My old eyes saw them from the tower.

At eve they couch'd in green-wood bower,
At dawn a bugle-signal, made

By their bold Lord, their ranks array'd;

Up sprung the spears through bush and tree,

No time for benedicite!

Like deer, that, rousing from their lair,

Just shake the dew-drops from their hair,

And toss their armed crests aloft,

Such matins theirs !"-" Good mother, soft

Where does my brother bend his way ?”—

"As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay,

Across the isle of barks a score

Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them o'er,
On sudden news, to Carrick-shore."-
"If such their purpose, deep the need,"
Said anxious Isabel," of speed!
Call Father Augustine, good dame."-

The nun obey'd, the Father came.

V.

"Kind Father, hie without delay,
Across the hills to Brodick-Bay.
This message to the Bruce be given;
I pray him, by his hopes of Heaven,
That, till he speak with me, he stay!
Or, if his haste brook no delay,
That he deliver, on my suit,

Into thy charge that stripling mute.

Thus prays his sister Isabel,

For causes more than she

may tell

Away, good father!-and take heed, That life and death are on thy speed.".

His cowl the good old priest did ón,

Took his piked staff and sandall'd shoon,

And, like a palmer bent by eld,

O'er moss and moor his journey held.

VI.

Heavy and dull the foot of age,

And rugged was the pilgrimage;

But none was there beside, whose care
Might such important message bear.

Through birchen copse he wander'd slow,
Stunted and sapless, thin and low;

By many a mountain stream he pass'd,
From the tall cliffs in tumult cast,

Dashing to foam their waters dun,

And sparkling in the summer sun.

Round his grey head the wild curlew
In many a fearless circle flew.

O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures wide

Craved wary eye and ample stride;

He cross'd his brow beside the stone,

Where Druids erst heard victims groan,

And at the cairns upon the wild,

O'er many a heathen hero piled,

He breathed a timid prayer for those
Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose.
Beside Macfarlane's Cross he staid,
There told his hours within the shade,
And at the stream his thirst allay'd.
Thence onward journeying slowly still,
As evening closed he reach'd the hill,
Where, rising through the woodland

green,

Old Brodick's gothic towers were seen.
From Hastings late, their English Lord,
Douglas had won them by the sword.
The sun that sunk behind the isle,

Now tinged them with a parting smile.

VII.

But though the beams of light decay,
'Twas bustle all in Brodick-Bay.

The Bruce's followers crowd the shore,
And boats and barges some unmoor,

Some raise the sail, some seize the oar;

Their eyes oft turn'd where glimmer'd far
What might have seem'd an early star
On heaven's blue arch, save that its light
Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright.
Far distant in the south, the ray
Shone pale amid retiring day,

But as, on Carrick shore,

Dim seen in outline faintly blue,

The shades of evening closer drew,

It kindled more and more.

The monk's slow steps now press the sands,
And now amid a scene he stands,

Full strange to churchman's eye;

Warriors, who, arming for the fight,
Rivet and clasp their harness light,

And twinkling spears, and axes bright,
And helmets flashing high.

Oft, too, with unaccustom'd ears,

A language much unmeet he hears,

While, hastening all on board,