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So say the blushes and the sighs,
The tremors that unbidden rise,
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame,
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came.

III.

Believe, his father's castle won,
And his bold enterprise begun,

That Bruce's earliest cares restore

The speechless page to Arran's shore;
Nor think that long the quaint disguise
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes;
And sister-like in love they dwell

In that lone convent's silent cell.

There Bruce's slow assent allows

Fair Isabel the veil and vows;

And there, her sex's dress regain'd,
The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd,
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far

Resounded with the din of war;

And many a month, and many a day,

In calm seclusion wore away.

IV.

' These days, these months, to years had worn, When tidings of high weight were borne

To that lone island's shore;

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Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers,
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers;

And they took term of truce,
If England's King should not relieve
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve,

To yield them to the Bruce.
England was roused-on every side
Courier and post and herald hied,

To summon prince and peer,

P

At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege,

With buckler, brand, and spear.
The term was nigh—they muster'd fast,
By beacon and by bugle-blast

Forth marshall'd for the field;

There rode each knight of noble name,
There England's hardy archers came,
The land they trode seem'd all on flame,

With banner, blade, and shield !
And not famed England's powers alone,
Renown'd in arms, the summons own;

For Neustria's knights obey'd, Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good, And Cambria, but of late subdued,

Sent forth her mountain-multitude,

And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude

Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.

V.

Right to devoted Caledon
The storm of war rolls slowly on,

With menace deep and dread;
So the dark clouds, with gathering power,
Suspend a while the threaten'd shower,
Till every peak and summit lower

Round the pale pilgrim's head. Not with such pilgrim's startled eye King Robert mark’d the tempest nigh!

Resolved the brunt to bide,

His royal summons warn’d the land,
That all who own’d their King's command
Should instant take the spear and brand,

To combat at his side.

O who may tell the sons of fame,
That at King Robert's bidding came,
To battle for the right !

From Cheviot to the shores of Ross,

From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss,

All boun'd them for the fight. Such news the royal courier tells, Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells ;

But farther tidings must the ear

Of Isabel in secret hear.

These in her cloister walk, next morn,

Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn.

VI.

« My Edith, can I tell how dear

Our intercourse of hearts sincere

Hath been to Isabel ?

Judge then the sorrow of my heart, When I must say the words, We part !

The cheerless convent-cell

Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee;

Go thou where thy vocation free

On happier fortunes fell.

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