Bondsman and serf; even female hand

Stretch'd 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.

To 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 banner'd host afar,

Bear down on England's wearied war.

XXXI.

Already scatter'd o'er the plain,

Reproof, command, and counsel vain,
The rearward squadrons fled amain,

Or made but doubtful stay

But when they mark'd 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

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 chace,

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 couch'd 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 unharm'd-a lance's point

Has found his breast-plate's loosen❜d joint,

An axe has razed his crest;

Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord,

Who press'd the chace with gory sword,

He rode with spear in rest,

And through his bloody tartans bored,
And through his gallant breast.

Nail'd 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 gush'd from the wound;

And the grim Lord of Colonsay

Hath turn'd him on the ground,

And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade The mortal thrust so well repaid.

XXXIII.

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 foree 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 breast-plate stream'd 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 fail'd to rouse the horse;

Wounded and weary, in mid course

He stumbled on the plain.