"Lord Earl," he said," I cannot chuse But yield such title to the Bruce, Though name and earldom both are gone, But, Earl or Serf-rude phrase was thine Such as compels me to demand Redress of honour at thy hand. We need not to each other tell, That both can wield their weapons well; This glove upon thy helm to place Where we may meet in fight; And I will say, as still I've said, Thou art a noble knight." VI. "And I," the princely Bruce replied, "Might term it stain on knighthood's pride, That the bright sword of Argentine Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine; But, for your brave request, Be sure the honour'd pledge you gave. In every battle field shall wave Upon my helmet-crest; Believe, that if my hasty tongue Hath done thine honour causeless wrong, It shall be well redress'd. Not dearer to my soul was glove, Than this which thou hast given ! Thus, then, my noble foe I greet; And then-what pleases Heaven." VII. Thus parted they-for now, with sound Like waves roll'd back from rocky ground, The friends of Lorn retire ; Each mainland chieftain, with his train, Draws to his mountain towers again, Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain, And mortal hopes expire. But through the castle double guard, By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward, By beam and bolt and chain; Then of the guests, in courteous sort, He pray'd excuse for mirth broke short, And bade them in Artornish fort In confidence remain. Now torch and menial tendance led Chieftain and knight to bower and bed, And beads were told, and aves said, And soon they sunk away Into such sleep, as wont to shed Oblivion on the weary head, After a toilsome day. VIII. But soon up-roused, the Monarch cried To Edward slumbering by his side, "Awake, or sleep for aye! Even now there jarr'd a secret door- Up, Edward, up, I say! Some one glides in like midnight ghost→→ -Nay, strike not! 'tis our noble Host." Advancing then his taper's flame, Ronald stept forth, and with him came To Bruce in sign of fealty, And proffer'd him his sword, And hail'd him, in a monarch's stile, As king of mainland and of isle, And Scotland's rightful lord. "And O," said Ronald," Own'd of Heaven! Say, is my erring youth forgiven, By falsehood's arts from duty driven, Who rebel falchion drew, Yet ever to thy deeds of fame, Even while I strove against thy claim, Paid homage just and true ?" "Alas! dear youth, the unhappy time," Answer'd the Bruce, "must bear the crime, Since, guiltier far than you, Even I"-he paused; for Falkirk's woes Upon his conscious soul arose. The Chieftain to his breast he press'd, And in a sigh conceal'd the rest. IX. They proffer'd aid, by arms and might, But well their counsels must be weigh'd, |