Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came, And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fameNames known too well in Scotland's war, At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, Blazed broader yet in after years, At Cressy red and fell Poitiers, 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, And well did Stewart's actions grace Firmly they kept their ground; As firmly England onward press'd, XXVI. Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set, 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. 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; 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, 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 reliques 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. |