F\ 
 
THE SONG OF THE STEWARTS 
 
THE SONG OF 
 THE STEWARTS 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 BY 
 
 DOUGLAS AINSLIE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 'JOHN OF DAMASCUS," "MOMENTS," ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO. LTD. 
 
 10 ORANGE STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE, W.C. 
 
 1909 
 
I DEDICATE THE PRELUDE TO 
 
 THE SONG OF THE STEWARTS TO 
 
 MY DEAR COUSIN 
 
 CHARLES EDWARD STEWART 
 
 OF FOTHERGILL. 
 
 4254*7 
 
PREFACE 
 
 POETRY is always its own explanation, for a poet is 
 either articulate, and therefore to be understood, or 
 he is inarticulate, and to that extent not a poet. All 
 themes are equal in themselves. Their aesthetic values 
 lie in the intensity of their appeal to the poet or artist. 
 
 To me the deeds of the Stewarts appeal more 
 intensely than any other theme. Here I have seen 
 the ancient House in crimson blossom on the fields 
 of Falkirk and of Bannockburn, and in Robert II., 
 son of the Lord High Stewart and grandson of Robert 
 Brus, giving the first Stewart king to History. 
 
 I hope to follow the fortunes of the Stewarts, in glory 
 and in woe, from our fascinating early kings, to the 
 Queen of Hearts and Scots ; from her son, James VI. and 
 First, to the Martyr King ; and by the flower-strewn 
 ways of the Restoration and the later calamities of 
 James VII. and Second, to James VIII. and Third and 
 the 'Fifteen, ending with the heroic romance of Prince 
 Charlie, at whose tomb the Right Lion Scots yet mourns 
 and yet keeps guard. 
 
 Such is my desire, but, x a ^ 67r< * TO. KoXd things 
 beautiful are difficult and this Prelude, so called 
 because in it the Stewarts have not yet ascended any 
 of their thrones, must now be judged independently 
 of successors. 
 
 I wish to thank two friends for services rendered 
 
 vii 
 
viii The Song of the Stewarts 
 
 in connection with the Prelude to The Song of the 
 Stewarts : Mr J. K. Stewart of Edinburgh, Secretary of 
 the Stewart Society, and author of the valuable Story of 
 the Stewarts, for the use he has allowed me to make of the 
 Society's Journal, both in announcing this book and in 
 printing brief extracts from it ; and Mr George Eyre- 
 Todd of Glasgow, Editor of The Scottish Field, and one 
 of the greatest living authorities on the history and 
 literature of Scotland, for friendly counsel and for 
 placing before me the curious old Ballad of the Bluidy 
 Stair, on which I have based one of the poems in this 
 volume. DOUGLAS AINSLIE. 
 
 THE ATHENAEUM, PALL MALL, 
 January 1909. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INVOCATION ....... i 
 
 THE MISTY DAWN ...... 3 
 
 SUNRISE : THE FIRST STEWART OF HISTORY WALTER, SON 
 
 OF ALAN ....... 9 
 
 ALAN STEWART ....... 16 
 
 WALTER STEWART ...... 20 
 
 ALEXANDER AND JAMES STEWART . . . .25 
 
 BATTLE OF LARGS ...... 30 
 
 DEATH OF THE MAID OF NORROWAY . . . .50 
 
 JAMES STEWART (continued) ..... 52 
 
 REIGN OF BALLIOL ...... 65 
 
 COMING OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE . . . .70 
 
 BATTLE OF FALKIRK ...... 87 
 
 CAPTURE AND DEATH OF WALLACE . . . .94 
 
 JAMES, $TH LORD HIGH STEWART . . . . ' 104 
 
 THE COMING OF ROBERT BRUS . . . . 108 
 
 EVENTS FOLLOWING THE CORONATION OF BRUS TO THE 
 SETTING FORTH OF EDWARD I. ON HIS LAST EXPEDITION 
 AGAINST THE SCOTS . . . . . .11$ 
 
 ADVENTURES OF THE BRUS .... n8 
 
x The Song of the Stewarts 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE EVE OF BATTLE . . . . . < 138 
 
 BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN ..... 140 
 
 AFTER BANNOCKBURN . . . . . .151 
 
 ROBERT BRUS ON THE FIELD AFTER THE BATTLE . 153 
 
 SIEGE OF BERWICK . . . . . .164 
 
 CHAPTER OF MITTON AND EVENTS FOLLOWING SIEGE OF 
 
 BERWICK . . . . . . . 172 
 
 RAID ON ENGLAND FOLLOWED BY PEACE AND MARRIAGE OF 
 
 DAVID BRUS WITH THE PRINCESS JOANNA . 179 
 
 PORTRAIT OF ROBERT BRUS . . . . .189 
 
 THE LAST COUNSEL OF ROBERT BRUS TO HIS PEOPLE . 191 
 
 LAST REQUEST OF THE BRUS TO THE DOUGLAS . 194 
 
 THE DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUS . . i97 
 
THE 
 
 SONG OF THE STEWARTS 
 
 Invocation 
 
 NOW Muse descend again to me, 
 Thou that didst smile so graciously, 
 Leading me over Eastern lands, 
 The Cross, the Crescent in thy hands, 
 And twined within thy heavy hair 
 The lotus bloom I found most fair. 
 Descend again, but now no more 
 Tread thou with me an Eastern shore, 
 For of my country I would sing, 
 Of Scotland and of Stewart king. 
 Behold thou comest, sweet my Muse, 
 Nor gladsome goddess wilt refuse 
 Beauty and charm and rose-crowned love. 
 But one walks on the cliffs above 
 And gazeth out on the green sea. 
 Why cometh thus to thee and me 
 This lady veiled ? She draweth near 
 And speaketh thus : " My sister dear, 
 Muse of gay wisdom and of bright 
 Rippling of tresses in the light, 
 Will guide thee well a mile or twain, 
 Yet without me 'twere all in vain, 
 O poet, that thou strive to sing 
 The deeds of Stewart Queen and King. 
 
.*"; , * Invocation 
 
 I am the Muse Melpomene, 
 
 And fair as she, thou'lt grant to me." 
 
 With that she draws her veil aside 
 
 And stands before me, Sorrow's Bride. 
 
 Her sister hides her azure eyes 
 
 And rising on her wings she flies 
 
 To light upon yon poppied strand 
 
 Where green waves kiss the flowry land. 
 
 " Gaze on my eyes if you would tell 
 
 The secret of the Stewarts' spell." 
 
 Thus speaks the Muse of Tragedy, 
 
 And gazing in her eyes I see 
 
 Beauty and Sovran Charm whose breath 
 
 Is mingled with the Dust of Death, 
 
 The Risen Sun of Royal Right 
 
 Hurled downward by the Powers of Night, 
 
 And Vain Devotion chained to these 
 
 Drain Suffering's Chalice to the lees. 
 
 Sisters ! I yield me to your care, 
 
 Lead on, I follow : dark and fair. 
 
The Misty Dawn 
 
 (THE OLD PEDIGREE) 
 
 " f ^ HOU shalt get kings, though thou be none, 
 fp Banquo, Lochaber's thane ! " 
 
 fl Hark to the witch ! The bloody game's 
 
 -^^" begun ! 
 
 Hark to the witch again ! 
 " That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry " ; 
 
 Yet on the spell-bound moor, 
 The world's wits yet with Shakespeare's genius marry, 
 
 Genius that is more sure 
 Than very sooth, though sooth this too may be, 
 
 And sooth old Barbour's tales 
 Of Banquo slaughtered and his son must flee : 
 
 Childe Fleance fly to Wales ! 
 Let be ! Twas truth our island Shakespeare told, 
 
 He of the Stewarts spake, 
 Whose hands so long those treble sceptres hold, 
 
 To make and to unmake. 
 Dim is the dawn upon the sea and earth, 
 
 Invisible the bride, 
 Nesta of Fleance, and their Walter's birth 
 
 Mists of the morning hide. 
 And Fleance fell, as Banquo fell before, 
 
 And from Llewellyn's halls 
 Walter his son at Breton Alan's door, 
 
 His mother's kinsman, calls 
 
4 The Misty Dawn 
 
 On Brittany, and more than succour grants 
 
 Alan the Red, the Earl ; 
 Armour and steeds and blue his eye enchants, 
 
 Set amid golden curl. 
 For Walter, as his father Fleance, wed 
 
 Old Brittany's fair daughter, 
 And with the Conqueror and the Earl he sped 
 
 To Hastings o'er the water. 
 But " northward ! " ever, ever " northward ho ! " 
 
 The morning south winds fly, 
 And on their wings shall down of thistle go, 
 
 Though ne'er so far the* cry, 
 " Rise up, Lord Stewart," quoth good Malcolm King, 
 
 And first of all his race 
 Walter the Stewart brings tradition in, 
 
 Fills the Lord Stewart's place. 
 When Walter died, his son had passed the sea 
 
 To fight the infidel, 
 Yet came again as to the hive the bee ; 
 
 At Edgar's feet he fell. 
 King Edgar's Stewart on his feet he stood 
 
 And at King Edgar's side 
 Full many a year he toiled for Scotland's good, 
 
 Wedded a bonny bride. 
 
 Dim legends of old days, dim shades that fight, 
 
 And love and lose and win 
 Behind the veil, farewell, thou gray twilight, 
 
 Welcome the morning in ! 
 
The Misty Dawn 5 
 
 (THE NEW PEDIGREE) 
 
 Twas thus that in days of old men folio wed the pedigree, 
 Whiles yet great dragons dwelt in fen, yet fairies 
 
 danced on lea ; 
 And the toad was the Prince once more, when the poet 
 
 had set him free. 
 Yea, whatsoever the poet sang, behold the truth was 
 
 found, 
 And the simple with the very wise in sympathy were 
 
 bound. 
 Yet the dragon haunts the fen for these, yet Oberon 
 
 rules the green, 
 
 As truly as any monarch else upon this shadowy scene, 
 While the world of the real treads the dust of the road 
 
 that lies between. 
 
 To the Seneschals of Dol, Dinan, winds an Ariadne's 
 
 thread, 
 To those ancient counts of Brittany who reigned when 
 
 Caesar led 
 His hosts to Gaul, but through the mist of time new 
 
 light is shed 
 
 On Flaald or Float of Brittany, that Alan had to son, 
 Who in the days of Henry First over the channel won, 
 And wed Adeliza de Hesding, who bare sons three or four, 
 Whereof was the second Walter, and some there be 
 
 are sure 
 This Walter was the first High Stewart the keys of 
 
 office bore. 
 And the proofs that they bring are many, the skein 
 
 of the thread split fine, 
 
6 The Misty Dawn 
 
 For the eyes of the searchers are Argus, and the love 
 
 of the ancient line 
 Yet draws men surely as a spell the meshes to dis- 
 
 en twine. 
 Now of the Abbey of Paisley which Walter the first 
 
 Lord Stewart 
 Founded in good King David's reign and all its rights 
 
 secured : 
 Certain it is that Walter's name stands clear upon the 
 
 roll, 
 And certain that monks of Shropshire Clune the 
 
 Abbey's work control. 
 Now William the son of Alan, brother of Walter, 
 
 rules the whole 
 Of the Lordships of Clune and Oswestrie, and from 
 
 William descend 
 The Earls of Arundel whose bloods with the Dukes 
 
 of Norfolk blend 
 By the marriage of Mary the heiress with the Duke, 
 
 whose life hath end 
 In the days of Queen Elizabeth would set on 
 
 England's throne 
 Mary the Queen of Hearts and Scots whose right 
 
 outweighed her own. 
 Now whether or no these Walters twain, one and the 
 
 same man be ! 
 And whether or no their ancestors were Counts of 
 
 Brittany, 
 Let the heralds that are wise decide : I hold no 
 
 certainty. 
 But of the proofs a pair they cite, and the first is the 
 
 ancient name, 
 
The Misty Dawn 7 
 
 Which in the courts of Brittany and the Stewarts 
 is the same 
 
 With the English Earls of Arundel, and the likeness 
 too they claim 
 
 By the shields of the houses, by the fesse barry of 
 Arundel, 
 
 Fesse Cheque of the Lords High Stewarts, that Scots- 
 men know so well, 
 
 Indented of those ancient Counts of Dol and of Dinan. 
 
 Thus names and shields most similar through all 
 three races ran, 
 
 And in the origin all three came of a single clan. 
 
 Yet a proof the more was wanting, and that the wont 
 
 and use 
 Of the people of Scotland and England, and this they 
 
 careful choose. 
 When Robert the Second of Scotland was like the 
 
 throne to lose 
 
 And by Balliol the pretender his exile was procured, 
 Then the Earl of Arundel laid claim to the office of 
 
 Lord High Stewart, 
 And this his right, a shadow, was bought by Edward 
 
 Third. 
 But although the right were a shadow, what Arundel 
 
 then averred 
 Was that if the Lord High Stewarts failed their rights 
 
 by him were heired. 
 
