XXII. Now, in the Castle-park, drew out Their chequered bands the joyous route. And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; But chief, beside the butts, there stand Bold Robin Hood and all his band,- Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone, Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; Their bugles challenge all that will, The Douglas bent a bow of might,— His first shaft centered in the white, And when in turn he shot again, His second split the first in twain. From the King's hand must Douglas take Fondly he watched, with watery eye, No kind emotion made reply! Indifferent as to archer wight, The Monarch gave the arrow bright. XXIII. Now, clear the Ring! for, hand to hand, The manly wrestlers take their stand. Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, Whom senseless home his comrades bear. Prize of the wrestling match, the King To Douglas gave a golden ring, While coldly glanced his eye of blue, As frozen drop of wintry dew. P Douglas would speak, but in his breast His struggling soul his words suppress'd: Indignant then he turned him where Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, To hurl the massive bar in air. When each his utmost strength had shewn, From its deep bed, then heaved it high, The grey-haired sires, who know the past, To strangers point the Douglas-cast, And moralize on the decay Of Scottish strength in modern day. XXIV. The vale with loud applauses rang, The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang; The King, with look unmoved, bestowed And threw the gold among the crowd, The old men mark'd, and shook the head, To see his hair with silver spread, And winked aside, and told each son Of feats upon the English done, Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand Was exiled from his native land. The women praised his stately form, Though wreck'd by many a winter's storm; The youth with awe and wonder saw His strength surpassing Nature's law. Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, Till murmur rose to clamours loud. Found safety underneath his shield; For he, whom royal eyes disown, When was his form to courtiers known! XXV. The Monarch saw the gambols flag, And bade let loose a gallant stag, Whose pride, the holiday to crown, Two favourite grey-hounds should pull down, That venison free, and Bourdeaux wine, Might serve the archery to dine. |