As round the torch the leaders crowd,
Bruce read these chilling news aloud.
"What council, nobles, have we now?—
To ambush us in greenwood bough,
And take the chance which fate may send
To bring our enterprize to end,
Or shall we turn us to the main
As exiles, and embark again?"-
Answer'd fierce Edward, " Hap what may,
In Carrick, Carrick's Lord must stay.
I would not minstrels told the tale,
Wildfire or meteor1 made us quail.”—
Answer'd the Douglas, " If my Liege
May win yon walls by storm or siege,
Then were each brave and patriot heart
Kindled of new for loyal part."-
Answer'd Lord Ronald, "Not for shame
Would I that aged Torquil came,
And found, for all our empty boast,
Without a blow we fled the coast.
I will not credit that this land,
So famed for warlike heart and hand,
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce,
Will long with tyrants hold a truce."-
"Prove we our fate-the brunt we'll bide!"
So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried;
So said, so vow'd, the leaders all;
So Bruce resolved: "And in my hall
Since the Bold Southern make their home,
The hour of payment soon shall come,3
When with a rough and rugged host
Clifford may reckon to his cost.
Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell,
I'll lead where we may shelter well.”
Now ask you whence that wondrous light,
Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight?—
It ne'er was known5-yet grey-hair'd eld ·
A superstitious credence held,
That never did a mortal hand
Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand;
Nay, and that on the self-same night
When Bruce cross'd o'er, still gleams the
light.
Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor,
And glittering wave and crimson'd shore--
But whether beam celestial, lent
By Heaven to aid the King's descent,
Or fire hell-kindled from beneath,
To lure him to defeat and death,
Or were it but some meteor strange,
Of such as oft through midnight range,
Startling the traveller late and lone, I know not-and it ne'er was known.
Now up the rocky pass they drew, And Ronald, to his promise true, Still made his arm the stripling's stay, To aid him on the rugged way. "Now cheer thee, simple Amadine! Why throbs that silly heart of thine?"-That name the pirates to their slave (In Gaelic 'tis the Changeling) gave— "Dost thou not rest thee on my arm? Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm? Hath not the wild bull's treble hide This targe for thee and me supplied? Is not Clan-Colla's sword of steel? And, trembler, canst thou terror feel? Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart; From Ronald's guard thou shalt not part." -O! many a shaft, at random sent,
Finds mark the archer little meant!
And many a word, at random spoken,
May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified,
Close drew the page to Ronald's side;
A wild delirious thrill of joy
Was in that hour of agony,
As up the steepy pass he strove,
Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love!
The barrier of that iron shore,
The rock's steep ledge, is now climb'd o'er;
And from the castle's distant wall,
From tower to tower the warders call:
The sound swings over land and sea,7
And marks a watchful enemy.-
They gain'd the Chase, a wide domain
Left for the Castle's silvan reign,8
(Seek not the scene-the axe, the plough,
The boor's dull fence, have marr'd it now,)
But then, soft swept in velvet green
The plain with many a glade between,
Whose tangled alleys far invade
The depth of the brown forest shade.
Here the tall fern obscured the lawn,
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn;
There, tufted close with copsewood green,
Was many a swelling hillock seen;
And all around was verdure meet
For pressure of the fairies' feet.
The glossy holly loved the park,
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark,
6 MS.-" Such as through midnight ether range, Affrightening oft the traveller lone."
7 MS." Sounds sadly over land and sea."
8 See Appendix, Note 3 C.
MS." The dark-green holly loved the down,
The yew-tree lent its shadow brown."
And many an old oak, worn and bare,
With all its shiver'd boughs, was there.
Lovely between, the moonbeams fell
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell.
The gallant Monarch sigh'd to see
These glades so loved in childhood free.
Bethinking that, as outlaw now,
He ranged beneath the forest bough.1
Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they sped.
Well knew the band that measured tread,
When, in retreat or in advance,
The serried warriors move at once;
And evil were the luck, if dawn
Descried them on the open lawn.
Copses they traverse, brooks they cross,
Strain up the bank and o'er the moss.
From the exhausted page's brow 2
Cold drops of toil are streaming now;
With effort faint 3 and lengthen'd pause,
His weary step the stripling draws.
"Nay, droop not yet!" 4 the warrior said;
"Come, let me give thee ease and aid!
