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.

XIV.

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 high,
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,1
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.

"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! 3
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.

XIX.

It was a night of lovely June,
High rode in cloudless blue the moon,
Demayet smiled beneath her ray;

MS.-"Earl Randolph's strength is one to ten."

5 MS. Back to his post the Douglas rode, And soon the tidings are abroad."

Old Stirling's towers arose in light,
And, twined in links of silver bright,
Her winding river lay.1
Ah, gentle planet! other sight
Shall greet thee next returning night,
Of broken arms and banners tore,
And marshes dark with human gore,
And piles of slaughter'd men and horse,
And Forth that floats the frequent corse,
And many a wounded wretch to plain
Beneath thy silver light in vain!

But now, from England's host, the cry
Thou hear'st of wassail revelry,
While from the Scottish legions pass

The murmur'd prayer, the early mass!—
Here, numbers had presumption given;

There, bands o'er-match'd sought aid from Heaven.

XX.

On Gillie's-hill, whose height commands

The battle-field, fair Edith stands,
With serf and page unfit for war,
To eye the conflict from afar.
O! with what doubtful agony

She sees the dawning tint the sky!—
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun,

And glistens now Demayet dun;
Is it the lark that carols shrill,

Is it the bittern's early hum?
No!-distant, but increasing still,
The trumpet's sound swells up the hill,
With the deep murmur of the drum.
Responsive from the Scottish host,
Pipe-clang and bugle sound were toss'd,2
His breast and brow each soldier cross'd,
And started from the ground;
Arm'd and array'd for instant fight,
Rose archer, spearman, squire and knight,
And in the pomp of battle bright

The dread battalia frown'd.3

XXI.

Now onward, and in open view,

The countless ranks of England drew,
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide,

When the rough west hath chafed his pride,
And his deep roar sends challenge wide
To all that bars his way!

In front the gallant archers trode,
The men-at-arms behind them rode,

And midmost of the phalanx broad

The Monarch held his sway. Beside him many a war-horse fumes, Around him waves a sea of plumes, Where many a knight in battle known, And some who spurs had first braced on, And deem'd that fight should see them won,

King Edward's hests obey.

De Argentine attends his side,
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride,
Selected champions from the train,

To wait upon his bridle-rein.

Upon the Scottish foe he gazed-

-At once, before his sight amazed, Sunk banner, spear, and shield; Each weapon-point is downward sent, Each warrior to the ground is bent. "The rebels, Argentine, repent!

For pardon they have kneel'd."-5 "Aye!-but they bend to other powers, And other pardon sue than ours! See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands, And blesses them with lifted hands!" Upon the spot where they have kneel'd, These men will die, or win the field.”— "Then prove we if they die or win! Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin."

XXII.

Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high,
Just as the Northern ranks arose,
Signal for England's archery

To halt and bend their bows.
Then stepp'd each yeoman forth a pace,
Glanced at the intervening space,

And raised his left hand high;
To the right ear the cords they bring-7
-At once ten thousand bow-strings ring,
Ten thousand arrows fly!

Nor paused on the devoted Scot
The ceaseless fury of their shot;

As fiercely and as fast,

Forth whistling came the grey-goose wing As the wild hailstones pelt and ring

Adown December's blast.

Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide, Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide; Woe, woe to Scotland's banner'd pride, If the fell shower may last!

1 The MS. here interposes the couplet

"Glancing by fits from hostile line,

Armour and lance return'd the shine."

2 See Appendix, Note 3 V.

3 "Although Mr. Scott retains that necessary and characteristic portion of his peculiar and well-known manner, he is free, we think, from any faulty self-imitation; and the battle of Bannockburn will remain for ever as a monument of the fertile poetical powers of a writer, who had before so greatly excelled in this species of description."-Monthly Review.

"The battle, we think, is not comparable to the battle in Marmion, though nothing can be finer than the scene of contrasted repose and thoughtful anxiety by which it is introduced, (stanzas xix. xx. xxi.)"—JEFFREY.

4 See Appendix, Note 3 W.

5 MS." De Argentine! the cowards repent! For mercy they have kneel'd."

6 See Appendix, Note 3 X.

7 MS." Drew to his ear the silken string."

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 crests1 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.

But, in mid-space, the Bruce's care Had bored the ground with many a pit. With turf and brushwood hidden yet," 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 !7
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;

8

1 MS.-"Their brandish'd spears."

3 See Appendix, Note 3 Y.

8 See Appendix, Note 3 Z.

MS.-"An arm'd foe."

MS." With many a pit the ground to bore, With turf and brushwood cover'd o'er, Had form'd," &c.

See Appendix, Note 4 A.

See Appendix, Note 4 B

8 The MS. has

"When plunging down some darksome cave, Billow on billow rushing on,

Follows the path the first had gone."

It is impossible not to recollect our author's own lines,"As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, Receives her roaring linn,

As the dark caverns of the deep
Suck the wild whirlpool in;

So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass."

Lady of the Lake, Canto vi. stanza 18.