450

II.

Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower,
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,

And waked the solitary cell,

Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell.
Princess no more, fair Isabel,

A vot'ress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear
Dim veil and woollen scapulaire,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,

That stern and rigid vow,
Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold?—
And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?
No sister she of convent shade;

So say these locks in lengthen'd braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,
The tremors that unbidden rise,
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame,
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came.

And sister-like in love they dwell In that lone convent's silent cell. There Bruce's slow assent allows Fair Isabel the veil and vows; And there, her sex's dress regain'd, The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd, Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far Resounded with the din of war; And many a month, and many a day, In calm seclusion wore away.

IV.

These days, these months, to years had
worn,

When tidings of high weight were borne
To that lone island's shore;
Of all the Scottish conquests made
By the First Edward's ruthless blade,
His son retain'd no more,
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers,
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers;

And they took term of truce, 6
If England's King should not relieve
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve,
To yield them to the Bruce.
England was roused-on every side
Courier and post and herald hied,

To summon prince and peer,
At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege,
With buckler, brand, and spear.
The term was nigh-they muster'd fast,
By beacon and by bugle-blast

Forth marshall'd for the field;
There rode each knight of noble name,
There England's hardy archers came,
The land they trode seem'd all on flame,

With banner, blade, and shield!
And not famed England's powers alone,
Renown'd in arms, the summons own;
For Neustria's knights obey'd,
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good,
And Cambria, but of late subdued,
Sent forth her mountain-multitude,

And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude
Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd,10

Triumph's flashing gun.'

"

8 The MS. has not this ine.

2 See Appendix, Note 3 G.

3 Ibid, Note 3 H.

9 See Appendix, Note 3 N.

10 Ibid, Note 3 0

4 See Appendix, Note 3 1.

5 Ibid, Note 3 K.

11 MS.-"The gathering storm of war rolls on."

Not with such pilgrim's startled eye
King Robert mark'd the tempest nigh!

Resolved the brunt to bide,

His royal summons warn'd the land,
That all who own'd their King's command
Should instant take the spear and brand,'
To combat at his side.

O who may tell the sons of fame,
That at King Robert's bidding came,
To battle for the right!

From Cheviot to the shores of Ross,
From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss,
All boun'd them for the fight.
Such news the royal courier tells,
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells;
But farther tidings must the ear
Of Isabel in secret hear.

These in her cloister walk, next morn,
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn.

VI.

"My Edith, can I tell how dear
Our intercourse of hearts sincere
Hath been to Isabel ?—
Judge then the sorrow of my heart,
When I must say the words, We part!

The cheerless convent-cell

Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee;
Go thou where thy vocation free

On happier fortunes fell.
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray'd
Though Robert knows that Lora's high Maid
And his poor silent page were one.
Versed in the fickle heart of mar,
Earnest and anxious hath he look'd
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd
That gave him, with her last farewell,
The charge of Sister Isabel,
To think upon thy better right,

And keep the faith his promise plight.
Forgive him for thy sister's sake,
At first if vain repinings wake-

Long since that mood is gone:
Now dwells he on thy juster claims,
And oft his breach of faith he blames-
Forgive him for thine own!"

VII.

"No! never to Lord Ronald's bower Will I again as paramour

MS.-"Should instant belt them with the brand."
MS.-"From Solway's sands to wild Cape-Wrath,
From Ilay's Rinns to Colbrand's Path."

3 MS.-" And his mute page were one.
For, versant in the heart of man."

♦ MS." If brief and vain repinings wake.”

5 MS." Her lover's alter'd mood to try."

6 MS." Her aged sire had own'a his reign."

? The MS. here presents, erased—

"Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid,
Until my final tale be said!—
The good King Robert would engage
Edith once more his elfin page,
By her own heart, and her own eye,
Her lover's penitence to try-5
Safe in his royal charge and free,
Should such thy final purpose be,
Again unknown to seek the cell,
And live and die with Isabel."
Thus spoke the maid-King Robert's eyc
Might have some glance of policy;
Dunstaffnage had the monarch ta'en,
And Lorn had own'd King Robert's reign;
Her brother had to England fled,
And there in banishment was dead;
Ample, through exile, death, and flight,
O'er tower and land was Edith's right;
This ample right o'er tower and land
Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand.