Strong are mine arms, and little care
A weight so slight as thine to bear.-
What! wilt thou not?-capricious boy!
Then thine own limbs and strength employ.
Pass but this night, and pass thy care,
I'll place thee with a lady fair,
Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell
How Ronald loves fair Isabel!"
Worn out, dishearten'd, and dismay'd,
Here Amadine let go the plaid;
His trembling limbs their aid refuse,5
He sunk among the midnight dews! 6
What may be done?-the night is gone-
The Bruce's band moves swiftly on--
Eternal shaine, if at the brunt
Lord Ronald grace not battle's front!-
"See yonder oak, within whose trunk
Decay a darken'd cell hath sunk;
Enter, and rest thee there a space,
Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face."
I will not be, believe me, far;
But must not quit the ranks of war.
Well will I mark the bosky bourne,
And soon, to guard thee hence, return.—
Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy!
But sleep in peace, and wake in joy."
In silvan lodging close bestow'd,8
He placed the page, and onward strode
With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook,
And soon the marching band o'ertook.
Thus strangely left, long sobb'd and wept
The page, till, wearied out, he slept-
A rough voice waked his dream-" Nay, here,
Here by this thicket, pass'd the deer—
Beneath that oak old Ryno staid-
What have we here?-a Scottish plaid,
And in its folds a stripling laid?
Come forth thy name and business tell!—
What, silent?-then I guess thee well,
The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell,
Wafted from Arran yester morn—
Come, comrades, we will straight return.
Our Lord may choose the rack should teach
To this young lurcher use of speech.
Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast.".
"Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast;
Unbound we'll lead him, fear it not;
'Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot."
The hunters to the castle sped,
And there the hapless captive led.
Stout Clifford in the castle-court
Prepared him for the morning sport;
And now with Lorn held deep discourse,
Now gave command for hound and horse."
War-steeds and palfreys paw'd the ground,
And many a deer-dog howl'd around.
To Amadine, Lorn's well-known word
Replying to that Southern Lord,
Mix'd with this clanging din, might seem
The phantasm of a fever'd dream.
The tone upon his ringing ears
Came like the sounds which fancy hears,
"Their moonlight muster on the beach, after the sudden frequent in the poem, it is, upon the whole, spirited and pleasextinction of this portentous flame, and their midnight marching. The scene in which Ronald is described sheltering Edith through the paternal fields of their royal leader, also display much beautiful painting, (stanzas 15 and 19.) After the castle is won, the same strain is pursued."-JEFFREY.
under his plaid, for the love which he bears to Isabel, is, we think, more poetically conceived than any other in the whole poem, and contains some touches of great pathos and beauty.” -Quarterly Review.
7 MS." And mantle in my plaid thy face."
8 MS." In silvan castle warm bestow'd, He left the page."
9 MS.-"And now with Lorn he spoke aside, And now to squire and yeoman cried. War-horse and palfrey," &c.
When in rude waves or roaring winds Some words of woe the muser finds, Until more loudly and more near, Their speech arrests the page's ear.1
"And was she thus," said Clifford," lost?
The priest should rue it to his cost!
What says the monk!"-" The holy Sire
Owns, that in masquer's quaint attire
She sought his skiff, disguised, unknown
To all except to him alone.
But, says the priest, a bark from Lorn 2
Laid them aboard that very morn,
And pirates seized her for their prey.
He proffer'd ransom-gold to pay,
And they agreed-but ere told o'er,
The winds blow loud, the billows roar;
They sever'd, and they met no more.
He deems-such tempest vex'd the coast-
Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost.
So let it be, with the disgrace
And scandal of her lofty race! 3
Thrice better she had ne'er been born,
Than brought her infamy on Lorn!”
Lord Clifford now the captive spied;-
"Whom, Herbert, hast thou there;" he cried.
"A spy we seized within the Chase,
A hollow oak his lurking place."-4
"What tidings can the youth afford?"—
"He plays the mute."" Then noose a cord-
Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom
For his plaid's sake."-" Clan-Colla's loom,"
Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace
Rather the vesture than the face,
"Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine;
Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine.
Give him, if my advice you crave,
His own scathed oak; 5 and let him wave
In air, unless, by terror wrung,
A frank confession find his tongue.-6
Nor shall he die without his rite;
-Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight,
And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath,
As they convey him to his death."-
"O brother! cruel to the last!"
