,
Earnest and auxious hath he look'd
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd
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 blamesForgive 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,

Mad with success, and drunk with gore,

Sit, gentle frien'

They drive the struggling foe before,
And ward on ward they win.

Unsparing was the vengeful sword,

And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd, The cry of death and conflict roar'd,

And fearful was the din!

The startling horses plunged and flung,
Clamour'd the dogs till turrets rung,
Nor sunk the fearful cry,

Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groan'd in their agony!

XXXII.

The valiant Clifford is no more;

On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his gor
But better hap had he of Lorn,'
Who, by the foeman backward borne,
Yet gain'd with slender train the por
Where lay his bark beneath the for

And cut the cable loose.
Short were his shrift in that deba
That hour of fury and of fate,

If Lorn encounter'd Bruce!
Then long and loud the victo
From turret and from towe

The rugged vaults replie
And from the donjon tov
The men of Carrick ma

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and three, advanced, form'd va'ward line, Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine. Detach'd was each, yet each so'nigh As well might mutual aid supply. Beyond, the southern host appears, (11) 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 join'd with the hill, Was distant armour flashing still, So wide, so far, the boundless host Seem'd in the blue horizon lost.

XI.

Down from the hill the maiden pass'd,
At the wild show of war aghast;
And traversed first the rear-ward 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 rank'd their files, (12)
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 array'd,
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 look'd-but he was far
Busied amid the ranks of war-
Yet with affection's troubled eye
She mark'd his banner boldly fly,
Gave on the countless foe a glance,
And thought on battle's desperate chance.

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XIII.

must they pause; for, in advance, 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.

0

XIV.

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.

XV.

Of Hereford's high blood he came,

A race renown'd for knightly fame.
He burn'd before his monarch's eye.
To do some deed of chivalry.

He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd 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 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.»>—

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