Bondsman and serf; even female hand Stretch'd to the hatchet or the brand; 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, 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, 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 I know his banner well. God send my Sovereign joy and bliss, 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, 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, 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 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 squadrons round free passage gave, 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. |