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Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast.
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,
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,
Against an hundred foes.
Fresh combatants pour in;
And ward on ward they win.
of death and conflict roar'd,
And fearful was the din !
The startling horses plunged and flung,
Nor sunk the fearful cry,
Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groan'd in their agony !
The valiant Clifford is no more;
On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his
göre. But better hap had he of Lorn, Who, by the foemen 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 ;
Of silver, waving wide!
The Bruce hath won bis father's hall !
- 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.
Is mine-behold the floor I trode
In tottering infancy!
Echoed my joyous shout and bound
To youth's unthinking glee !
Yet steaming hot; with Southern gore
Bring here,” he said, “ the mazers four, My noble fathers loved of yore. 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 his 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 !