 Thus have I faithfully set down, as near as verse may be, 
 What the men of the days bygone did hold of the 
 Stewart's pedigree, 
 
8 The Misty Dawn 
 
 And what those men perchance more wise in the 
 
 wisdom of this day 
 Where much is new discovered and much forgot 
 
 perfay. 
 In the stress of the new-won empires of the air and 
 
 the whirling wheel, 
 Methinks that the times to come will no better things 
 
 reveal, 
 Than the songs that sung the bards of old and the 
 
 clash of the ancient steel. 
 
SUNRISE 
 
 THE FIRST STEWART OF HISTORY 
 
 Walter, Son of Alan 
 
 LORD HIGH STEWART. 1164-1177 
 
 LO ! the Stewarts' sun is risen and in good 
 King David's reign 
 Flashes bright upon the Stewart and by 
 him is flashed again 
 From the lands of Paisley, Cathcart, Talahec, Le 
 
 Drip, Mutrene ; 
 Lord of these and of Lochwinnoch, Lord of Eaglesham 
 
 and east, 
 To the Lordship of all Innerwick is Walter's power 
 
 increased, 
 And when Malcolm l reigns o'er Scotland seem these 
 
 lands to be the least 
 By the Maiden's vast donations, blessed of Kelso 
 
 Abbey's priest. 
 Lord of Legerswood on Leader, Lord of Stenton, 
 
 Hassendean, 
 Ye will ask not for more titles, but for deeds to them, 
 
 I ween, 
 
 Deeds that are the mighty tree-stem, names its flutter- 
 ing leaves of green. 
 
 1 Malcolm IV. 
 
 9 
 
io Walter, Son of Alan 
 
 I must tell ye, then, of Norroway, of Harold Harfagar, 
 Who first the kingly circlet bound about his brows afar, 
 And drave the pirate Vikings forth where western 
 
 havens are. 
 
 These lit like ravenous birds of prey upon the Hebrides, 
 And crimson-crested off the Lewis must roll the white- 
 crest seas, 
 
 Till Harold's flag triumphant waves over his island fees. 
 After, for many an hundred year, between the 
 
 Norroway men, 
 The Danes and Orkneymen, these isles were won and 
 
 lost in vain, 
 
 Till the island sceptre fell at last to Norroway again. 
 Then Godred Crovan forty years ruled as Olave the 
 
 Red, 
 Whose son Black Olave followed him and gat a lissom 
 
 maid 
 
 Ragnhildis, hight the ancestress, the bride of Somerled. 
 Somerled Prince of all the Isles who had for ancestor 
 Conn of the Hundred Battles, that ancient lord of war, 
 Now slips a nuptial ring of gold around the island shore. 
 Lord of the Isles and all Argyll, with Malcolm Scotland's 
 
 King 
 Somerled signs an equal truce with a feather from his 
 
 wing, 
 
 But in the eagle's eerie not long the dove may sing. 
 Know ye Bute's tower of Rothesay, first of the 
 
 western isles 
 Lit by the bright young radiance of Stewart maiden's 
 
 smiles, 
 Where yet the Stewart's banner waves and nothing 
 
 is Argyll's ? 
 
Walter, Son of Alan 1 1 
 
 Here on a summer's evening the kinsmen of the 
 
 Stewart 
 Made music in their open hall, for well they were 
 
 assured 
 By the Norsemen's seal and writing, and by Malcolm's 
 
 might secured ! 
 
 Full oft from golden harpsichord the hand of Isabel 
 Had drawn the song of victory forth, had drawn the 
 
 lover's spell 
 
 And soft her singing on the hearts of forty warriors fell. 
 When her last song had died away, this slip of Stewart's 
 
 tree 
 Passed like a moonbeam in a cloud, passed like her 
 
 minstrelsy 
 
 Forth from the circle of her kin, to gaze upon the sea. 
 Deep in the castle's shadow, the gray old chapel slept 
 And noiseless o'er the castle court slim Isabel she stept, 
 And seaward from the rampart gazed, when of a 
 
 sudden leapt 
 Fearsome a figure from the wall : " Fear not, fair 
 
 Stewart," cried, 
 For I am, Roderick lord of Mull, and thou shalt be 
 
 my bride, 
 
 So lay thy cheek upon my cheek, and nestle to my side." 
 " A vaunt ! thou black-heart raven of Norro way's 
 
 black brood," 
 Cried the Lady Isabel, " thy hands reek of my father's 
 
 blood, 
 And thou hast slain my brethren three, I swear it on 
 
 the rood ! " 
 " Swear, an thou list, fair Stewart, swear and thou 
 
 swearest true : 
 
12 Walter, Son of Alan 
 
 Thy father and thy brethren three in open field I slew, 
 And as they fell around my head ravens o' Norroway 
 
 flew. 
 But thou shalFst o'er the waves this night : my galley 
 
 waits below : 
 And if thou come not, proud Stewart, a like fate 
 
 shalTst thou know. 
 Nay 'tis in vain to flee or cry ! he gripped her in the 
 
 shadow. 
 " When stars drop from their beds of blue ! then 
 
 shall I be thy bride, 
 
 Thou raven heart o' Norroway/' maid Isabel she cried, 
 And steadfastly the stars of heaven in their blue beds 
 
 abide. 
 Straight in her breast of heaving snow the rover's 
 
 blade is driven, 
 And straight from out her body small her dovelike 
 
 soul is riven, 
 And steadfastly from beds of blue gaze down the stars 
 
 of heaven. 
 May morning dawns on Rothesay's tower : O but the 
 
 morn is fair ! 
 White as pale rosebud plucked she lies, the breeze 
 
 upon her hair, 
 Red as red rose's petals strown her life-blood stains 
 
 the stair. 
 Hearts break ! no tears ! Her kinsmen all, grim 
 
 warriors stand around ; 
 
 They kneel to kiss her slim white hand, the blood- 
 stains on the ground, 
 Then pass into their galleys straight, will bear them 
 
 o'er the sound. 
 
Walter, Son of Alan 13 
 
 Scarce are the Stewarts come ashore, the news is at 
 
 Renfrew 
 Where dwells the Lord High Stewart, the news is 
 
 Scotland through, 
 
 How dastardly maid Isabel Roderick the rover slew. 
 King Malcolm and the Stewarts all, not long they have 
 
 to bide 
 Ere Roderick and those Viking lords come sailing up 
 
 the Clyde, 
 An hundred sail upon the gale they swell with cruel 
 
 pride. 
 " Let land ! let land ! the Norroway men " ('twas 
 
 Scotland's Stewart spake), 
 And from their ravenous galleys beached, as winds 
 
 the scaly snake, 
 Those steel-clad men of Norroway their line of battle 
 
 make. 
 " St Bride for Scotland ! " shouts the Stewart, and 
 
 straight upon the foe, 
 Their doubled strength of fury those mourning 
 
 Stewarts throw, 
 And what they leave, their countrymen in bloody 
 
 harvest mow. 
 See where he lies, that viking lord, of " fair and 
 
 piercing eye," 
 
 Cries a Stewart to a Stewart, full well he knew to die ! 
 Eftsoons ! the mountains of our dead by him are 
 
 piled most high." 
 But not for him the Stewarts stay, they seek the 
 
 ruffian lord 
 That did to death fair Isabel, for him the Stewart's 
 
 sword 
 
14 Walter, Son of Alan 
 
 Waits as a lover for his love and as he leaps aboard 
 First one, then five they fall on him, all of the Stewart 
 
 race, 
 And softly soft they bear him off dipt in a warm 
 
 embrace, 
 
 They raise his steely vizor, they gaze upon his face. 
 They bind his hands and feet, and slow their daggers 
 
 gentlewise, 
 
 Do glide into his ruffian heart, but first into his eyes : 
 " Matched with the hell that waits on thee, thy death 
 
 is Paradise." 
 Only this word they speak to him, he answereth not 
 
 again, 
 But smiles defiance on his foes, as though he knew 
 
 no pain, 
 Yet though he smile, full well they know their 
 
 vengeance is not vain. 
 Thus were the Norsemen conquered there, upon the 
 
 banks of Clyde, 
 
 Yet little joy the Stewarts knew, where many Norse- 
 men died, 
 For all did mourn maid Isabel, that perished in 
 
 her pride. 
 Won is the battle of the west, the Lord High Stewart 
 
 knows, 
 
 But ever in his noble heart a nobler longing glows ; 
 Fain would he found an Abbey fair that lofty walls 
 
 enclose. 
 Kneeling he maketh due request, King Malcolm saith 
 
 him, " Yea." 
 Southward to England, King and Stewart, do pass 
 
 upon their way 
 
Walter, Son of Alan 15 
 
 Unto King Malcolm's English fief, the tower of 
 
 Fotheringay. 
 And do ye pale, oh ladies fair ? But ye shall weep 
 
 with me 
 That mount your palfreys by my side through Stewart 
 
 history, 
 To meet thus soon this fatal name : yet hush ! now 
 
 let it be. 
 Here are the charters signed and sealed, and higher 
 
 still and higher, 
 Sacred to God and to St James, soars Paisley's Abbey 
 
 spire, 
 Founded by Walter Stewart, and in Paisley Abbey's 
 
 choir, 
 For his salvation, body and soul, for Malcolm, David's 
 
 son, 
 
 For Henry King of England, for the Earl of Huntingdon, 
 Who is the Prince of Scotland, monks make many an 
 
 orison. 
 
Alan Stewart 
 
 LORD HIGH STEWART. 1177-1204 
 
 MALCOLM the Maiden, good King of the 
 Scot, 
 Perchance was a maid in his teen, 
 But ere that he died, sith a maid he 
 was not, 
 
 For without him a maid had not been ! 
 Cry you pardon, fair ladies, for frisk of the steed 
 
 Springing forth at the break of the day ; 
 Let his brother King William the Lion succeed 
 
 And the Lion of Scotland display. 
 For first of our kings on his banner there towered 
 
 " Or a lion rampant, gules, 
 Azure armed and langued, in a tressure flowered, 
 
 Counter-flowered " : but the heralds' rules 
 Are a snare set for poets, with jewels for baits, 
 
 And I will not, like William the Lion, 
 Charge the College of Heralds, as he did the fates, 
 
 For my fate I should certainly fly on ! 
 Ah ! let us not dwell on the English amaze 
 
 When the Lion of Scotland rode 
 One man against fifty, nor think of Falaise 
 
 Nor how sorrowfully William bestrode 
 His war-horse, with legs tied beneath to the girth : 
 
 Oh ! Henry, the first of the name, 
 Thus to treat Scotland's king ! did it make you mirth ? 
 
 His our pity, yours be the shame. 
 
 16 
 
Alan Stewart 17 
 
 But hardly was Scotland brought under the yoke, 
 
 Or the treaty seals dry at Falaise, 
 When Richard the Lion of England broke 
 
 Through the net of the artful phrase. 
 " Let the Lion of Scotland return to his land, 
 
 Let the treaty that Henry my sire 
 Extorted from William of Scotland's hand 
 
 Burn to ashes in the fire. 
 Let the Scot pay such ransom as honour decree 
 
 From one to another knight, 
 And bid him be sure that whatever it be, 
 
 'Twill be spended in holy fight. 
 Let him keep in our England the whole broad domain 
 
 That his sires have held erewhile, 
 Let the tenure each year, all untainted of gain, 
 
 Be his falcon let soar at Carlisle ! 
 Thus spake England's Richard, the Lion of Heart, 
 
 In the spirit of chivalry, 
 Then he passed to the land where the faithful smart, 
 
 With a goodly company. 
 Wide, wide, do the banners of England stream, 
 
 As the barons of England ride, 
 And brightly the voyaging sun-rays gleam 
 
 On a banner at Richard's side. 
 Tis David of Scotland, the Prince and the Peer, 
 
 (He is Earl of Huntingdon,) 
 And with him rideth his comrade dear, 
 
 Alan Stewart, Walter's son. 
 Richard of England and Philip of France ! 
 
 How the lilies were meshed in the mane 
 Of the lion, and how by a fortunate chance 
 
 These came disentangled again : 
 
1 8 Alan Stewart 
 
 Not mine be the telling, nor Richard's Crusade, 
 
 Nor the prowess of Saladih, 
 Nor to echo the lilt of the song that betrayed 
 
 The Lion caged within. 
 For lo, as those helmeted palmers ride 
 
 To the storm of Jerusalem's wall, 
 Cometh one unbeknown to the Stewart's side : 
 
 Tis William the Lion's call. 
 And behold the Stewart haste in fear 
 
 Over land and over sea ; 
 Though the world weep tears, more near, more 
 
 clear 
 
 . Sounds the sigh from our own countree. 
 Right glad was the king when the Stewart came, 
 
 Kneeled low at his tottering throne, 
 And he told the tale of the sword and the flame 
 
 And the lieges' heavy moan : 
 How Harold the Yarl with his Norsemen rides 
 
 And their hands are red with blood ; 
 How the north is lost and how none abides 
 
 Their devilish hardihood. 
 " Stewart of Scotland, be yours to command " : 
 
 He hath marshalled the Scots array, 
 Breathed his soul in their soul, put his sword in their 
 hand, 
 
 They have passed o'er the water of Spey. 
 " Stewart of Scotland," cries Harold the Yarl, 
 
 " Wilt thou meet me on the plain ? 
 Let the armies draw near, let the banners unfurl, 
 
 But the battle be 'twixt us twain." 
 " Ay, that will I do," cries the Stewart, and straight 
 
 They have sought the smooth green ground : 
 
Alan Stewart 19 
 
 In the roar of the furious river's spate 
 
 The crash of the ax is drowned. 
 Thus silent they fight till the middays' past 
 
 And the Stewart's host cries loud, 
 For the Stewart's ax hath made at the last 
 
 Of Yarl Harold's sark his shroud. 
 
