He practised every pass and ward,
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;
While less expert, though stronger far,
The Gael maintained unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood,
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood;
No stinted draught, no scanty tide,
The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,
And shower'd his blows like wintry rain:
And, as firm rock, or castle roof,
Against the winter shower is proof,
The foe, invulnerable still,
Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill;
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand,
And backward borne upon the lea,
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.
"Now, yield thee, or by Him who made
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!""Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy!
Let recreant yield who fears to die."-
Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
Like mountain-cat who guards her young,
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung;
Receiv'd, but recked not of a wound,
And lock'd his arms his foeman round.—
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel
Through bars of brass and triple steel!-
They tug, they strain! Down, down they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd,
His knee was planted on his breast;
His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his sight,
Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright!-
But hate and fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide,
And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the odds of deadly game;
For, while the dagger gleam'd on high,
Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye.
Down came the blow! but in the heath
The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp;
Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.
Death of Be Argentine.
(From "The Lord of the Isles.")
BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN, A.D. 1314.-" Edward, who was not deficient in personal bravery, spurred on his charger to partake in the battle, but the Earl of Pembroke wisely interposed, and led him to a distance. Giles d'Argentye, a renowned knight, had hitherto been charged with the defence of the royal person; now seeing the king (Edward II.) out of danger, he bade him farewell, and turning his horse, rode back to the enemy. He cried," an Argentye," rushed into the hottest part of the fight, and soon met that death which he sought."-Lingard, vol. III., p. 299.
LREADY scattered o'er the plain,
Reproof, command, and counsel vain,
The rearward squadrons fled amain,
Or made but doubtful stay :-
But when they marked the seeming show
Of fresh and fierce and marshall'd foe,
The boldest broke array,
O give their hapless prince his due!
In vain the royal Edward threw
His person 'mid the spears,
Cried "Fight!" to terror and despair,
Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair,
And cursed their caitiff fears;
Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein,
And forced him from the fatal plain.
With them rode Argentine, until
They gained the summit of the hill,
But quitted there the train :-
"In yonder field a gage I left,--
I must not live, of fame bereft;
I needs must turn again.
Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace
The fiery Douglas takes the chase,
I know his banner well.
God send my Sovereign joy and bliss,
And many a happier field than this!—
Once more, my liege, farewell."-
Again he faced the battle-field,—
Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield,
"Now then," he said, and couch'd his spear,
My course is run,-the goal is near:
One effort more, one brave career,
Must close this race of mine."
Then in his stirrups rising high,
He shouted loud his battle-cry,
"Saint James for Argentine !"
And, of the bold pursuers, four
The gallant knight from saddle bore;
But not unharm'd—a lance's point
Has found his breast-plate's loosen'd joint,
An axe has razed his crest:
But still on Colonsay's fierce lord,
Who press'd the chase with gory sword,
He rode with spear in rest,
And through his bloody tartans bored,
And through his gallant breast
Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer
Yet writhed him up against the spear,
And swung his broad-sword round!-
Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way
Beneath that blow's tremendous sway,—
The blood gushed from the wound;
And the grim Lord of Colonsay
Hath turned him on the ground,
And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade
The mortal thrust so well repaid.
Now toil'd the Bruce, the battle done,
To use his conquest boldly won ;
And gave command for horse and spear
To press
the Southern's scatter'd rear,
Nor let his broken force combine,—
When the war-cry of Argentine
Fell faintly on his ear!
66
Save, save his life!" he cried; O save
The kind, the noble, and the brave!”-
The squadrons round free passage gave;
The wounded knight drew near.
He raised his red-cross shield no more;
Helm, cuish, and breast-plate, stream'd with
Yet, as he saw the King advance,
He strove even then to couch his lance
The effort was in vain!
The spur-stroke fail'd to rouse the horse;
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