II.

Blithe tidings flew from Baron's tower,

To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,

And waked the solitary cell,

Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell.

Princess no more, fair Isabel,

A vot'ress of the order now,

Say, did the rule that bid thee wear

Dim veil and woollen scapulare,

And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,
That stern and rigid vow,

Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold ?—

And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?

No sister she of convent shade;

So

say these locks in lengthen'd braid,

1

So say the blushes and the sighs,

The tremors that unbidden rise,

When, mingled with the Bruce's fame,

The brave Lord Ronald's praises came.

III.

Believe, his father's 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
In 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,

If England's King should not relieve

The siege ere 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,

P

At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,

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,
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good,

And Cambria, but of late subdued,

Sent forth her mountain-multitude,

And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude

Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.

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 a while the threaten'd shower,

Till every peak and summit lower

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!