Through the poor captive's bosom pass'd
The thought, but, to his purpose true
He said not, though he sigh'd, "Adieu!"
And will he keep his purpose still,
In sight of that last closing ill,7
When one poor breath, one single word,
May freedom, safety, life, afford?
Can he resist the instinctive call,
For life that bids us barter all?
Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd,
His nerves hath strung-he will not yield!
Since that poor breath, that little word,
May yield Lord Ronald to the sword.-8
Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide,
The griesly headsman 's by his side;
Along the greenwood Chase they bend,
And now their march has ghastly end!
That old and shatter'd oak beneath,
They destine for the place of death."
-What thoughts are his, while all in vain
His eye for aid explores the plain?
What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear,
He hears the death-prayer mutter'd near?
And must he die such death accurst,
Or will that bosom-secret burst?
Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew,
His trembling lips are livid blue;
The agony of parting life
Has nought to match that moment's strife!
But other witnesses are nigh,
Who mock at fear, and death defy!
Soon as the dire lament was play'd,
It waked the lurking ambuscade.
The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied
The cause, and loud in fury cried,10
"By Heaven, they lead the page to die,
And mock me in his agony !
They shall abye it!"-On his arm
Bruce laid strong grasp, "They shall not harm
A ringlet of the stripling's hair;
But, till I give the word, forbear.
-Douglas, lead fifty of our force
Up yonder hollow water-course,
And couch thee midway on the wold,
Between the flyers and their hold:
above the copse display'd,
Be signal of the ambush made.
-Edward, with forty spearmen, straight
Through yonder copse approach the gate,
And, when thou hear'st the battle-din,
Rush forward, and the passage win,
Secure the drawbridge-storm the port,
And man and guard the castle-court.--
The rest move slowly forth with me,
In shelter of the forest-tree,
Till Douglas at his post I see."
Like war-horse eager to rush on,
Compell'd to wait the signal blown,1
Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood bough,
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now,
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue,
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue.—
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye,
Sees the dark death-train moving by,
And, heedful, measures oft the space
The Douglas and his band must trace,
Ere they can reach their destined ground.
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound,
Now cluster round the direful tree
That slow and solemn company,
While hymn mistuned and mutter'd prayer
The victim for his fate prepare.—
What glances o'er the greenwood shade?
The spear that marks the ambuscade!—
"Now, noble Chief! I leave thee loose;
Upon them, Ronald!" said the Bruce.
"The Bruce, the Bruce!" to well-known cry His native rocks and woods reply.
"The Bruce, the Bruce!" in that dread word
The knell of hundred deaths was heard.
The astonish'd Southern gazed at first,
Where the wild tempest was to burst,
That waked in that presaging name.
Before, behind, around it came!
Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side
Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died.
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged,
And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged!
Full soon the few who fought were sped,
1 MS.-"Yet waiting for the trumpet tone."
2 MS.-"See the slow-death-train."
3 MS." And scarce his recollection," &c.
4 MS." A harder task fierce Edward waits, Whose ire assail'd the castle gates."
5 MS-"Where sober thought had fail'd. Upon the bridge himself he threw."
Nor better was their lot who fled, And met, 'mid terror's wild career, The Douglas's redoubted spear! Two hundred yeomen on that morn The castle left, and none return.
Not on their flight press'd Ronald's brand,
A gentler duty claim'd his hand.
He raised the page, where on the plain
His fear had sunk him with the slain:
And twice, that morn, surprise well near
Betray'd the secret kept by fear;
Once, when, with life returning, came
To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's name,
And hardly recollection3 drown'd
The accents in a murmuring sound;
And once, when scarce he could resist
The Chieftain's care to loose the vest,
Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast.
But then the Bruce's bugle blew,
For martial work was yet to do.
A harder task fierce Edward waits.
Ere signal given, the castle gates
His fury had assail'd; 4
Such was his wonted reckless mood,
Yet desperate valour oft made good,
Even by its daring, venture rude,
Where prudence might have fail'd.
Upon the bridge his strength he threw,5
And struck the iron chain in two,
By which its planks arose;
The warder next his axe's edge
Struck down upon the threshold ledge,
"Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge!
The gate they may not close.
Well fought the Southern in the fray,
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day,
But stubborn Edward forced his way 7
Against a hundred foes.
