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Were drowned amid the shriller clang
That from the blades and harness rang,
And in the battle-yell.

Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot,
Both Southron 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.
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust.
Douglas leans on his war-sword now,
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow;
Nor less had toiled each Southern knight,
From morn till mid-day in the fight.
Strong Egremont for air must gasp,
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp,
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!"—

66

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 spcarmen, 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,
For Scotland, liberty, and life,
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 relics of the field,

Renews the ranks where they have reeled,
And still makes good the line.

Brief strife, but fierce, his efforts raise,
A bright but momentary blaze.
Fair Edith heard the Southron shout,
Beheld them turning from the rout,
Heard the wild call their trumpets sent,
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament.
That rallying force, combined anew,
Appeared, in her distracted view,
To hem the isles-men round;
"O God! the combat they renew,
And is no rescue found!
And ye that look thus tamely on,
And see your native land o'erthrown,
O are your hearts of flesh or stone?"-

XXX.

The multitude that watched afar,
Rejected from the ranks of war,
Had not unmoved beheld the fight,
When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right;
Each heart had caught the patriot spark,
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk,
Bondsman and serf; even female hand
Stretched to the hatchet or the brand;
But, when mute Amadine they heard
Give to their zeal his signal-word,

A frenzy fired the throng;-
"Portents and miracles impeach
Our sloth-the dumb our duties teach-
And He that gives the mute his speech
Can bid the weak be strong.

Te us, as to our lords, are given
A native earth, a promised heaven;
To us, as to our lords, belongs

The vengeance for our nation's wrongs;

The choice, 'twixt death or freedom, warms
Our breasts as theirs-To arms, to arms !"-
To arms they flew,-axe, club, or spear,-
And mimic ensigns high they rear,
And, like a bannered host afar,
Bear down on England's wearied war.

XXXI.

Already 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 marshalled 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.”-

XXXII.

Again he faced the battle-field,-. Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield. "Now then," he said, and couched his spear, 66 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 unharmed-a lance's point

Has found his breast-plate's loosened joint,
An axe has razed his crest;

Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord,
Who pressed 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 laughed in death-pang, that his blade
The mortal thrust so well repaid.

XXXIII.

Now toiled the Bruce, the battle done,
To use his conquest boldly won;
And gave command for horse and spear
To press the Southron's scattered rear,
Nor let his broken force combine,
-When the war-cry of Argentine
Fell faintly on his ear!

"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 breastplate streamed with gore:
Yet, as he saw the King advance,

He strove even then to couch his lance

The effort was in vain !

The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse;
Wounded and weary, in mid course
He stumbled on the plain.

Then foremost was the generous Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to loose:-
"Lord Earl, the day is thine !
My Sovereign's charge, and adverse fate,
Have made our meeting all too late:
Yet this may Argentine,

As boon from ancient comrade, crave-
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave."

XXXIV.

Bruce pressed his dying hand-its grasp
Kindly replied; but, in his clasp,
It stiffened and grew cold-
And, "O farewell!" the victor cried,
"Of chivalry the flower and pride,
The arm in battle bold,

The courteous mien, the noble race,
The stainless faith, the manly face!-

Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine,

For late wake of De Argentine.

O'er better knight on death-bier laid,

Torch never gleamed nor mass was said !"

XXXV.

Nor for De Argentine alone

Through Ninian's church these torches shone,
And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.

That yellow lustre glimmered pale,

On broken plate and bloodied mail,
Rent crest and shattered coronet,
Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret ;
And the best names that England knew,
Claimed in the death-prayer dismal due.
Yet mourn not, Land of Fame !
Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield
Retreated from so sad a field,

Since Norman William came.
Oft may thine annals justly boast
Of battles stern by Scotland lost;
Grudge not her victory,

When for her free-born rights she strove;
Rights dear to all who freedom love,—
To none so dear as thee!

XXXVI.

Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear;
With him, a hundred voices tell
Of prodigy and miracle,

"For the mute page had spoke."
"Page!" said Fitz-Louis, "rather say,
An angel sent from realms of day,
To burst the English yoke.

I saw his plume and bonnet drop,
When hurrying from the mountain top;
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave,
To his bright eyes new lustre gave,
A step as light upon the green

As if his pinions waved unseen!"

"Spoke he with none ?"-"With none-one word Burst when he saw the Island Lord,

Returning from the battle field."

"What answer made the Chief?"-" He kneeled,

Durst not look up, but muttered low,

Some mingled sounds that none might know,

And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear,

As being of superior sphere."

XXXVII.

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain,

Heaped then with thousands of the slain,

'Mid victor monarch's musings high,

Mirth laughed in good King Robert's eye.
"And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair?
Hath Ronald kneeled to him?" he said,
"Then must we call the church to aid-
Our will be to the abbot known,
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight he pass,
And deck the church for solemn mass,
To pay, for high deliverance given,
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.

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