VIII.

Embarrass'd eye and blushing cheek
Pleasure and shame, and fear bespeak.
Yet much the reasoning Edith made:
"Her sister's faith she must upbraid,
Who gave such secret, dark and dear,
In council to another's ear.

Why should she leave the peaceful cell!-

How should she part with Isabel ?—
How wear that strange attire agen?—
How risk herself 'midst martial men?--
And how be guarded on the way!-
At least she might entreat delay."
Kind Isabel, with secret smile,
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile,
Reluctant to be thought to move
At the first call of truant love.7

Arm'd all on foot, that host appears
A serried mass of glimmering spears.
There stood the Marchers' warlike band,
The warriors there of Lodon's land;
Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew,
A band of archers fierce, though few;
The men of Nith and Annan's vale,
And the bold Spears of Teviotdale;—
The dauntless Douglas these obey,
And the young Stuart's gentle sway.
North-eastward by Saint Ninian's shrine,
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine
The warriors whom the hardy North
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth.
The rest of Scotland's war-array
With Edward Bruce to westward lay,
Where Bannock, with his broken bank
And deep ravine, protects their flank.
Behind them, screen'd by sheltering wood,
The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood:
His men-at-arms bear mace and lance,

And plumes that wave, and helms that glance.
Thus fair divided by the King,
Centre, and right, and left-ward wing,
Composed his front; nor distant far
Was strong reserve to aid the war.
And 'twas to front of this array,
Her guide and Edith made their way.

XIII.

Here must they pause; for, in advance
As far as one might pitch a lance,
The Monarch rode along the van,1
The foe's approaching force to scan,
His line to marshal and to range,

And ranks to square, and fronts to change.
Alone he rode-from head to heel
Sheathed in his ready arms of steel;
Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight,
But, till more near the shock of fight,
Reining a palfrey low and light.
A diadem of gold was set
Above his bright steel basinet,
And clasp'd within its glittering twine
Was seen the glove of Argentine;
Truncheon or leading staff he lacks,
Bearing, instead, a battle-axe.
He ranged his soldiers for the fight,
Accoutred thus, in open sight
Of either host.-Three bowshots far,
Paused the deep front of England's war,
And rested on their arms awhile,
To close and rank their warlike file,
And hold high council, if that night
Should view the strife, or dawning light.

See Appendix, Note 3 T. * MS.-"Offair,

bright, } yet fearful," &c.

MS.-"Princely blood," &c.

XIV.

O gay, yet fearful to behold,
Flashing with steel and rough with gold,
And bristled o'er with bills and spears,
With plumes and pennons waving fair,
Was that bright battle-front! for there

Rode England's King and peers:
And who, that saw that monarch ride,
His kingdom battled by his side,
Could then his direful doom foretell!-
Fair was his seat in knightly selle,
And in his sprightly eye was set
Some spark of the Plantagenet.
Though light and wandering was his glance,
It flash'd at sight of shield and lance.
"Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine,
Yon knight who marshals thus their line?"-
"The tokens on his helmet tell

The Bruce, my Liege: I know him well.""And shall the audacious traitor brave The presence where our banners wave ?". "So please my Liege," said Argentine, "Were he but horsed on steed like mine, To give him fair and knightly chance, I would adventure forth my lance."— "In battle-day," the King replied, "Nice tourney rules are set aside. -Still must the rebel dare our wrath? Set on him-sweep him from our path!" And, at King Edward's signal, soon Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Boune.

XV.

Of Hereford's high blood 3 he came,
A race renown'd for knightly fame.
He burn'd before his Monarch's eye
To do some deed of chivalry.