Loud came the cry, " The Bruce, the Bruce!" No hope or in defence or truce,
Fresh combatants pour in;
Mad with success, and drunk with gore,
They drive the struggling foe before,
And ward on ward they win.
Unsparing was the vengeful sword,
And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd,
The cry of death and conflict roar'd,
And fearful was the din!
6 MS.-"His axe was steel of temper'd edge.
That truth the warder well might pledge,
He sunk upon the threshold ledge!
The gate," &c.
7 MS.-"Well fought the English yeomen then,
And Lorn and Clifford play'd the men,
But Edward mann'd the pass he won
The startling horses plunged and flung,
Clamour'd the dogs till turrets rung,
Nor sunk the fearful cry,
Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groan'd in their agony !1
The valiant Clifford is no more;2
On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his gore.
But better hap had he of Lorn,
Who, by the foemen backward borne,
Yet gain'd with slender train the port,
Where lay his bark beneath the fort,
And cut the cable loose.3
Short were his shrift in that debate,
That hour of fury and of fate,
If Lorn encounter'd Bruce !4
Then long and loud the victor shout
From turret and from tower rung out,
The rugged vaults replied;
And from the donjon tower on high,
The men of Carrick may descry
Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry
Of silver, waving wide!
The Bruce hath won his father's hall!5 "Welcome, brave friends and comrades all,
Welcome to mirth and joy!
The first, the last, is welcome here,
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer,
To this poor speechless boy.
Great God! once more my sire's abode
Is mine-behold the floor I trode
In tottering infancy!
And there the vaulted arch, whose sound
Echoed my joyous shout and bound
In boyhood, and that rung around
To youth's unthinking glee!
O first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven,
Then to my friends, my thanks be given !"-
He paused a space, his brow he cross'd-
Then on the board his sword he toss'd,
Yet steaming hot; with Southern gore From hilt to point 'twas crimson'd o'er.
"Bring here," he said, "the mazers four,
My noble fathers loved of yore.?
Thrice let them circle round the board,
The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored!
And he whose lip shall touch the wine,
Without a vow as true as mine,
To hold both lands and life at nought,
Until her freedom shall be bought,-
Be brand of a disloyal Scot,
And lasting infamy his lot!
Sit, gentle friends! our hour of glee
Is brief, we'll spend it joyously!
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams,
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams.
Well is our country's work begun,
But more, far more, must yet be done.
Speed messengers the country through;
Arouse old friends, and gather new ;9
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail,
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale,
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts,
The fairest forms, the truest hearts!
Call all, call all! from Reedswair-Path,
To the wild confines of Cape-Wrath;
Wide let the news through Scotland ring,
The Northern Eagle claps his wing!"
O WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget 10
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathiess in the mart the couriers met,
Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime
Hail'd news on news, as field on field was won,11
1 The concluding stanza of "The Siege of Corinth tains an obvious, though, no doubt, an unconscious imitation of the preceding nine lines, magnificently expanded through an extent of about thirty couplets:
"All the living things that heard
That deadly earth-shock disappear'd;
The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
And howling left the unburied dead;
The camels from their keepers broke;
The distant steer forsook the yoke-
The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
And burst his girth, and tore his rein," &c.
2 In point of fact, Clifford fell at Bannockburn.
8 MS." And swiftly hoisted sail."
4 MS.-"Short were his shrift, if in that hour
Of fate, of fury, and of power,
He 'counter'd Edward Bruce!"
5 See Appendix, Note 3 D.
6 MS." And see the vaulted arch," &c.
7 See Appendix, Note 3 E.
8 MS. Be lasting infamy his lot,
And brand of a disloyal Scot!"
9 See Appendix, Note 3 F.
10 MS." Hast thou forgot?-No! who can e'er forget." 11" Who can avoid conjuring up the idea of men with broad sheets of foolscap scored with victories rolled round their hats, and horns blowing loud defiance in each other's mouth, from the top to the bottom of Pall Mall, or the Haymarket, when he reads such a passage? We actually hear the Park and Tower guns, and the clattering of ten thousand bells, as we read, and stop our ears from the close and sudden intrusion of the clamours of some hot and hornfisted patriot, blowing ourselves, as well as Bonaparte, to the devil! And what has all this to do with Bannockburn?"-Monthly Review.
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