V. "Kind Father, hie without delay, Into thy charge that stripling mute. Thus prays his sister Isabel, For causes more than she may tellAway, good father!-and take heed, That life and death are on thy speed." His cowl the good old priest did on, Took his piked staff and sandall'd shoon, And, like a palmer bent by eld, O'er moss and moor his journey held. VI. Heavy and dull the foot of age, And rugged was the pilgrimage; But none was there beside, whose care Through birchen copse he wander'd slow, By many a mountain stream he pass'd, Dashing to foam their waters dun, And sparkling in the summer sun. Round his grey head the wild curlew O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures wide Craved wary eye and ample stride; He cross'd his brow beside the stone, Where Druids erst heard victims groan, And at the cairns upon the wild, O'er many a heathen hero piled, He breathed a timid prayer for those There told his hours within the shade, The sun that sunk behind the isle, Now tinged them with a parting smile. VII. But though the beams of light decay, The Bruce's followers crowd the shore, Some raise the sail, some seize the oar; Their eyes oft turn'd where glimmer'd far But as, on Carrick shore, Dim seen in outline faintly blue, The shades of evening closer drew, It kindled more and more. The monk's slow steps now press the sands, And now amid a scene he stands, Full strange to churchman's eye; Warriors, who, arming for the fight, And twinkling spears, and axes bright, Oft, too, with unaccustom'd ears, A language much unmeet he hears, While, hastening all on board, As stormy as the swelling surge Their followers to the ocean verge, With many a haughty word. VIII. Through that wild throng the Father pass'd, And reach'd the Royal Bruce at last. That the approaching tide must float, And counted every rippling wave, As higher yet her sides they lave, And oft the distant fire he eyed, And closer yet his hauberk tied, Edward and Lennox were at hand, |