 And they bury him there on the banks of Spey, 
 
 With his ax and his golden crown, 
 And we to the Christ, they to Odin pray, 
 
 As the salt tear trickles down. 
 For the war was ended, when Harold fell, 
 
 And the rebels kneel to the Stewart, 
 Since they love the blessing of peace full well 
 
 By the strong right arm secured. 
 When the Stewart returns to the king again 
 
 Where he sits in old Dunbar, 
 He strives to kneel, but he strives in vain, 
 
 For the king's arms round him are. 
 Ay ! he folds his Stewart in warm embrace 
 
 Whose lordships are more by three, 
 And the Stewart's wife lifts her blush-rose face : 
 
 " I too shall have gift for thee." 
 
 Brave Alan the Stewart, seven hundred year 
 
 Are between us where I stand, 
 But I see your love and your loyalty clear, 
 
 Feel your hand-clasp on my hand. 
 
Walter Stewart 
 
 30 LORD HIGH STEWART. 1204-1246 
 
 WALTER the Stewart, as his sire, when a 
 youth was a gallant Crusader, 
 Wore the red cross on his breast, and the 
 " Fesse Cheque " banner above him 
 Floated, a witness to all that here stood the Stewart 
 
 of Scotland ; 
 For the Stewarts in days of old, as they sat in the king's 
 
 council-chamber, 
 Moved on a chequered board, as a chess player moveth 
 
 his playthings, 
 Counters of silver and gold as they measured the 
 
 wealth of the nation. 
 These were the arms of the Stewarts, and always 
 
 proudly they bore them, 
 First in the council and first in the field, the Stewarts 
 
 of Scotland ! 
 " Stiward keeper of swine ! " cry the gibers, twisters 
 
 of language : 
 " That is the name they bore and the swineherd's 
 
 duty they rendered." 
 O for the wisdom of fools ! it has folly no folly can 
 
 vie with ; 
 Stewarts indeed these were, not of one man, but of a 
 
 kingdom ; 
 
 20 
 
Walter Stewart 21 
 
 Stewarts to kings, then kings in their turn, Stewarts 
 
 only to Godhead. 
 Fools were your folly but true, then " the swineherd's 
 
 duty was rendered " 
 Unto a people of swine by Charles, saint, monarch 
 
 and martyr ! 
 
 Walter the Stewart I sing : he fought as his father 
 
 before him, 
 Fought for the Cross and returning, the king, 
 
 Alexander the Second, 
 Placed in his hand the sword, and the scales and the 
 
 balance of Justice. 
 Thus was he Stewart by birth and by worth was he 
 
 Law unto Scotland. 
 Alan of Galloway died, without son that should heir 
 
 his possessions, 
 Leaving three daughters, the wives of three Saxon 
 
 lords of the border, 
 Daughters of Alan the Earl but cousins of King 
 
 Alexander. 
 Then the wild men of Galloway rose and " never shall 
 
 Saxon noble 
 Rule o'er our wilds, but let Thomas, the old lord's 
 
 love-child, be master." 
 
 Thus they declared them for love, but the king for- 
 bade them be lovers. 
 As the course of the blood runs wild when the green 
 
 leaves of summer are sprouting, 
 And the heart will not bow to the head, nor the limbs 
 
 be at union together, 
 
22 Walter Stewart 
 
 So was our Scotland of old, and the wild men of 
 
 Galloway, rising, 
 Spread desolation abroad as they marched on the 
 
 City 1 of Maidens. 
 Forth rode the king and his host ; they fled from the 
 
 lion of Scotland, 
 Chased like the deer to their wilds, and the kingdom 
 
 had peace for a short space. 
 
 But the hate of the Saxon was strong in their hearts, 
 
 and coming together, 
 Marched they once more to the East, and fire was the 
 
 breath of their nostrils. 
 Broke was the balance again, but the sword of Justice 
 
 upholden, 
 Grasped in the strong right hand of Walter the Stewart 
 
 of Scotland, 
 Smote to the death where it fell, and the wild men of 
 
 Galloway flying 
 Turned their face to the West, and the kingdom had 
 
 peace for a long space. 
 
 What of the Stewart's spouse ? She was Beatrice 
 
 daughter of Gilchrist, 
 Lord of the Earldom of Mar and of Marjorie, daughter 
 
 of Scotland, 
 Daughter of Scotland's Prince, own brother to Malcolm 
 
 and William. 
 Thus there flowed in the veins of the children born to 
 
 the Stewart 
 Blood of our ancient kings, whose crown in the fourth 
 
 generation 
 
 1 Edinburgh. 
 
Walter Stewart 23 
 
 Bound in a circle of gold the brow of the heir of the 
 Stewart. 
 
 Nuptials I sing once more for the King, Alexander 
 
 the Second 
 Sent forth his Stewart to France, with a prayer for 
 
 the hand of a Coucy. 
 Not of an ancient line was Enguerrand, Master of 
 
 Coucy ; 
 Small were his lands, but great was his heart, and the 
 
 Emperor Otho 
 Gave him his sister to wife, nor shamed him at equal 
 
 alliance, 
 For the spirit of chivalry yet springs forth from the 
 
 ancient motto : 
 " King am I not, nor Prince am I not, I am Master 
 
 of Coucy/' 
 And the Stewart brought the maid to the king, and 
 
 the kingly purple was o'er her. 
 
 Pious as his sires bygone was this Walter Stewart of 
 
 Scotland, 
 And the Abbey of Paisley blessed with his love and 
 
 the gift of his substance. 
 But most six measures of meal that he yearly payed 
 
 to the Abbey 
 For the fare of a priest who should pray for the soul 
 
 of his friend and companion 
 Robert the Brus, hold fast to our love as the root of 
 
 a friendship 
 Struck in the soil of the past, whose stem and whose 
 
 branches, outspreading, 
 
24 Walter Stewart 
 
 Sheltered and saved from the south our ancient 
 
 freedom of Scotland. 
 But a year from the death of the Brus lay Walter the 
 
 Stewart adying, 
 And he stretched forth his hands to his own, with a 
 
 father's last benediction 
 Unto his daughters three and his five sons, children 
 
 of Bice. 
 Thus were the daughters' hight as they merged in the 
 
 lives of their husbands : 
 Lennox's Earl Malduin chose the eldest, Elizabeth, 
 
 Countess ; 
 Patrick Earl of Dunbar wedded Christian, Niel Earl 
 
 of Carrick 
 Margaret whose daughter and heir was Marjory 
 
 Countess of Carrick 
 Wedded to Robert de Brus, Lord of Annandale, father 
 
 of Robert, 
 
 First King of Scots. Of the sons, Alexander the first- 
 born succeeded, 
 Lord High Stewart of the realm, and of him be the 
 
 song that's acoming. 
 
Alexander 
 
 4TH LORD HIGH STEWART. 1246-1283 
 
 and James 
 
 5TH LORD HIGH STEWART. 1243-1309 
 
 KERRERA'S isle is ringed around 
 With rocks for sentinel, 
 And voices of ocean waves resound, 
 
 As they toll a Scots king's knell. 
 Lo ! the Lord of the Isles laughed loud for cheer 
 
 When he knew Alexander dead : 
 And " The point of the royal tyrant's spear 
 
 Splits on our rocks," he said. 
 Dead is a king, but a king is born, 
 
 Bears Alexander's name, 
 And on Scotland rises the fair spring morn 
 
 Of Alexander's fame. 
 Mantled and sceptred, crowned, the boy 
 
 Sits on the ancient stone 
 And the Lords and the people shout for joy 
 
 As he rises their king at Scone. 
 In a robe of scarlet standing there 
 
 By the Stone of Destiny, 
 Hark to the Highland bard declare 
 
 His Trojan pedigree. 
 Ay the Scots lords hearkened as he told, 
 
 And proud their hearts did beat 
 
 25 
 
26 Alexander and James 
 
 As they kneeled and threw their robes of gold 
 
 Beneath their boy king's feet. 
 Now Henry of England would fare forth 
 
 To the war of the Holy Land, 
 But first he will wed the south and the north 
 
 With a little hand in a hand. 
 Northward to York on Christ his day, 
 Southward to York they came, 
 The flower of England's bright array, 
 The flower of Scotland's name. 
 Henry the king, Alexander the king, 
 
 The Princess Margaret, 
 And the Mother Queens they held the ring 
 
 On childhood's finger set. 
 A thousand knights in robes of silk 
 
 Guarded fair England's child, 
 As from her palfrey white as milk 
 
 Ten fairy summers smiled. 
 Child upon child she smiled and craved 
 
 Through a forest of lance and spear ; 
 Ay, and her tiny hand she waved 
 
 When she spied her playmate near. 
 Together beneath the sounding dome 
 
 They kneeled as the Bishop read 
 Long words from a jewelled Latin tome 
 
 And the royal babes were wed. 
 Feasting and mirth and wassail bowl 
 
 Round York's Cathedral spire, 
 Six hundred oxen roasted whole 
 
 By the Archbishop's fire ! 
 Tumbled the tumblers, minstrels plied 
 
 Their chief of minstrelsy, 
 
Alexander and James 27 
 
 Saxon and Scot and Norman vied 
 
 In love and amity, 
 And the King and the Queen of Scotland made 
 
 Brave revel with royal toy, 
 While the bells rang forth and the priests they prayed, 
 
 And the Christ was born in joy. 
 
 On the morrow the Scots king bowed before 
 
 Henry his child queen's sire, 
 And for his lands in England swore 
 
 Such homage as lands require. 
 Then the artful Henry stooped him down, 
 
 As he whispered a little ear, 
 And the Scots crown and the English crown, 
 
 Perdie ! they came right near. 
 But the King of Scots made answer straight 
 
 In his boyish treble true : 
 " For the English lands of Scotland's state 
 
 I have done homage due ; 
 But for my Scotland, homage none 
 
 Will I now nor never pay, 
 Till wiser heads than my wee one 
 
 Give counsel to obey." 
 Henry must swallow down his rage, 
 
 As he closes with a smile 
 The door of that wee Scots birdie's cage 
 
 Who hath sae muckle guile. 
 
 Ho ! for the beat of Crusaders' blood : 
 
 Ha ! for St Louis of France : 
 Ho ! for the battle-axe's thud : 
 
 Ha ! for the thrust of the lance : 
 
28 Alexander and James 
 
 Ho ! for the Crescent and Ha ! for the Cross : 
 
 Ho ! for great Saladin : 
 Come wounds, come death, who counts that loss, 
 
 Which the gates of heaven can win ? 
 O'er sea and o'er land from the Holy War 
 
 Pass the Stewart and his brethren twain, 
 But they leave the grave of the Earl of Dunbar, 
 
 New-dug on the Syrian plain, 
 Now first of the Stewart's thoughts, I ween, 
 
 As he came o'er the Border 
 Was " Where be the King and the pearly Queen 
 
 That I may watch and ward her ? " 
 He sought them high and he sought them low, 
 
 In the Forest of Jedburgh found them, 
 In the hands of a friend or the hands of a foe, 
 
 For the Comyns were aD around them. 
 Now the Comyn of the north hath Earldoms three 
 
 And three and thirty knights, 
 All of his name, and none there be 
 
 Equal with Comyn fights. 
 None said I ? Nay ! his Countess fair 
 
 Who loves an English lord, 
 She hath given him a cup of poison there, 
 
 Slays better than a sword. 
 Over the laws and the swords is love, 
 
 But vengeance is swift and sure, 
 And the sins of love must be payed above 
 
 What the joys of love procure. 
 Deep in the dungeon's darkness lie 
 
 These lovers in their ruin ; 
 But the Love God laughs, ay, hear him cry : 
 
 " I have broke the power of the Comyn." 
 
Alexander and James 29 
 
 John de Balliol and Robert de Ross, 
 
 These were the Regent Lords ; 
 But the names of the new are the Stewart and the Brus, 
 
 These be sufficing words. 
 Now Henry of England fain would fold 
 
 In his arms his Margaret, 
 And parley with Alexander hold, 
 
 In whose crown this pearl is set. 
 Fain would the Scots king wield his power 
 
 O'er his Honour of Huntingdon, 
 And fain would he see the Scots queen's dower 
 
 Gild the trappings of her pillion. 
 So forth fares the king, with his brave array, 
 
 And the Stewart at his side, 
 But the queen will linger on her way, 
 
 With the Bishop of Glasco ride ; 
 Ay, slowly slow she passeth south, 
 
 Wan is her bonny face, 
 And pale the red rose of her mouth 
 
 As she falls in her sire's embrace. 
 Right soon the bells of Windsor ring 
 
 And the neighbour flags unfurl, 
 And the old king loves the young Scots king, 
 
 Whose Pearl hath now her Pearl. 
 But short their time of joyance was, 
 
 And brief their sojourning, 
 For word came from the Earl of Ross 
 
 That the Raven was on the wing. 
 