He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd his lance,
And darted on the Bruce at once.
-As motionless as rocks, that bide
The wrath of the advancing tide,

The Bruce stood fast.-Each breast beat higli,
And dazzled was each gazing eye-
The heart had hardly time to think,
The eyelid scarce had time to wink,
While on the King, like flash of flame,
Spurr'd to full speed the war-horse came!
The partridge may the falcon mock,
If that slight palfrey stand the shock-
But, swerving from the Knight's career,
Just as they met, Bruce shunn'd the spear."
Onward the baffled warrior bore

His course-but soon his course was o'er --
High in his stirrups stood the King,
And gave his battle-axe the swing.

4 MS. "The heart took hardly time to think, The eyelid scarce had space to wink."

5 MS."Just as they closed in full career, Bruce swerved the palfrey from the spear

Right on De Boune, the whiles he pass'd, Fell that stern dint-the first-the last !Such strength upon the blow was put, The helmet crash'd like hazel-nut; The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, Was shiver'd to the gauntlet grasp. Springs from the blow the startled horse, Drops to the plain the lifeless corse; -First of that fatal field, how soon, How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune!

XVI.

One pitying glance the Monarch sped,
Where on the field his foe lay dead;
Then gently turn'd his palfrey's head,
And, pacing back his sober way,
Slowly he gain'd his own array.

There round their King the leaders crowd,
And blame his recklessness aloud,
That risk'd 'gainst each adventurous spear
A life so valued and so dear.
His broken weapon's shaft survey'd
The King, and careless answer made,-
66 My loss may pay my folly's tax;
I've broke my trusty battle-axe."
"Twas then Fitz-Louis, bending low,
Did Isabel's commission show;
Edith, disguised at distance stands,
And hides her blushes with her hands.
The Monarch's brow has changed its hue,
Away the gory axe he threw,
While to the seeming page he drew,

Clearing war's terrors from his eye. Her hand with gentle ease he took, With such a kind protecting look,

As to a weak and timid boy Might speak, that elder brother's care And elder brother's love were there.

XVII.

"Fear not," he said, "young Amadine!” Then whisper'd, "Still that name be thine. Fate plays her wonted fantasy,' Kind Amadine, with thee and me, And sends thee here in doubtful hour. But soon we are beyond her power; For on this chosen battle-plain, Victor or vanquish'd, I remain. Do thou to yonder hill repair; The followers of our host are there, And all who may not weapons bear.Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care.— Joyful we meet, if all go well; If not, in Arran's holy cell Thou must take part with Isabel;

For brave Lord Ronald, too, hath sworn, Not to regain the Maid of Lorn, (The bliss on earth he covets most,) Would he forsake his battle-post, Or shun the fortune that may fall To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all.But, hark! some news these trumpets tell; Forgive my haste-farewell!-farewell!"And in a lower voice he said, "Be of good cheer-farewell, sweet maid!'

XVIII.

י!

"What train of dust, with trumpet-sound And glimmering spears, is wheeling round Our leftward flank?"-the Monarch cried, To Moray's Earl who rode beside. "Lo! round thy station pass the foes! Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." The Earl his visor closed, and said, "My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade.

Follow, my household !"-And they go Like lightning on the advancing foe. "My Liege," said noble Douglas then, "Earl Randolph has but one to ten:◄ Let me go forth his band to aid!""Stir not. The error he hath made. Let him amend it as he may;

-

I will not weaken mine array." Then loudly rose the conflict-cry, And Douglas's brave heart swell'd high,"My Liege," he said, "with patient ear I must not Moray's death-knell hear!""Then go-but speed thee back again.”. Forth sprung the Douglas with his train: But, when they won a rising hill, He bade his followers hold them still."See, see! the routed Southern fly! The Earl hath won the victory. Lo! where yon steeds run masterless, His banner towers above the press. Rein up; our presence would impair The fame we come too late to share." Back to the host the Douglas rode, And soon glad tidings are abroad,5 That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph slain. His followers fled with loosen'd rein.That skirmish closed the busy day, And couch'd in battle's prompt array, Each army on their weapons lay.