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Upon the right, behind the wood,
Each by his steed dismounted, stood

The Scottish chivalry;

With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain
His own keen heart, his eager train,
Until the archers gain'd the plain;

Then, "Mount, ye gallants free!" He cried; and, vaulting from the ground, His saddle every horseman found.

On high their glittering crests' they toss, As springs the wild-fire from the moss; The shield hangs down on every breast, Each ready lance is in the rest,

And loud shouts Edward Bruce,"Forth, Marshal! on the peasant foe! We'll tame the terrors of their bow,

And cut the bow-string loose!" 2

XXIII.

Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks,
They rush'd among the archer ranks.
No spears were there the shock to let,
No stakes to turn the charge were set,
And how shall yoeman's armour slight,
Stand the long lance and mace of might?
Or what may their short swords avail,
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail?
Amid their ranks the chargers sprung,
High o'er their heads the weapons swung,
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout
Give note of triumph and of rout!
Awhile, with stubborn hardihood,
Their English hearts the strife made good.
Borne down at length on every side,
Compell'd to flight, they scatter wide.-
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee,
And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee'
The broken bows of Bannock's shore
Shall in the greenwood ring no more!
Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now,
The maids may twine the summer bough,
May northward look with longing glance,
For those that wont to lead the dance,
For the blithe archers look in vain!
Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en,

Pierced through, trode down, by thousands slain,
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain.

XXIV.

The King with scorn beheld their flight.
"Are these," he said, "our yeomen wight
Each braggart churl could boast before,
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore! 3
Fitter to plunder chase or park,
Than make a manly foe their mark.-
Forward, each gentleman and knight!
Let gentle blood show generous might,
And chivalry redeem the fight!"
To rightward of the wild affray,
The field show'd fair and level way;

But, in mid-space, the Bruce's care
Had bored the ground with many a pit.
With turf and brushwood hidden yet,5
That form'd a ghastly snare.
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came,
With spears in rest, and hearts on flame,
That panted for the shock!
With blazing crests and banners spread,
And trumpet-clang and clamour dread,
The wide plain thunder'd to their tread,
As far as Stirling rock.
Down! down! in headlong overthrow,
Horseman and horse, the foremost go,
Wild floundering on the field!
The first are in destruction's gorge,
Their followers wildly o'er them urge;—
The knightly helm and shield,
The mail, the acton, and the spear,
Strong hand, high heart, are useless

here!

Loud from the mass confused the cry
Of dying warriors swells on high,
And steeds that shriek in agony 17
They came like mountain-torrent red,
That thunders o'er its rocky bed;

They broke like that same torrent's wave
When swallow'd by a darksome cave.
Billows on billows burst and boil,
Maintaining still the stern turmoil,
And to their wild and tortured groan
Each adds new terrors of his own!

XXV.

Too strong in courage and in might Was England yet, to yield the fight. Her noblest all are here;

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Names that to fear were never known,
Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton,

And Oxford's famed De Vere.
There Gloster plied the bloody sword,
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford,

Bottetourt and Sanzavere,

Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came,1

And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame-
Names known too well in Scotland's war,
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar,
Blazed broader yet in after years,
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers.
Pembroke with these, and Argentine,
Brought up the rearward battle-line.
With caution o'er the ground they tread,
Slippery with blood and piled with dead,
Till hand to hand in battle set,

The bills with spears and axes met,
And, closing dark on every side,
Raged the full contest far and wide.
Then was the strength of Douglas tried,
Then proved was Randolph's generous pride,
And well did Stewart's actions grace
The sire of Scotland's royal race!

Firmly they kept their ground;
As firmly England onward press'd,
And down went many a noble crest,
And rent was many a valiant breast,

And Slaughter revell'd round.

XXVI. Unflinching foot 3 'gainst foot was set, Unceasing blow by blow was met;

The groans of those who fell.

Were drown'd amid the shriller clang
That from the blades and harness rang,
And in the battle-yell.

Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot,
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot;
And O! amid that waste of life,
What various motives fired the strife!
The aspiring Noble bled for fame,
The Patriot for his country's claim;

1 MS." Ross, Tybtot, Neville, Mauley, came."

2 MS.-" Names known of yore," &c.

a MS." Unshifting foot," &c.

4"All these, life's rambling journey done,

Have found their home, the grave."-COWPER.

5 "The dramatic, and even Shakspearian spirit of much of this battle must, we think, strike and delight the reader. We pass over much alternate, and much stubborn and 'unflinching' contest

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This Knight his youthful strength to prove, And that to win his lady's love;

Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood, From habit some, or hardihood.

But ruffian stern, and soldier good,

The noble and the slave, From various cause the same wild road, On the same bloody morning, trode, To that dark inn, the grave!*

XXVII.

The tug of strife to flag begins,
Though neither loses yet nor wins.5
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,"
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust.
Douglas leans on his war-sword now,
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow;
Nor less had toil'd each Southern knight,
From morn till mid-day in the fight.
Strong Egremont for air must gasp,
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp,
And Montague must quit his spear,
And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere!
The blows of Berkley fall less fast,
And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast
Hath lost its lively tone;
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word,
And Percy's shout was fainter heard
"My merry-men, fight on!"

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6 "The adventures of the day are versified rather too literally from the contemporary chronicles. The following passage, however, is emphatic; and exemplifies what this author has so often exemplified, the power of well-chosen and wellarranged names, to excite lofty emotions, with little aid either from sentiment or description."-JEFFREY.

7 MS." The sinking," &c.

8 See Appendix, Note 4 C.

9 MS." Then hurry to the shock!"

"Carrick, press on— -they fail, they fail ! Press on, brave sons of Innisgail,

The foe is fainting fast!

Each strike for parent, child, and wife,
For Scotland, liberty, and life,-
The battle cannot last!"

XXIX.

The fresh and desperate onset bore
The foes three furlongs back and more,
Leaving their noblest in their gore.

Alone, De Argentine

Yet bears on high his red-cross shield,
Gathers the relics of the field,
Renews the ranks where they have reel'd,

And still makes good the line.
Brief strife, but fierce,-his efforts raise
A bright but momentary blaze.
Fair Edith heard the Southron shout,
Beheld them turning from the rout,
Heard the wild call their trumpets sent,
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament.
That rallying force, combined anew,
Appear'd in her distracted view,

To hem the Islesmen round;
"O God! the combat they renew,
And is no rescue found!
And ye that look thus tamely on,
And see your native land o'erthrown,
O! are your hearts of flesh or stone?" 1

XXX.

The multitude that watch'd afar,
Rejected from the ranks of war,
Had not unmoved beheld the fight,

When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right;
Each heart had caught the patriot spark,
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk,
Bondsman and serf; even female hand
Stretch'd to the hatchet or the brand;
But, when mute Amadine they heard
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,3

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And cursed their caitiff fears;
Till Pembroke turn'd his bridle rein,
And forced him from the fatal plain.
With them rode Argentine, until
They gain'd the summit of the hill,
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
The fiery Douglas takes the chase,

I know his banner well.
God send my Sovereign joy and bliss,
And many a happier field than this!-
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, "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,
He shouted loud his battle-cry,

"Saint James for Argentine!"
And, of the bold pursuers, four
The gallant knight from saddle bore;
But not unharm'd-a lance's point
Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint,
An axe has razed his crest;
Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord,
Who press'd the chase with gory sword,
He rode with spear in rest,
And through his bloody tartans bored,
And through his gallant breast.
Nail'd to the earth, the mountaineer
Yet writhed him up against the spear,
And swung his broadsword round!

1 MS.

"of lead or stone."

2 MS.-" To us, as well as them, belongs."

8 See Appendix, Note 4 D.

4 MS.-" And rode in bands away."

5 See Appendix, Note 4 E.

6 MS." And bade them hope amid despair."

7 The MS. has not the seven lines which follow.

-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;1
And gave command for horse and spear
To press the Southron's scatter'd rear,
Nor let his broken force combine,
-When the war-cry of Argentine

Fell faintly on his ear;

"Save, save his life," he cried, "O save The kind, the noble, and the brave!" The squadrons round free passage gave, The wounded knight drew near; He raised his red-cross shield no more, Helm, cuish, and breastplate 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.
Then foremost was the generous Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to loose ;-

"Lord Earl, the day is thine!