Battle of Largs 
 
 AT midsummer from Herlover 
 Sails for the Orcades 
 The Norsemen's fleet and everywhere 
 The sun vies with the breeze, 
 As though together they conspire 
 
 To bless them on their way ; 
 Not the Isles alone, but the land entire, 
 
 They offer them for a prey ; 
 For the sun glints on their coats of mail 
 
 And the western breeze makes light 
 The oars of the galleys that they sail 
 
 As by enchanter's might. 
 In the first where the golden dragons hiss, 
 
 Stands Haco at the prow, 
 And the spray flies up as though 'twould kiss 
 
 The King o' Norroway's brow. 
 Haco the king, no youth is he, 
 
 But his een shine blue and clear 
 And stout his arm for mastery 
 
 That hath ruled full many a year. 
 An hundred and fifty sail they glide, 
 
 Like a serpent of old ocean, 
 Risen from the depths where he doth bide, 
 
 But now in awful motion ; 
 An hundred and fifty sail they glide 
 
 O'er the waves with sunlight paven, 
 so 
 
Battle of Largs 31 
 
 And now at even, see them ride 
 
 Safe in Orcadian haven. 
 The morning dawns on Ronaldsvoe, 
 
 And the sun climbs up the sky ; 
 But lo ! But lo ! what weird of woe 
 
 Blinds thus his golden eye ? 
 For a curtain covereth up his face, 
 
 Till only a ring is bright : 
 The Norsemen kneel and pray for grace 
 
 At midday in midnight. 
 Perchance their prayers are heard, perchance 
 
 'Twere better for most to die 
 With a stainless sword and a couchant lance, 
 
 And their hands clasped to the sky ! 
 
 Sunlight again ! and the king makes mirth 
 
 With Magnus the dutiful, 
 As they sail to the Lewes by the Pentland Firth, 
 
 Then hold for the Sound of Mull. 
 Magnus of Man and Dugal Sire 
 
 Of the foam-kissed Hebrides, 
 He bids them reive the Mull of Kintire : 
 
 This makes them muckle ease. 
 
 Now as Haco the king in Gigha lay, 
 
 John of the Isles drew near, 
 Bowed to the King of Norroway, 
 
 Would whisper in his ear. 
 " Speak loud," cried Haco, " lest the waves 
 
 That break upon this isle 
 Bury thy whispers in their graves : 
 
 Here is nor fear nor guile/' 
 
32 Battle of Largs 
 
 Then John spake forth : " Thy man was I 
 
 Faithful and leal and true, 
 For the King of Scots I did defy, 
 
 Till the old king was the new. 
 But now I yield thee back those lands 
 
 Thou gavest me of yore 
 And crave a pardon at thy hands 
 
 Whom I dare not follow more. 
 For of the Young King lands I hold, 
 
 Oxen and sheep in fee, 
 But more than a thousand sheep in fold 
 
 Is one dear head to me ; 
 My son lies in Dunfermline town 
 
 An hostage to the Scot 
 And the sword once drawn for thee cuts down 
 
 What cut can be garnered not." 
 
 Then Haco mused and his Viking Lords 
 
 Half-circle stood around ; 
 Their mail-clad hands did grip their swords. 
 
 But the wind their locks unwound. 
 Haco made answer : " John o' the Isles 
 
 Thou art my liegeman, born, 
 But I have known a wee bairn's smiles, 
 
 Like the face of the rosy morn ; 
 And for I wot thy son must die, 
 
 Thy sword once drawn for me : 
 Behold ! Thy king no more am I : 
 
 John o' the Isles is free ! 
 And the armoured Norsemen stood amazed 
 
 When the royal speech they heard, 
 
Battle of Largs 33 
 
 But thinking on their sons they praised 
 
 The royal heart-strings stirred. 
 Down on his knees fell John o' the Isles, 
 
 Would kiss King Haco's hand, 
 But he raised him up with gracious smiles, 
 
 Bade him " God speed " from the strand. 
 
 Now when Magnus and Dugal backward wound 
 
 From the reiving of Kintire ; 
 By the Firth of Clyde to Kilbrennan's sound 
 
 They bare the sword and the fire. 
 Carrick and Kyle and Wigtown quailed 
 
 As the Norsemen's fleet went by, 
 And the Barefoot Friars to Haco sailed, 
 
 For peaceful pact to try. 
 But the Norseman claimed the Cumrays twain, 
 
 Arran and Bute and Clyde, 
 With the Hebrides such terms were vain 
 
 And the battle must decide. 
 
 Well are Loch Lomond's waters met, 
 
 Clipt in the land's embrace ! 
 Welcome the islands jewel-set 
 
 Upon her crystal face ! 
 Hither from fenceless shores of Clyde 
 
 Fled the Scot with wife and child, 
 By the waves land-bound on every side 
 
 To a Paradise beguiled. 
 The sun had dropped into the west, 
 
 His conqueror's ruddy shield, 
 c 
 
34 Battle of Largs 
 
 Those breathing islets were at rest, 
 
 At rest the mainland field ; 
 When of a sudden voices brake 
 
 The silence of the shore ; 
 An unknown, outland tongue they spake, 
 
 They gathered more and more. 
 In sixty boats those voices crept 
 
 Forth on Loch Lomond's water, 
 While still serene the Scotsmen slept, 
 
 Like sheep foredoomed to slaughter. 
 
 Whispers no more, but fearsome yells, 
 
 Pierce the silence of the night, 
 And the twenty isles are as twenty hells, 
 
 Where a thousand demons fight. 
 Woman and bairn the Norseman slew, 
 
 From gentle slumbers riven, 
 But many a tiny bairn ne'er knew 
 
 Why it woke with wings in heaven. 
 How came the Norseman's craft to sail 
 
 Over the Tarbet lands ? 
 With the breath of a thousand lungs for gale, 
 
 With the oars of a thousand hands. 
 Thus was their goblet of success 
 
 Filled full of blood for wine, 
 But the fates from their vats of sorrow press 
 
 Thy woe as well as mine. 
 For as those Norsemen backward passed 
 
 To their ships in the Loch of Long, 
 The hail and the rain and the furious blast 
 
 Wreaked vengeance on the strong : 
 
Battle of Largs 35 
 
 Ten mighty galleys, ten score men 
 
 Whelmed in the ravenous waves ! 
 Then the ocean rested, but to gain 
 
 Fresh food for its floating graves. 
 Dire powers that wait upon the wand 
 
 Of the enchanter's will, 
 These hurled the Norsemen on the strand, 
 
 And the tempest raged still, 
 And heathen Haco, when he felt 
 
 That this enchantment was 
 Passed to the Cumrays, prayed and knelt 
 
 Before the Christian Cross ; 
 As though the Christ our Lord would fight 
 
 For the heathen reivers' sake ! 
 Lo ! as he knelt, within his sight 
 
 His seven anchors brake, 
 And the royal galley slid away 
 
 And others were hurled ashore, 
 And the lave they drave right furiously 
 
 Toward Largs 'mid the tempests' roar. 
 Beacons and eyes from cliff and bent 
 
 Down glared as the fleet surged by, 
 At strife with the raging element, 
 
 And the Scots blest their ally. 
 But when they saw those galleys hurled 
 
 On the spumy rocks of Clyde 
 Down like the tempest's self they whirled : 
 
 Death grapples in the tide ! 
 Night fell, but on the morrow morn 
 
 Through the surf grim warriors waded 
 And the Norsemen's valour was reborn, 
 
 Came Haco's self to aid it. 
 
36 Battle of Largs 
 
 Upsprings the sun, the days' begun, 
 
 And the flashing of his rays 
 Makes joy the Norsemen every one; 
 
 Less joyous as it plays 
 On the steel of Scotland's main array 
 
 That like the sun obscured 
 Bursts through the cloud-racks of delay, 
 
 With the king and his Lord High Stewart, 
 And fifteen hundred men at arms, 
 
 All mail-clad cap-a-pie, 
 Gathered from peels and burgs and farms, 
 
 A lusty company. 
 Mounted upon their mail-clad steeds, 
 
 See them gallop to the charge, 
 Each king his foremost battle leads, 
 
 But we force them to the marge. 
 The Lord High Stewart on the right, 
 
 On the left his brother Walter, 
 Both hurl them back and then unite 
 
 When they see the Norsemen falter. 
 Vainly they signal to their ships, 
 
 No succour can come ashore, 
 For again the storm its leashes slips, 
 
 As the hounds of hell its roar. 
 They battle on the banks of Clyde, 
 
 Scot, storm, and gallant Norsemen ; 
 Forth from our vanguard see him ride 
 
 Yon golden armoured horseman. 
 Sir Piers de Curry is he hight, 
 
 Bravest of Scotland's scions, 
 Forward he pricks to single fight : 
 
 Defiance meets defiance ; 
 
Battle of Largs 37 
 
 For a mighty Norseman turns about 
 
 And a twin-edged sword he swings, 
 And each crieth out his battle shout, 
 
 As Norse upon Scots steel rings. 
 Parry and stroke and stroke again, 
 
 And the battle stays to see 
 Which side of the strenuous clashing twain 
 
 Will fall the victory. 
 Half-circle back, like the lightning flash, 
 
 The Norseman swings his sword, 
 Then forward with an awful crash ; 
 
 He breaks the Scotsman's ward, 
 Cleaveth the steely cuisse and bone 
 
 As these were empty air, 
 Down from his steed the Scotsman thrown 
 
 Must bite the wet sand there. 
 On his curious armour, gold-inwrought, 
 
 Swoop down the ravenous Norse, 
 And the battle joins and the battle's fought 
 
 Around the hero's corse. 
 Perdie ! the Norsemen payed right dear 
 
 Sir Piers his cloven thigh, 
 And methinks his spirit made good cheer, 
 
 So be it floated nigh : 
 Five yarls that led the Norsemen on, 
 
 King Haco's brother's bairn, 
 And ten score more piled high upon 
 
 Sir Piers to build his cairn ! 
 Battle upon the beach till night, 
 
 Upon the blood-red hill, 
 On Clyde the wave and the tempest smite 
 
 The foes of Scotland still. 
 
38 Battle of Largs 
 
 Driven from their anchors hurled ashore, 
 
 One on the other dashing, 
 Nightlong amid the tempest's roar 
 
 We heard their galleys crashing. 
 At dawn the rocks of Clyde are fed 
 
 With corpses, masts and ropes, 
 And for the burial of their dead, 
 
 For the burial of their hopes 
 A truce the stormy Norsemen crave, 
 
 And one by one another 
 They range stone sentries for their brave, 
 
 Whom time nor tide can smother, 
 For ye shall see them standing yet, 
 
 Ye shall hear them tell their tale 
 Of the brave whom all but they forget 
 
 With the voice of the northern gale. 
 Their duty done unto the dead 
 
 Northward the Norsemen passed, 
 Bowed was King Haco's sovran head, 
 
 As he leaned upon the mast. 
 Arran and Bute and Skye he saw 
 
 Frown through their mist and rain ; 
 Of the Western Isles where he was law 
 
 Harbour he sought in vain. 
 Onward unto the Orcades. 
 
 He sought for friendly earth, 
 But the wrath unappeased of the winds and the seas 
 
 Oped the jaws of the Pentland Firth. 
 One galley and three score souls gulped down, 
 
 By a miracle saved the king, 
 Now ashore he may rest his storm-struck crown 
 
 And his fleet of weary wing. 
 
Battle of Largs 39 
 
 (An hundred and fifty sail they passed 
 
 O'er the waves with sunlight paven ; 
 Now the Scot and the sea and the ravenous blast 
 
 Spare ten for Orcadian haven). 
 Heavy on hill and valley shed 
 
 Lay drear December snows, 
 And heavy upon King Haco's head 
 
 The winter of his woes. 
 Now some would pass to Norroway 
 
 Back o'er the heaving billow : 
 To these King Haco bowed his " Yea," 
 
 With weary head on pillow. 
 But most they stood around his couch, 
 
 For to them he was full dear, 
 And gallantly they did avouch 
 
 To make their monarch cheer, 
 That with the coming of the spring 
 
 Over the seas again 
 A mightier fleet its way should wing 
 
 Free of enchantment's chain. 
 Well spoken ! warrior hearts so true, 
 
 Blessed be your loyal lie ; 
 What matter though you and he well knew 
 
 That the end of all was nigh ? 
 Then to the royal chamber came 
 
 Full many a monk and priest, 
 And they promised much in Jesus' name 
 
 Once the soul from the flesh released. 
 But Haco wearied of their prayers, 
 
 Wearied of all they told 
 Of the Christ and his Virgin Mother's cares, 
 
 And the saints in their crowns of gold. 
 
