And Isabel, on bended knee, Brought pray'rs and tears to back the plea; And Edith lent her generous aid, And wept, and Lorn for mercy pray'd. I brought thee, like a paramour, XXVI. Then Argentine, in England's name, So highly urged his sovereign's claim, He waked a spark, that, long suppress'd, Had smoulder'd in Lord Ronald's breast; And now, as from the flint the fire, Flash'd forth at once his generous ire. "Enough of noble blood," he said, "By English Edward had been shed, Since matchless Wallace first had been In mock'ry crown'd with wreaths of green, And done to death by felon hand, Have they not been on gibbet bound, Their quarters flung to hawk and hound, And hold we here a cold debate, To yield more victims to their fate? What! can the English Leopard's mood Never be gorged with northern blood? Was not the life of Athole shed, To sooth the tyrant's sicken'd bed? Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay !— Is prompt to prove the strife I wage." XXVII. "Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's knight, "That thou shalt brave alone the fight! By saints of isle and mainland both, By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath) Let Rome and England do their worst, If Bruce shall e'er find friends again, With twice a thousand at his back. Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold, Good Abbot! for thou know'st of old, Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will Nor will I barter Freedom's cause For England's wealth, or Rome's applause." XXVIII. The Abbot seem'd with eye severe, The hardy Chieftain's speech to hear; Twice fell his eye, his accents shook; That awful doom which canons tell Shuts paradise, and opens hell; Anathema of power so dread, It blends the living with the dead, And every ill one claim his prey; Expels thee from the church's care, And deafens Heaven against thy prayer ; Arms every hand against thy life, Bans all who aid thee in the strife, Nay, each whose succour, cold and scant, Haunts thee while living,-and, when dead, Dwells on thy yet devoted head, Rends Honour's scutcheon from thy hearse, Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, And spurns thy corpse from hallow'd ground, Flung like vile carrion to the hound! Such is the dire and desperate doom, For sacrilege decreed by Rome; And such the well-deserved meed Of thine unhallow'd, ruthless deed." |