My Sovereign's charge, and adverse fate,
Have made our meeting all too late:
Yet this may Argentine,

As boon from ancient comrade, crave-
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave."

XXXIV.

Bruce press'd his dying hand-its grasp Kindly replied; but, in his clasp,

1 MS.-"Now toil'd the Bruce as leaders ought, To use his conquest boldly bought."

2 See Appendix, Note 4 F.

3 MS." And the best names that England owns Swell the sad death-prayer's dismal tones."

4 MS." When for her rights her sword was bare, Rights dear to all who freedom share."

5 "The fictitious part of the story is, on the whole, the least interesting-though we think that the author has hazarded rather too little embellishment in recording the adventures of the Bruce. There are many places, at least, in which he has evidently given an air of heaviness and flatness to his narration, by adhering too closely to the authentic history; and has lowered down the tone of his poetry to the tame level of the rude chroniclers by whom the incidents were originally recorded. There is a more serious and general fault, however, in the conduct of all this part of the story,—and that is, that it is not sufficiently national-and breathes nothing either of that animosity towards England, or that exultation over her defeat, which must have animated all Scotland at the period to which he refers; and ought, consequently, to have been the ruling passion of his poem. Mr. Scott, however, not only

It stiffen'd and grew cold"And, O farewell!" the victor cried, "Of chivalry the flower and pride,

The arm in battle bold,

The courteous mien, the noble race,
The stainless faith, the manly face!-
Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine,
For late-wake of De Argentine.

O'er better knight on death-bier laid,
Torch never gleam'd nor mass was said!"

XXXV.

Nor for De Argentine alone,

Through Ninian's church these torches shone, And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.2

That yellow lustre glimmer'd pale,

On broken plate and bloodied mail,
Rent crest and shatter'd coronet,

Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret;
And the best names that England knew,
Claim'd in the death-prayer dismal due.3
Yet mourn not, Land of Fame!
Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield
Retreated from so sad a field,

Since Norman William came.
Oft may thine annals justly boast
Of battles stern by Scotland lost;

Grudge not her victory,

When for her freeborn rights she strove;
Rights dear to all who freedom love,
To none so dear as thee!5

XXXVI.

Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear;
With him, a hundred voices tell
Of prodigy and miracle,

"For the mute page had spoke.”— "Page!" said Fitz-Louis, " rather say, An angel sent from realms of day, To burst the English yoke.

dwells fondly on the valour and generosity of the invaders, but actually makes an elaborate apology to the English for having ventured to select for his theme a story which records their disasters. We hope this extreme courtesy is not intended merely to appease critics, and attract readers in the southern part of the island-and yet it is difficult to see for what other purposes it could be assumed. Mr. Scott certainly need not have been afraid either of exciting rebellion among his countrymen, or of bringing his own liberality and loyalty into question, although, in speaking of the events of that remote period, where an overbearing conqueror was overthrown in a lawless attempt to subdue an independent kingdom, he had given full expression to the hatred and exultation which must have prevailed among the victors, and are indeed the only passions which can be supposed to be excited by the story of their exploits. It is not natural, and we are sure it is not poetical, to represent the agents in such tremendous scenes as calm and indulgent judges of the motives or merits of their opponents; and, by lending such a character to the leaders of his host, the author has actually lessened the interest of the mighty fight of Bannockburn, to that which might be supposed to belong to a wellregulated tournament among friendly rivals."—JEFFREY.

I saw his plume and bonnet drop,
When hurrying from the mountain top;
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave,
To his bright eyes new lustre gave,

A step as light upon the green,

As if his pinions waved unseen!"

"Spoke he with none?"-" With none-one word
Burst when he saw the Island Lord,'
Returning from the battle-field."-

"What answer made the Chief?"-" He kneel'd,
Durst not look up, but mutter'd low,
Some mingled sounds that none might know,
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear,
As being of superior sphere."