40 Battle of Largs 
 
 For the days of his youth came back again 
 
 And he called for the history 
 Of the Pirate Kings that swept the main, 
 
 His royal ancestry. 
 And as they read his een shone bright 
 
 And he rose on his couch as though 
 He would brace himself to one last fight, 
 
 With death itself for foe. 
 Full soon his head fell back once more 
 
 And his spirit passed away, 
 And with it passed for evermore 
 
 The peril of Norroway. 
 
 Of the clashing of arms and seas, a truce ! 
 
 Let the Muse of gentle voice 
 Tell the tale of the son of Robert de Brus 
 
 And the Countess of Carriers choice. 
 It chanced within a leafy space 
 
 Of her forest of Turnberry 
 That the Countess following the chase 
 
 Saw the Brus as he cantered free. 
 " Fair knight wilt thou not ride with me, 
 
 Follow the deer a mile, 
 Albeit thou farest hastily ? " 
 
 Like a rosebud oped her smile. 
 " Fair Countess/' answered Robert de Brus, 
 
 As he reined in his steed, 
 " Right fain were I, but weighty news 
 
 I bear with most of speed/' 
 Thus answered Brus, for well he knew 
 
 That the Countess was Royal ward, 
 
Battle of Largs 41 
 
 Albeit her beauty pierced him through 
 
 And her eyes were a twin-edged sword. 
 The Countess laughed as she turned about 
 
 In her saddle of cramoisie ; 
 (In the sun her golden curls shone out, 
 
 A lovely sight to see.) 
 She beckoned to her men at arms : 
 
 See they are at her side 
 To guard their Countess from the harms 
 
 That the beauteous love betide ! 
 
 ERRATUM 
 Page 41, line io,for " love" read " lone." 
 
 " Now by St James/' cries Robert de Brus, 
 
 And he laughs right merrily, 
 " Such a bidding brooketh not excuse, 
 
 I must e'en ride with thee." 
 " Yea, that must thou, the Countess cries, 
 
 As she grips his hanging rein, 
 And the Brus as he looks into her eyes 
 
 Is twice a prisoner ta'en. 
 She leads him by the shadowy glades, 
 
 By the laughter of Girvan water, 
 Till the laughter of her bonny maids 
 
 Greets the Earl of Carrick's daughter. 
 Turnberry's walls are builded high, 
 
 Turnberry's moat is deep, 
 
40 Battle of Largs 
 
 For the days of his youth came back again 
 
 And he called for the history 
 Of the Pirate Kings that swept the main, 
 
 His royal ancestry. 
 And as they read his een shone bright 
 
 And he rose on his couch as though 
 He would brace himself to one last fight, 
 
 With death itself for foe. 
 Full soon his head fell back once more 
 
 And his spirit passed away, 
 
 wiimn a leaiy space 
 
 Of her forest of Turnberry 
 That the Countess following the chase 
 
 Saw the Brus as he cantered free. 
 " Fair knight wilt thou not ride with me, 
 
 Follow the deer a mile, 
 Albeit thou farest hastily ? " 
 
 Like a rosebud oped her smile. 
 " Fair Countess," answered Robert de Brus, 
 
 As he reined in his steed, 
 " Right fain were I, but weighty news 
 
 I bear with most of speed." 
 Thus answered Brus, for well he knew 
 
 That the Countess was Royal ward, 
 
Battle of Largs 41 
 
 Albeit her beauty pierced him through 
 
 And her eyes were a twin-edged sword. 
 The Countess laughed as she turned about 
 
 In her saddle of cramoisie ; 
 (In the sun her golden curls shone out, 
 
 A lovely sight to see.) 
 She beckoned to her men at arms : 
 
 See they are at her side 
 To guard their Countess from the harms 
 
 That the beauteous love betide ! 
 " Go gather ye round yon feckless knight 
 
 Who doth unbidden dare 
 Pass through my forest in my sight : 
 
 He is my prisoner. " 
 Hardly her words are flown but lo ! 
 
 As a stag when the chase is done, 
 Ten men are at Brus' saddle-bow 
 
 With a drawn sword every one. 
 " Now by St James," cries Robert de Brus, 
 
 And he laughs right merrily, 
 " Such a bidding brooketh not excuse, 
 
 I must e'en ride with thee." 
 " Yea, that must thou, the Countess cries, 
 
 As she grips his hanging rein, 
 And the Brus as he looks into her eyes 
 
 Is twice a prisoner ta'en. 
 She leads him by the shadowy glades, 
 
 By the laughter of Girvan water, 
 Till the laughter of her bonny maids 
 
 Greets the Earl of Carrick's daughter. 
 Turnberry's walls are builded high, 
 
 Turnberry's moat is deep, 
 
4 2 Battle of Largs 
 
 Turnberry's dungeon lieth nigh 
 
 Turnberry's inner keep. 
 Ah ! what will now the Brus betide, 
 
 Chained to a golden girdle ? 
 On the sixteenth morn a lovely bride 
 
 To make his bonds eternal. 
 Now when on the wings of fame this news 
 
 Had flown unto the king, 
 How the Countess ward was wed to the Brus, 
 
 Nor craved his vouchsafing ; 
 O ! then waxed Alexander's ire, 
 
 And from the twain he reft 
 Castle and lordship of her sire, 
 
 But the better part he left. 
 For what avails the wrath of kings 
 
 When hearts and hands unite ? 
 To the Brus' neck his true wife clings, 
 
 And her tearful eyes swim bright. 
 The Brus hath called his trusty friends 
 
 And the kinsmen of his house : 
 Valour to these and parley lends 
 
 The beauty of his spouse. 
 They kneel before their ireful king, 
 
 And a cloud hangs o'er his brow, 
 Though suppliant gifts and prayers they bring 
 
 And many a duteous vow 
 From the Countess and the Lord she took 
 
 All in her forest green : 
 " Not twice I could upon him look, 
 
 Ere love was come between ; 
 I seized him with my men at arms, 
 
 For Love himself seized me ; 
 
Battle of Largs 43 
 
 Though reason pealed full loud alarms, 
 
 Love would not we were free. 
 Therefore I pray thee, good my liege, 
 
 Pardon thy suppliant ward 
 Whom love himself did thus besiege 
 
 And thrust within her guard. 
 Pardon thy Countess and thine Earl, 
 
 Whom love hath made but one : 
 Oh ! if she plead our cause thy Pearl, 
 
 Then is our pardon won." 
 Thus spake she by her friends and gifts 
 
 Laid before king and queen, 
 Who pleads till the royal cloud-rack lifts 
 
 And Scotland's sky 's serene. 
 Turnberry Castle 's hers once more, 
 
 Turnberry's forest glade, 
 Where a Bruce was taken in love's war 
 
 And an Earl of Carrick made. 
 Happily lived the twain methinks 
 
 A lover's year together, 
 They followed the chase by Gir van's brinks 
 
 In the pleasant summer weather. 
 Come wintry snows and blasts so keen 
 
 (Yet the spring dwells with the spruce) 
 She bears him a bairn, our Evergreen, 
 
 (For the spring 's with Robert Brus). 
 He wrenched King Edward's iron grip 
 
 From the throat of his native land, 
 And his fame will bloom on Scotland's lip 
 
 While the hills of Scotland stand, 
 And for this tale of Turnberry Tower 
 
 Let this be full excuse 
 
44 Battle of Largs 
 
 That a lovely lady left her bower 
 To be mother of Robert Brus. 
 
 Now when Henry of England's days were o'er 
 
 Sat Edward on the throne, 
 Came the King of Scots to swear once more 
 
 For his English fiefs alone 
 But seeing how great a prince was he 
 
 Ruling a sovran state, 
 He held it meet that the Brus should be 
 
 His spokesman delegate. 
 Therefore the Brus thus swore the oath 
 
 While the neighbour kings stood by, 
 And the Lords of the neighbour kingdoms both 
 
 Caught the words as they did fly ! 
 " I Robert Earl of Carrick swear 
 
 On the King of Scots, his soul, 
 Faith to King Edward and his heir 
 
 With life and worldly whole, 
 And I will faithful keep these bands, 
 
 Service of use and wont, 
 Against all deadly, for the lands 
 
 Which of England's king I hold." 
 Thus much did Alexander swear, 
 
 Thus kept he Scotland free, 
 And the record it is written fair 
 
 For all true men to see. 
 
 Now of the Stewart's death I tell 
 Who bare his master's name 
 
Battle of Largs 45 
 
 Which at the dolorous time befell 
 
 When to Scotland home they came. 
 This song has seen him fight the Norse 
 
 Whom storm and ocean swallowed 
 And in council Alexander's course 
 
 King Alexander followed. 
 To Paisley Abbey store of gold 
 
 Gave the Stewart and first fruit 
 Of the lands that he and his spouse did hold, 
 
 Whose dower was the Isle of Bute. 
 Two sons bore Jean the heiress : James 
 
 And John Stewart of Bonkyl, 
 Brethren whose deeds and glittering names. 
 
 The page of history fill, 
 Fifth Lord High Stewart was the first, 
 
 The second at Falkirk fell, 
 But how sorrow's cloud o'er Scotland burst 
 
 Behold the Muse would tell. 
 So the king must mourn for Margaret, 
 
 That pearly queen of his, 
 And he must mourn another yet, 
 
 Likewise a Pearl, I wis : 
 Queen Margaret of Norroway, 
 
 His daughter dear she was, 
 And his son and heir, on his heart these lay 
 
 Like the arms of a triple cross. 
 One only child that daughter bare, 
 
 A little maid was she, 
 Whom the Maid of Norroway some declare, 
 
 But the Damsel of Scotland we. 
 Her little feet alone did stand 
 
 On the steps of Scotland's throne ; 
 
46 Battle of Largs 
 
 Save her, by the dealing of Death's hand, 
 
 Alexander stood alone. 
 Wherefore he chose a queen anew, 
 
 Should breed a kingly race : 
 Joletta, child of the Count de Dreux ; 
 
 As the lily bloomed her face. 
 Sorrow he banished for the weal 
 
 Of Scotland and her crown, 
 And he bade his lords and his people leal 
 
 To the feast in Jedburgh town. 
 Ale for the people, wine for lords, 
 
 For all men games and glee, 
 As in Jedburgh's Palace creak the boards 
 
 While the dance they foot it free. 
 See the king lead forth his lissom bride, 
 
 Her lilies turn to roses 
 As in and out and in they glide 
 
 Till the music sudden closes. 
 " Oh ! What can ail my minstrels now 
 
 That sudden cease their playing ? " 
 Cries the king and turns an angry brow 
 
 To know their cause for staying. 
 Then soon the music plays again 
 
 At the order of the king, 
 Though on every face are fear and pain, 
 
 For all have seen the Thing. 
 Yea, all have seen that griesly form 
 
 Save one whom all obey 
 And they dance like dead leaves in the storm 
 
 For they know the king is fey 1 
 
 i Fey = foredoomed to death Scots. 
 
Battle of Largs 47 
 
 Dead lilies in Joletta's face, 
 
 Deep sobs and tears around, 
 She moves with the king a little space, 
 
 Then falleth in a s wound. 
 Now what beheld those revellers ? 
 
 What was that griesly Thing 
 That turned their joys to awesome fears 
 
 Like pestilence in spring ? 
 A ghastly shape in mist arrayed, 
 
 A Death's-head in a Crown, 
 Unto the minstrel's measure swayed 
 
 Moved ever up and down ; 
 Now slowly passed, now horrid fast, 
 
 For it danced with the music's tones, 
 And where it passed an icy blast 
 
 Froze the marrow of their bones. 
 None marked it come, none marked it go, 
 
 No earthly way it went, 
 But all men know that looming woe 
 
 That griesly dancer meant. 
 Now harken how the weird * was wrought 
 
 And the ancient line had end, 
 Then hear how England's Edward sought 
 
 To chain the hand of a friend. 
 The sennight 2 'twas, the bare sennight 
 
 Since the spectre danced its rede, 
 Alexander in the waning light 
 
 Did mount his fiery steed. 
 To Inverkeithing he would fare, 
 
 But as they passed Kinghorn 
 
 1 Weird = prediction Scots. 
 
 2 Seventh night. 
 
Battle of Largs 
 
 The Stewart prayed him have a care, 
 
 And ride the morrow morn. 
 But fiery as his plunging beast 
 Was Scotland's fated king 
 And the voice and the spur the pace increased, 
 
 As the deer's his courser's spring. 
 Black rocks they started up around 
 
 And on their left the sea 
 Boomed with a deep and dolorous sound, 
 
 As big with destiny. 
 Full soon upon his headlong course 
 
 Galloped the king alone, 
 For the Stewart vainly urged his horse 
 
 O'er sand and sliding stone. 
 At a turn in the road a massy rock 
 
 Hid the king from the Stewart's view 
 And as he galloped o'er stone and stock 
 
 His heart it galloped too. 
 The rock ! the rock ! he reached and passed, 
 
 He saw the dead king lie 
 The King of Scots, the best, the last, 
 With his face to the stormy sky. 
 His foamy steed was at his side, 
 
 The booming waves made moan, 
 The whirling sea-birds shrieking cried : 
 
 " Empty is Scotland's throne." 
 The Stewart knelt beside the corse, 
 
 He staunched the lifeblood's spring 
 That trickled from its crimson source 
 
 In the forehead of the king. 
 That night Joletta laughed aloud, 
 When all her loss she knew, 
 
Battle of Largs 49 
 
 And " Methinks," she cried, " a single shroud 
 
 Sufficeth for us two. 
 Come, friends, we'll dance again once more 
 
 In the shadow of the moon ; 
 I would meet the griesly form we saw, 
 
 I would crave of him a boon : 
 This only, that I be allowed 
 
 To lie with the king my lord, 
 Together wound in the self-same shroud, 
 
 Beneath the coffin's board." 
 Thus raved the poor Scots queen that night, 
 
 Thus lived for many a day, 
 A beauteous, silly, harmless wight 
 
 Till she heard sweeflnusic play. 
 Then ever to her feet she sprung 
 
 And wildly gazed around, 
 Then wept and then her hands she wrung, 
 
 Fell raving to the ground. 
 A silly soul, but when she died 
 
 Her bidding they obeyed, 
 And by King Alexander's side 
 
 Joletta queen they laid. 
 
