For one she look'd-but he was far
Busied amid the ranks of war-
Yet with affection's troubled eye
She mark'd his banner boldly fly,
Gave on the countless foe a glance,

And thought on battle's desperate chance.

XII.

To centre of the vaward-line
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine.1

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.
Northeastward 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,'
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

1 MS." Her guard conducted Amadine." * See Appendix, Note 3 T.

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 bow-shots 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.

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.

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.
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,-
"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.

"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.—

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

2 MS.-"Just as they closed in full career, Bruce swerved the palfrey from the spear." 9 MS."her wonted pranks, I see."

4 See Appendix, Note 3 U (round through

MS.-"Lo!

thy post have pass'd the foes."

6 M." Earl Randolph's strength is one to ten."

"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,'
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.

ray;

It was a night of lovely June,
High rode in cloudless blue the moon,
Demayet smiled beneath her
Old Stirling's towers arose in light,
And, twined in links of silver bright,
Her winding river lay."
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.

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, 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.*

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."-"
"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."

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.

See Appendix, Note 3 W.

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

7 See Appendix, Note 3 X.

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-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 gray-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!
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!"3

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 yeoman's armor 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!

1 MS.-"Drew to his ear the silken string."

2 MS." Their brandish'd spears."

3 See Appendix, Note 3 Y.

4 Ibid. Note 3 Z.

MS.-"An arm'd foe."

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 baldrick bore !
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,

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 clamor 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 !
They came like mountain-torrent red,
That thunders o'er its rocky bed;

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

7 See Appendix, Note 4 A.

8 Ibid. Note 4 B.

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;

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,2
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame-
Names known too well3 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,

1 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.

2 MS.- Ross, Tybtot, Neville, Mauley, came."
MS.-"Names known of yore," &c.

4 MS." Unshifting foot," &c.

"All these, life's rambling journey done,

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

"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

And rent was many a valiant breast, And Slaughter revell'd round.

XXVI.

Unflinching foot' '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;
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."
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,

'The tug of strife to flag begins, Though neither loses yet nor wins ;'

but the description of it, as we have ventured to prophesy, will last forever.

"It will be as unnecessary for the sake of our readers, as it would be useless for the sake of the author, to point out many of the obvious defects of these splendid passages, or of others in the poem. Such a line as

The tug of strife to flag begins,'

must wound every ear that has the least pretension to judge of poetry; and no one, we should think, can miss the ridiculous point of such a couplet as the subjoined,

Each heart had caught the patriot spark,
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk.'"
Monthly Review.

7 "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 well-arranged names to excite lofty emotions, with little aid either from sentiment or description."-JEFFREY.