XXXVII.

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain,
Heap'd then with thousands of the slain,
'Mid victor monarch's musings high,
Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's eye.
"And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair?
Hath Ronald kneel'd to him?" he said,
"Then must we call the church to aid-
Our will be to the Abbot known,
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass,
And deck the church for solemn mass,3
To pay for high deliverance given,

A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.

Let him array, besides, such state,
As should on princes' nuptials wait.
Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite,
That once broke short that spousal rite,
Ourself will grace, with early morn,
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."4

CONCLUSION.

Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way; Go boldly forth; nor yet thy master blame, Who chose no patron for his humble lay, And graced thy numbers with no friendly name, Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to fame. There was-and O! how many sorrows crowd Into these two brief words!-there was a claim By generous friendship given--had fate allow'd, It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the proud!

All angel now-yet little less than all, While still a pilgrim in our world below! What 'vails it us that patience to recall, Which hid its own to soothe all other woe; What 'vails to tell, how Virtue's purest glow Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair:5 And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know, That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair, Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither there! 6

1 MS.-" Excepted to the Island Lord, When turning," &c.

2 MS."Some mingled sounds of joy and woe." 3 The MS. adds:

"That priests and choir, with morning beams, Prepare, with reverence as beseems,

To pay," &c.

4" Bruce issues orders for the celebration of the nuptials; whether they were ever solemnized, it is impossible to say. As critics, we should certainly have forbidden the banns; because, although it is conceivable that the mere lapse of time might not have eradicated the passion of Edith, yet how such a circumstance alone, without even the assistance of an interview, could have created one in the bosom of Ronald, is altogether inconceivable. He must have proposed to marry her merely from compassion, or for the sake of her lands; and, upon either supposition, it would have comported with the delicacy of Edith to refuse his proffered hand.”—Quarterly Review.

"To Mr. James Ballantyne.-Dear Sir,-You have now the whole affair, excepting two or three concluding stanzas. As your taste for bride's-cake may induce you to desire to know more of the wedding, I will save you some criticism by saying, I have settled to stop short as above.-Witness my hand,

"W. S."

5 The reader is referred to Mr. Hogg's "Pilgrims of the Sun" for some beautiful lines, and a highly interesting note, on the death of the Duchess of Buccleuch. See ante, p. 407.

6 The Edinburgh Reviewer (Mr. Jeffrey) says, "The story of the Lord of the Isles, in so far as it is fictitious, is palpably deficient both in interest and probability; and, in so far as it is founded on historical truth, seems to us to be objectionable, both for want of incident, and want of variety and connexion

in the incidents that occur. There is a romantic grandeur, however, in the scenery, and a sort of savage greatness and rude antiquity in many of the characters and events, which relieves the insipidity of the narrative, and atones for many defects in the execution."

After giving copious citations from what he considers as "the better parts of the poem," the critic says, "to give a complete and impartial idea of it, we ought to subjoin some from its more faulty passages. But this is but an irksome task at all times, and, with such an author as Mr. Scott, is both invidious and unnecessary. His faults are nearly as notorious as his beauties; and we have announced in the outset, that they are equally conspicuous in this as in his other productions. There are innumerable harsh lines and uncouth expressions,-passages of a coarse and heavy diction,-and details of uninteresting minuteness and oppressive explanation. It is needless, after this, to quote such couplets as

or

A damsel tired of midnight bark,
Or wanderers of a moulding stark,'-

'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful,
Unfit against the tide to pull, '-

or to recite the many weary pages which contain the colloquies of Isabel and Edith, and set forth the unintelligible reasons of their unreasonable conduct. The concerns of these two young ladies, indeed, form the heaviest part of the poem The mawkish generosity of the one, and the piteous fidelity of the other, are equally oppressive to the reader, and do not tend at all to put him in good humour with Lord Ronald,who, though the beloved of both, and the nominal hero of the work, is certainly as far as possible from an interesting person. The lovers of poetry have a particular aversion to the

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