Death of the Maid of Norroway 
 
 NOW weep for the north and tear 
 Thy heavy coiled hair, 
 O Muse and thy weed of woe 
 Be the hail and the snow 
 Of the northern island where 
 
 Lies the damsel so fair, 
 Like a white windblown plume 
 
 Blown to her dark doom 
 Over northern, rolling billow. 
 
 Her head's on her pillow; 
 Last of her royal race, 
 
 She hath death in her face. 
 See her stretch forth her hand 
 
 To her country's strand, 
 But never she'll reach it 
 
 And never will sit 
 On the Stone of Destiny, 
 
 Maiden of History ! 
 O thou, Maiden of Norroway, 
 
 Memory far away ! 
 O thou, Damsel of Scotland, 
 
 Edward of England 
 Had been thy royal child spouse 
 
 And those unsaid vows 
 Perchance had linked the fates 
 
 Of the Sister States ! 
 
 50 
 
Death of the Maid of Norroway 51 
 
 But alas and a lack-a-day, 
 
 Maiden of Norroway, 
 With thy passing words are said, 
 
 Scotland's freedom's dead ! 
 By the mouth of Edward's minions 
 
 War's red pinions 
 On the Border Tweed unfurl : 
 
 But sleep, gentle girl, 
 For behold thy sleep's secured, 
 
 Thy faithful Stewart 
 James, who swore troth to thee, 
 
 Sad perplexity 
 Drives him hither and thither, 
 
 Muse tell me whither. 
 For the Damsel of Scotland dead, 
 
 Muse, let thy tears be shed. 
 
James 
 
 FIFTH LORD HIGH STEWART. 1243-1309 (continued) 
 
 B 
 
 Y Norham on the banks of Tweed, 
 
 When summer winds were sighing, 
 Upon a green and flowery mead 
 
 Our freedom lay adying. 
 Now I will tell ye, ladies fair, 
 
 How this was brought to be, 
 But of the Stewart first declare 
 The infelicity. 
 
 When Alexander died the Stewart was one of six 
 
 great lords 
 By whom the Maiden's rightful throne was fenced 
 
 about with swords ; 
 But how the Maid did fade away like snowdrop 
 
 with the snow, 
 Behold the Muse hath duly told and crooned the 
 
 dirge of woe. 
 Now of these lords some died full soon and Duncan 
 
 Earl of Fife 
 
 By Sir William Abernethy was slain in bloody strife. 
 Therefore the Stewart made a band to crown the 
 
 Brus our King, 
 And these are the names of the lords that signed and 
 
 sealed it each with his ring : 
 
 52 
 
James 53 
 
 Brus Lord of Annandale stood first whose son was 
 
 Carrick's Earl, 
 By the right of flashing eyes of blue and locks of golden 
 
 curl, 
 Patrick the Earl and his three sons that lord it in 
 
 Dunbar, 
 Cousins of the Stewart and his brother John of 
 
 Bonkyl whose red star 
 
 Set on the field of Falkirk, and Walter of Menteith, 
 The Earl his uncle with his sons, all set their names 
 
 beneath 
 This band of James the Lord High Stewart at the 
 
 Castle of Turnberry. 
 
 But mightier than many lords is the hand of destiny. 
 Destiny, name for most of might, loves best the throne 
 
 of kings, 
 And from the empty Scottish throne behold her flight 
 
 she wings 
 Unto King Edward of England, who knows full well 
 
 to wait, 
 For he never strikes a blow too soon nor never strikes 
 
 too late. 
 When the Scots estates at Brigham had made their 
 
 due award, 
 And by bethrothal of their Maid to the king's son 
 
 sheathed the sword, 
 King Edward sware upon his soul that the kingdom 
 
 of Scotland ever 
 As of old from the kingdom of England the Border's 
 
 line should sever, 
 Sware that if Margaret and his son should die without 
 
 an heir 
 
54 James 
 
 Then should the States of Scotland their rightful king 
 
 declare. 
 To swear these oaths he stretched his arms from 
 
 England o'er the banks 
 Of Tweed and after them he drew those striding 
 
 lengthy shanks, 
 The bane of Scotland, for they strode north, south 
 
 and east and west, 
 And the hounds of war were at his heels and in his 
 
 hands the pest. 
 These were the gifts he gave the land whose laws he 
 
 swore to keep, 
 But crooked were his ways of thought and as the 
 
 ocean deep. 
 When the Snowdrop Queen was faded quite, he called 
 
 his lords together 
 And whispered in their privy ear how he had mind 
 
 to tether 
 The kingdom of Scotland with the chain whereof the 
 
 Welshmen feel 
 About their bodies and their souls the biting links of 
 
 steel. 
 He whispered in their privy ear and bade his armies 
 
 meet 
 By Norham on the banks of Tweed, for he would 
 
 Scotland greet 
 With the persuasion of the bow, the eloquence of the 
 
 sword 
 To bow the knee to England's king as Scotland's 
 
 Overlord. 
 This done, a message Edward sent unto the Scottish 
 
 State 
 
James 55 
 
 That he would meet their lords and priests at Norham 
 
 for debate. 
 
 It fell upon the ten of May that Scots and English met, 
 And in Roger Brabazon his mouth these words King 
 
 Edward set : 
 " Whereas what time the King of Scots, Alexander, 
 
 passed to heaven, 
 
 He of his body left no heir, and now your Maid is riven 
 By death from out my dear son's arms and now your 
 
 land is torn 
 
 By civil feud and herschip right grievous to be borne, 
 I have summoned ye my Scottish Lords who am 
 
 Lord Paramount 
 Of Scotland that of all these things we may take due 
 
 account. 
 Now first I bid your hearty ' ay ' to this my claim 
 
 most just, 
 Next for the settling of your crown in me ye shall 
 
 have trust ! " 
 Amazement fell upon the Scots when now they heard 
 
 this claim. 
 They answered : " Sire, we know not well what 
 
 means this lofty name, 
 
 Lord Paramount of Scotland, name never heard before, 
 Therefore since now, no king we have, we may not 
 
 answer more ! " 
 " By Holy Edward," Edward cried, " whose crown is 
 
 on my brow, 
 I will perish teaching ye my right or my right ye 
 
 shall avow/' 
 The Scots lords trembled as they heard, for in their 
 
 hearts was fear 
 
56 James 
 
 Since they had none to lead nor fight and they knew 
 
 his army near ; 
 Therefore they begged a brief delay that they might 
 
 well devise 
 The best to do for Scotland's sake. Now this in 
 
 Edward's eyes 
 Seemed good to grant, for well he knew that the glint 
 
 of English gold 
 In the Regent Bishop Frazer's eyes was worth his 
 
 country sold, 
 And that meanwhile o'er the Border a golden stream 
 
 would pour, 
 Winning the hearts corrupt of some, weakening the 
 
 hearts of more. 
 The Scots and the English parted there to meet the 
 
 coming moon 
 On the daisied sward by Norham, beneath the skies 
 
 of June. 
 Now nought will I soften for those Scots who are 
 
 about to sell 
 The freedom of their native land, for the truth alone 
 
 I teU. 
 
 Yet this for Scotland as a whole may be justly counter- 
 claimed, 
 That certain only lords had power, and these the whole 
 
 land shamed. 
 Eight claimant lords, the Regents and the Stewart 
 
 was with the Brus 
 These meet King Edward at Norham and of these 
 
 none dare refuse 
 To Edward the King the sovran right to Scotland's 
 
 seignory, 
 
James 57 
 
 And to whom he shall award their land they swear 
 
 their King shall be. 
 
 Black Comyn Lord of Badenoch, he is the first to sign, 
 Balliol and Brus and other five in a descending line. 
 Then the Regents four of Scotland, the Comyn and 
 
 the Bishops twain 
 Of Glasgow and of St Andrews, and the Stewart with 
 
 most of pain, 
 
 Deliver up their native land to the English king to hold 
 And the choosing of their country's king by him to be 
 
 controlled. 
 
 One only lord denies to yield the castles in his power 
 And fit it is his name should shine through Scotland's 
 
 darkest hour. 
 
 He is the Earl of Angus, Gilbert de Umfraville, 
 Dundee's and Forfar's castellan, who holds those keys 
 
 until 
 By order of the Scots Estates wherefrom he took his 
 
 Trust 
 He yields what Scotland wills to yield but not what 
 
 Scotland must. 
 This done King Edward mounts his steed and passes 
 
 o'er the Border 
 Exacting homage from the Scots and bringing all to 
 
 order. 
 Such order as to a fenceless man an armed man can 
 
 bring 
 Was the order brought to Scotland with the passage 
 
 of England's king. 
 By Edinburgh and Dunfermline he fares to northern 
 
 Perth, 
 By Kinghorn and Linlithgow beyond the eastern Firth ; 
 
5 8 James 
 
 St Andrews bows her mitred head, earls, barons and 
 
 burghers all 
 Sign the rolls of homage to Edward which makes 
 
 them England's thrall. 
 When now the progress is fulfilled at Berwick-upon- 
 
 Tweed 
 
 King Edward calls the delegates to meet as he decreed 
 In the church of the monks of Dominic : an hundred 
 
 and four they come 
 Of Scots and English artful mixed ; but Scotland's 
 
 voice is dumb. 
 Now these be the names of the lords that claimed to 
 
 mount our Scotland's throne, 
 Eight at the first through Edward's art by five is 
 
 their number grown, 
 For the more the number of claimants the greater 
 
 King Edward stands, 
 Lord Paramount of Scotland with the balance in his 
 
 hands. 
 Florence the Fifth of Holland ranks first, the 
 
 Emperor's son, 
 Whose veins with the blood patrician of ancient 
 
 Romans run. 
 A Roman by the Emperor, by the Empress born a 
 
 Guelf, 
 But a pirate Norseman seemed to him Plantagenet 
 
 himself. 
 
 Ada daughter of Henry, son of David, Scotland's king 
 Is the ancestress whence Florence Count of Holland's 
 
 titles spring ; 
 For Ada wedded Florence Count of Holland, great 
 
 grandsire 
 
James 59 
 
 Of the Count around whose father's head wheeled 
 
 the eagles of Empire. 
 Sister of William the Lion no claim her heirs should 
 
 make, 
 Since the heirs of her brother the Lion are first for 
 
 royal birthright's sake. 
 But hearken to the man of law who pleads at Florence' 
 
 side : 
 " No claim have Balliol nor the Brus whose blood 
 
 a tainted tide 
 Flows from King David of Scotland, who with banner 
 
 high displayed 
 Did the lands of the King of England his overlord 
 
 invade. 
 
 For this he was a felon and furthermore the crown 
 In favour of William the Lion Earl David laid it down, 
 Ruling in place the Garioch, where ruled his daughters 
 
 three, 
 And Balliol, Brus and Hastynges heirs of their bodies 
 
 be." 
 Next on the roll of those that claim stands Patric 
 
 Earl of March, 
 Whose titles span the stormy sky as doth the showery 
 
 arch : 
 Fair, but they vanish : Patric claims by a daughter 
 
 of William the Lion's, 
 And a like claim makes de Vesci's lord, with William 
 
 de Ros as scions 
 
 All of that king ; for ancestress the Princess Marjorie, 
 Daughter of Henry, Scotland's Prince, claims Robert 
 
 de Pinkeny. 
 Through the second Alexander claims Nicolas de Soulis, 
 
60 James 
 
 Patric, Galithly followeth next with equal parchment 
 
 rolls. 
 
 Descent from Aufrica the child of William King of Scots 
 Proves Roger de Mandeville for eighth : full well King 
 
 Edward wots 
 That as the arch upon the sky, so these their lineage 
 
 show, 
 But to deck the heaven where rules his orb with their 
 
 many-coloured bow. 
 Black Comyn Lord of Badenoch is next to claim the 
 
 crown 
 Whose sires could trace from Donald Bane their right 
 
 and lordship down ; 
 He is father to that Red Comyn whom Robert the 
 
 Brus shall slay 
 
 In the Friars' chapel by Dumfries upon a winter's day. 
 Tenth is Sir John de Hastynges whose grandsire was 
 
 that Earl 
 
 David of Huntingdon whose flag erewhile we saw un- 
 furl 
 With the Stewart's in the Holy War. 
 
 Now see a crowned king 
 Who would link a crown unto a crown with the hoop 
 
 of a nuptial ring : 
 Eric the King of Norroway would mount our Scotland's 
 
 throne 
 By the right of his Damsel Daughter dead whom all 
 
 the Muses moan. 
 Ten lords and a king till now have claimed their dole 
 
 at the hand of time, 
 Their dole they have, and let them preen their plumes 
 
 in the glass of rhyme. 
 
James 61 
 
 But leaning upon the arm of Time comes Truth, whose 
 
 radiant face 
 Though never so late to the feast she come hath aye 
 
 the foremost place. 
 At her side behold two lords that claim, John Balliol 
 
 and Robert de Brus, 
 Betwixt the running of their blood is the real choice 
 
 to choose. 
 For of the others that have claimed, some fail through 
 
 bastardy, 
 Some by remoteness of descent, though fair their 
 
 pedigree. 
 From the daughters of David of Huntingdon, brother 
 
 of William, Scotland's King, 
 Uncle to Alexander Second, both Brus and Balliol 
 
 spring. 
 By the eldest, Margaret, Balliol claims, by the second, 
 
 Isabel, 
 Robert the Brus, whose own mother she was, and 
 
 claims as well 
 By the speech of Alexander Second, who before he 
 
 got an heir, 
 
 Thinking to leave no child of his, did in default declare 
 Robert the Brus his cousin's child, but as all men 
 
 know his bride 
 Of the second bed the Coucy bare a sole son ere he 
 
 died, 
 Alexander Third of Scotland, whose grandchild, Norro- 
 
 way's Maid, 
 
 Last of the royal line men saw as frozen snowdrop fade. 
 Now nearer by one degree is Brus than the grandson 
 
 of Margaret, 
 
62 James 
 
 Balliol, against whose claim to rule is another barrier 
 
 set: 
 
 To wit that a woman by her sex is uncapable to reign, 
 And Dervorgulla, Balliol's mother, this proved, who 
 
 did refrain 
 To claim the crown when died the King : thus the 
 
 Brus as nighest male 
 
 Of the royal blood must lawfully in this debate prevail. 
 Thus spake the Brus, but straight upsprung John 
 
 Balliol and he pled 
 That seeing the dead King left an heir was born in 
 
 lawful bed, 
 Vain was the plea against the rule of woman and 
 
 furthermore 
 Should that be false, then Brus himself sets a barrier 
 
 before 
 The claims of Brus and adds thereto that the Brus by 
 
 his own act 
 Swearing allegiance to the Maid, pierced phantom 
 
 pleas with fact. 
 Thus pleaded Balliol and the Brus, each straining to 
 
 the goal, 
 Adding as is the pleaders' wont much dross unto the 
 
 whole 
 Of justice in their claims to rule that might weigh 
 
 down the scale 
 Quivering upon that winter's day in Edward's fist 
 
 of mail. 
 King Edward called those delegates and asked them 
 
 questions twain, 
 And as the echo of Edward's voice their answers 
 
 came again. 
 
James 63 
 
 Now first : " Of the heirs of the sisters Margaret and 
 
 Isabel, 
 If the crown to the elder more remote or the nearer 
 
 younger f ell ? " 
 They answered : " To the elder's heirs though by one 
 
 degree remote " : 
 King Balliol smiled the smile of kings, but the Brus 
 
 clutched Brus' throat. 
 Second : " Can the realm of Scotland be into parts 
 
 divided ? " 
 " Not partible is Scotland's realm," that echo's voice 
 
 decided. 
 On the seventeen of November, at Berwick-upon- 
 
 Tweed 
 
 King Edward met the Courts again, and as the clam- 
 bering weed 
 Dies when the castle 's builded new, so died those 
 
 claimants' claims 
 That decked the ruins of the past with the blossoms 
 
 of their names. 
 King Edward rising from his throne delivered his 
 
 decree : 
 That one is the kingdom of Scotland, but of England 
 
 held in fee, 
 And by the laws of England to the heirs of the elder 
 
 line 
 Must the heirs of the younger though more near their 
 
 claim to rule resign. 
 Therefore to Balliol comes the crown, by grace of his 
 
 overlord 
 Edward the King of England, who doth this throne 
 
 accord 
 
64 James 
 
 Unto his vassal Balliol, saving the right to reign, 
 Which shall with the King of England and with his 
 
 heirs remain. 
 Thus to our fenceless Scotland, Lord Paramount he 
 
 spake, 
 And the seal of the Lion of Scotland in parties four 
 
 he brake 
 
 Before the eyes of Balliol, before the eyes of Brus, 
 And the portals of the Stewart's eyes flowed as an 
 
 opened sluice. 
 Next day, in the Castle of Norham, sware Balliol 
 
 fealty 
 Unto King Edward of England, and the Stone of 
 
 Destiny 
 Shuddered as Balliol sat thereon, shuddered the free 
 
 Scots crown 
 From King of Scots to King of Scots through ages 
 
 handed down. 
 
Reign of Balliol 
 
 1292-1305 
 
 JAMES, 5TH LORD HIGH STEWART (continued) 
 
 BATS that waver in your flight, 
 Quivering through the dim twilight ; 
 Owls and ghosts that may not rest, 
 Hearken unto my behest : 
 Issue from your secret bowers, 
 Ivied turrets, haunted towers, 
 Flitter through this grieslie age, 
 Write with claws this blenched page, 
 Fright with shrieks of murdered men 
 All that stay to look again, 
 Thus ye shall with pleasant labour 
 Do for me a dire endeavour, 
 Seeing the Muse wills not to sing 
 The sorrows of a craven King. 
 
 Balliol sits on Scotland's throne, 
 Edward rules the land alone, 
 Edward with an iron mace 
 Brandished in his vassal's face 
 Bids him bow down on bended knee : 
 " Scotland is but England's fee." 
 " But the oaths ye sware the Scot ? " 
 " Sware I oaths ? So let them rot : 
 
 E 65 
 
66 Reign of Balliol 
 
 I will rule as seems me good, 
 
 Brook not vassal's hardihood." 
 
 Twas thus the iron Edward spake : 
 
 As a child chid did Balliol quake, 
 
 While Edward plucked from nerveless hand 
 
 The laws and liberty of the land. 
 
 Now while Balliol, vassal King, 
 
 Bends the knee to kiss the ring, 
 Hark to Clio's merry laughter 
 
 Pealing at the hap thereafter. 
 Edward rules the broad domain, 
 
 Field and forest, Aquitaine. 
 King of England, Duke in France, 
 
 To Philip's tune should Edward dance, 
 Since though sad 'tis very true 
 
 Edward is a vassal too ! 
 But never to kneel was Edward taught, 
 
 And he held a dukedom dear were bought 
 That asks the homage of bended knee 
 
 From the King of a King for a foreign fee. 
 
 Therefore the order wafted over 
 
 By Calais sands the cliffs of Dover, 
 Edward answereth with scorn 
 
 By Dover's cliffs to Calais borne. 
 Then behold the dogs of war 
 
 Howling loud from shore to shore. 
 England's men-at-arms troop round 
 
 Edward at his trumpet's sound. 
 Edward bids the Scots array 
 
 Likewise this behest obey ; 
 
Reign of Balliol 67 
 
 But the rule from the puling Balliol riven 
 
 To a band of stark Scots lords is given ; 
 And the voice of the north wind speaks : " Defiance " 
 
 To England, but to France : " Alliance/' 
 Forth into the forest now, 
 
 See me break yon fir-tree bough ; 
 Bound we fifty close together, 
 
 They might bend, but never never 
 Would they break, though strength were mine 
 
 That overcame the Philistine. 
 Thus was Scotland on the day 
 
 Edward fared with his array, 
 Breathing vengeance o'er the Border : 
 
 Rancour, feud and dire disorder 
 Unwind the strength of the Scots' Lords' band, 
 And the boughs split single in Edward's hand. 
 Red run the waters of Berwick's Tweed 
 And the word of France brings forth no deed. 
 
 Strongest in the land by far 
 Stands the Castle of Dunbar, 
 By the English held till now, 
 Frowning from the mountain's brow. 
 Patric Earl is Edward's man, 
 But Patric's countess hath her plan, 
 Hates the Southron with a hate 
 That openeth to the Scot the gate. 
 Atholl, Menteith and John Comyn 
 With thirty knights they enter in. 
 Perfay their hearts they waxed stout 
 When forty thousand Scots without 
 
68 Reign of Balliol 
 
 And fifteen hundred mounted men 
 Fell on the English of Warrenne ! 
 Down from the heights with battle shout 
 Rush the Scots on the English rout, 
 Deeming in their feckless folly 
 
 That they swoop on fleeing quarry, 
 But they meet a battle line 
 
 Linked with steel of discipline. 
 Twice five thousand Scottish men 
 
 Ne'er will see the sun again ; 
 Count with these Sir Patrick Graham, 
 
 Since to yield he held it shame. 
 See the victor Surrey wipe his sword, 
 Hear rolling back the Castle's ward ; 
 See Atholl, Comyn and Menteith 
 
 Bow their proud necks the yoke beneath. 
 
 Chronicle of Scotland's shame, 
 
 Blush but write the Stewart's name, 
 
 Who yields to Edward Roxburgh's Tower. 
 
 Every minute of this hour 
 
 Bears us further from the light 
 
 As the hands of the dial seek midnight. 
 
 By Jedburgh, Dumbarton, Stirling 
 
 Northward like the tempest whirling, 
 
 Edward stays his course at Perth, 
 
 Feasting John the Baptist's birth. 
 
 Here with his Barons grouped around 
 
 New knights he dubs and the feast is crowned 
 
 With the missive of Balliol, King, poltroon, 
 
 Craving for peace as a slave a boon. 
 
Reign of Balliol 69 
 
 Answered Edward : "To Brechin go 
 
 And from Durham's Bishop thy fate shall'st know." 
 Balliol's gone where Balliol must 
 
 With two nations' scorn adust. 
 See him abject kneel, put off 
 
 Royal robes 'mid sneer and scoff ; 
 See him as a felon stand 
 
 With a white wand in his hand ; 
 Hear him make his recantation, 
 
 Tell how yielding to temptation, 
 To a league with France he had pretended, 
 
 Right grievously his lord offended, 
 Right well deserved that Edward's brand 
 
 Should pierce the heart of his native land. 
 
 Thus was Scotland's King discrowned, 
 
 Soon in London's Tower he found 
 Respite from the hand of fate 
 
 Which had made a pigmy great. 
 Soon the immemorial Stone, 
 
 Riven from its place at Scone, 
 Stands forlorn in Westminster 
 
 Compassed round with Southern air. 
 But an ancient ditty tells 
 
 How that with the Stone there dwells 
 Virtue that soon or late will bring 
 
 To the stone of the Scots a Scottish King. 
 Yea, the price of the Stone from Scotland riven 
 
 Shall be England's throne to Scotland given. 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 
 
 1296-1305 
 
 JAMES, 5TH LORD HIGH STEWART (continued) 
 
 NOW the last glimmer of light dies down 
 And the Grampians cease to frown ; 
 I dare not move but hark to the sough 
 Of the wintry wind in the boughs above, 
 While in my face plash the tears of the rain : 
 Shall the tears of my Scotland be shed in vain ? 
 Thus through the watches of night I stand, 
 And I hark to the moan of my native land. 
 My hands are numb with the rain from the trees, 
 And as the harp's, so my heartstrings freeze. 
 O for the coming of morning light ! 
 Flames there a torch on the distant height ? 
 See it streams like a comet from hill to hollow, 
 And warrior forms the brightness follow. 
 Now the flame of the torch hath wed the east, 
 By the flames of the rising sun increased. 
 Let the smoke of fancy pass on the wind, 
 While the golden sheaves of the truth we bind. 
 
 Too high are the high, too low the low, 
 
 That the patriot's flame in their hearts should glow. 
 
 70 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 71 
 
 By the Southron's bribes and civil feud 
 
 Are the high, but the low by need subdued. 
 
 Nor rich, nor of an high degree 
 
 Is the hero, Wallace of Ellerslie. 
 
 Come of the lesser barons' stand, 
 
 His heart is the heart of his native land. 
 
 As a child, when he knew his country's fate, 
 
 Hard beat his heart for love and hate. 
 
 Mighty of mind and mighty of thew, 
 
 To a giant William Wallace grew. 
 
 While yet a youth no man, I ween, 
 
 Dared wrestle with Wallace on the green, 
 
 For once in William Wallace' grip, 
 
 Soul from body straight would slip. 
 
 This all men knew and the lassies too ; 
 
 But of the lassies not a few 
 
 Would venture body, soul and all 
 
 With the giant for to try a fall. 
 
 But hark to the ripple of Irvine water, 
 
 It will tell ye the tale of a happy slaughter, 
 
 When the lad Wallace a-trouting went, 
 
 And silvery was his creel's content. 
 
 Of a happy slaughter tells Irvine water, 
 
 And many a speckled trout he caught there 
 
 He gifts for share of his silver spoil 
 
 To the soldiery that marks his toil. 
 
 Half of his creel to a Southron lout 
 
 William Wallace he empties out ; 
 
 For the other half they ask in vain, 
 
 As he closes the creel and casts again. 
 
 Sudden on the creel rough hands are laid, 
 
 But Wallace turns him undismayed, 
 
72 Coming of Sir William Wallace 
 
 And the butt of his harmless hazel bough 
 
 Split in the midst is a weapon now. 
 
 And once he cries to the rout : " Begone/' 
 
 Twice and thrice, but they venture on. 
 
 As the first with sword unsheathed draws near 
 
 Swings the butt of the bough above his ear : , 
 
 Felled as an ox to ground, he dies, 
 
 But his sword the ruffian crew defies : 
 
 Gripped in the Wallace grip, the steel 
 
 Bites as a brand that the gods anneal. 
 
 Turning the cowards flee to Ayr, 
 
 But of Wallace hath the forest care. 
 
 O forest and hill of my native land, 
 
 Never beneath your shade I stand, 
 
 Never climb your sides toward the blue of the sky, 
 
 But the tear of memory dims my eye ; 
 
 For I think on the friendship mute you wrought 
 
 When the Wallace and Brus your safety sought, 
 
 Vainly the Southron lord of Ayr 
 
 Craves Wallace of the forest's care. 
 
 Now behold the ripple of Irvine water 
 
 Hath told the tale of a happy slaughter. 
 
 Let the years roll by and a coat of green 
 
 See Clio mirror on moving screen ; 
 
 A coat of green and a bonnet plumed, 
 
 These hath William Wallace presumed 
 
 To don and he walks on Dundee's street, 
 
 And the causeway rings to the spurs on his feet. 
 
 Now a band of Southron captains see 
 
 Wallace attired as a knight should be : 
 
 These like it not that a Scottish slave 
 
 Should walk the street in garb so brave ; 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 73 
 
 Wherefore they compass Wallace round 
 
 And serpents on their tongues abound. 
 
 Now a goodly thing in man or in maid 
 
 Is meekness, let this for sooth be said, 
 
 Then add this further sooth thereto 
 
 That meekness Wallace never knew. 
 
 Those spue their spawn of flout and lie, 
 
 Nor mark the eagle in his eye. 
 
 " Eftsoons ! Thy dirk of golden sheath, 
 
 My baldric better would hang beneath," 
 
 Cries one, as he grasps the dirk of Wallace. 
 
 " Eftsoons ! so be it make thee solace, 
 
 My dirk thou shalst have/' cries William Wallace, 
 
 " But I, not thou, will choose it a place/' 
 
 Straight in the captain's spleen and liver 
 
 Is the dagger sheathed by the ready giver. 
 
 Then to the house where dwells the lass 
 
 That Wallace wed doth Wallace pass. 
 
 True is her heart and she bars the door 
 
 As down the street the Southron pour : 
 
 Yea ! the wings of the love-god quiver above her 
 
 As she bars the door to save her lover. 
 
 Batter the door, ye shall batter in vain, 
 
 Burst will it not ere Wallace gain 
 
 The safety of Cartland's glen and rock, 
 
 Where all their search shall Wallace mock. 
 
 What of the wife so leal and fair ? 
 
 When the door bursts open they find her there, 
 
 And dastards with her death assuage 
 
 The blood-thirst of their baulked rage. 
 
 Now though in greenwood lay perdue 
 
 Wallace, right soon this deed he knew, 
 
74 Coming of Sir William Wallace 
 
 And on a day the green leaves parted, 
 
 As the warrior Wallace, lion-hearted, 
 
 Went forth the murtherer for to slay 
 
 Of the wife he loved ; no tear he shed 
 
 Ere Marion's murtherer was dead. 
 
 " Where men do weep is courage less, 
 
 Tears slake revenge not wrong redress." 
 
 Hislop the English sheriff hight, 
 
 Wallace met him at fall of night ; 
 
 Black were his thoughts but white his face 
 
 As he parleyed with Wallace for a space, 
 
 Black was his face and his soul in hell, 
 
 When his fellows found him at curfew bell. 
 
 As a stake plunged deep in the bed of a river 
 
 Stays the weeds as they pass on the tide that 
 
 quiver, 
 
 Twined round the stake, and rock and sand, 
 Flotsam and jetsam of the land, 
 Join them to these and by degrees 
 To an isle in the river's midst increase ; 
 So Wallace stemmed misfortune's tide, 
 And flotsam gathered to his side. 
 O the Burning of the Barns of Ayr ! 
 When the Southron lords the Scots ensnare 
 To talk in love and amity 
 Of the best for Scotland's polity. 
 Two by two through the narrow gate 
 The Scots lords hie them to their fate, 
 For as they come the Barns within 
 A running noose slips under their chin, 
 And they dangle midway in the air, 
 Those lords of Scotland, pair by pair, 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 75 
 
 Sir Bryss the Blayr, Sir Neil Montgomerie, 
 Stewart, Crauford, Boyd, Berkeley and Kennedy. 
 Certes the Southrons laugh to see 
 Such fruit hang ripe from the Barn's roof-tree. 
 
 In the Barns near by where thus they did 
 
 Feasts the Southron, then with heavy lid, 
 
 He slumbereth through the summer night. 
 
 " Is it the dawn that shineth bright ? " 
 
 Quoth one to another murtherer ; 
 
 " Methinks without I heard a stir/' 
 
 Ay ! 'tis a stir, thou hast spoken right, 
 
 But the Barn, not the dawn, it shineth bright, 
 
 For the stir without 'tis William Wallace 
 
 With thrice an hundred Scots for police. 
 
 Two by two they entered in 
 
 Those Scots lords hanging by their chin ; 
 
 Two by two ye shall not pass out, 
 
 Nor one by one, for round about 
 
 Are the doors ablaze with flax and pitch, 
 
 And an hundred swords mount guard o'er each. 
 
 By God the hanging well was done ! 
 
 But the burning too 'twas well begun, 
 
 Right well begun and better ended : 
 
 These burn amain and the lave befriended 
 
 With the blessing of the Friar of Ayr 
 
 Get knives into their paunches there. 
 
 Thus did the Scot and the Southron fare : 
 
 Those hang, these roast in the Barns of Ayr. 
 
 But with the bruit of vengeance done 
 Swelled the force of Wallace, one by one, 
 
j6 Coming of Sir William Wallace 
 
 Then two by two, then ten by ten 
 
 To an army swelled those desperate men. 
 
 Grammercy ! storms methinks betide 
 
 When a Douglas stands at Wallace side. 
 
 William Douglas of Douglasdale 
 
 He makes Disdeir and Sanquhar quail, 
 
 While to the Lennox Wallace wends ; 
 
 But the Stewart and the Brus are wavering friends. 
 
 Methinks it seemeth strange to see 
 
 Heroes of Scotland's history, 
 
 Thus moving dim through doubtful light, 
 
 When the morn first dawns on Scotland's night. 
 
 But hie ye to yonder mountain top ; 
 
 Nothing your nimble gaze shall stop, 
 
 As it roams o'er river and morass. 
 
 Now get ye down and strive to pass 
 
 From this to yonder mountain peak 
 
 Which the fingers of dawn all roseate streak. 
 
 League upon league ye shall roam, my friend, 
 
 Ere ye come at the last to your journey's end, 
 
 For yonder mount lies leagues away 
 
 And dragons foul your path will stay. 
 
 Ay ! a stout heart ye shall need, my friend, 
 
 To come at the last to your journey's end. 
 
 Stout are the Douglas, the Stewart and the Brus : 
 
 Yet they seek at Edward's hands excuse, 
 
 Ay ! Wallace alone takes the eagle's way 
 
 To the peak where the lights of morning play. 
 
 Reft of these lords wenc Wallace forth 
 
 Gigantic to the friendly north, 
 
 And the granite hills of Aberdeen 
 
 Gave granite to his might, I ween. 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 77 
 
 See Forfar, Brechin and Montrose 
 
 Open their gates to his granite blows ; 
 
 At the gates of the Castle on Dundee's rocks 
 
 With his hammer of granite Wallace knocks ; 
 
 But he stays it hurtling through the air, 
 
 For Surrey and Cressingham northward fare 
 
 With an army of fifty thousand men 
 
 Toward Stirling and Wallace hastes to gain 
 
 The heights that look on Cambuskenneth, 
 
 Where the hero's star soars to the zenith. 
 
 Ten thousand less his warriors were, 
 
 Ten thousand more with Wallace there, 
 
 As forty thousand men he laid 
 
 On the heights above in ambuscade. 
 
 Five fathom deep is the water swirling 
 
 Round the oaken piles of the Bridge of Stirling. 
 
 By Stirling's Bridge see Wallace wait 
 
 And the sword in his hand is Scotland's fate. 
 
 Now ere the English arms draw nigh 
 
 Are the Stewart and Lennox fain to try 
 
 For peace and pardon to Wallace there, 
 
 Since of their country they despair. 
 
 Now hark to the words that Wallace said, 
 
 As at his side for peace they pled : 
 
 " Get ye gone to our foes once more, 
 
 Tell them we came not to implore 
 
 Peace, but to battle unaf eared, 
 
 Man unto man and beard to beard." 
 
 Red for wrath are Surrey's cheeks 
 
 When he hears how William Wallace speaks ; 
 
 But at his side for priestly ire 
 
 Is the heart of Cressingham afire, 
 
78 Coining of Sir William Wallace 
 
 Who claims to lead the English van 
 
 Over the narrow bridge's span, 
 
 And drive away those Scottish cattle 
 
 That dare to face their lords in battle. 
 
 Now though the Earl he was full wise 
 
 With years of warlike enterprize, 
 
 Though he saw full well that peril stood 
 
 With sword unsheathed by the bridge of wood, 
 
 Full little all his wisdom skilled 
 
 To stay the wrath that his bosom filled, 
 
 And ever the bishop at his side 
 
 Urged with wild words to cross the tide. 
 
 Now be ye high or be ye low 
 
 Hark to a wisdom all should know : 
 
 Be it in little things or great, 
 
 Who yields to wrath is the fool of fate. 
 
 Not Surrey at Stirling Bridge was Captain, 
 
 But choler the mantle of Surrey wrapped in. 
 
 Thirsting the insult to avenge, 
 
 Over the bridge fares Sir Marmaduke Twenge, 
 
 With Cressingham, with horse and foot, 
 
 They crowd across the bridge of wood, 
 
 And the heart of Wallace leaps for joy 
 
 As he sees the mail-clad foe deploy, 
 
 As he marks their panting foam-flecked horse 
 
 Urged up the hill in furious course. 
 
 No English at the Bridge abide ! 
 
 The Bridge unguarded ! Circling wide 
 
 Do the Scots run in : the bridge they hold : 
 
 Ha ! Ha ! They have the lamb in fold ! 
 
 This when he sees from hilly brow 
 
 Swoops Wallace down, confusion now 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 79 
 
 Falls on the English and disaster 
 
 From Scots more subtle than their master : 
 
 Twixt Scot and Scot the English are 
 
 On the anvil laid as an iron bar, 
 
 Which William Wallace the smith doth smite 
 
 To crimson for his soul's delight. 
 
 Surrey's Earl from the further shore 
 
 Watches the English blood outpour, 
 
 Watches his horsemen plunge and drown 
 
 In the water of Forth that runs swirling down. 
 
 Hark to Sir Marmaduke Twenge cry out : 
 
 " Turn ye, my nephew, turn about, 
 
 Follow my lead, let us cleave a way : 
 
 Tis better to fight than to drown, perfay." 
 
 Through the thick of the Scots see Sir Marmaduke ride, 
 
 With an hundred deaths at his saddle's side ; 
 
 But for amazement Death strikes not, 
 
 And Sir Marmaduke gains the Bridge, I wot. 
 
 He hath gained the Bridge, he hath galloped o'er 
 
 Where Surrey waits on the further shore. 
 
 Gallant Sir Marmaduke see your name, 
 
 How bright it shines on the scroll of fame ! 
 
 Beside the Bridge where Wallace waits 
 
 Ten thousand Southrons pass to their fates. 
 
 These with ten thousand first that fell 
 
 People the vasty dome of Hell. 
 
 Surrey's spurs are in Surrey's steed 
 
 And methinks her flanks right red shall bleed, 
 
 Ere vanquished Surrey stay his flight 
 
 Where Berwick's Tweed owns Edward's might. 
 
 See. the Scots knights but laud them not, 
 
 Doff their English mask and join the Scot ; 
 
8o Coming of Sir William Wallace 
 
 For the eagle Wallace strook the quarry 
 
 Which now the kestrel hawk would harry. 
 
 What of Cressingham, that cruel pest, 
 
 Whom of all her foes hates Scotland best ? 
 
 Found with the slain, his priestly hide 
 
 Is a belt for the sword at Wallace side. 
 
 Thus was the battle won, perdie ! 
 
 And the Scots strengths from sea to sea 
 
 Vomit the English forth amain, 
 
 Till the land of the Scots is Scots again. 
 
 All human passions far above 
 
 Over the heart of man is Love, 
 
 Greater as heaven to hell than hate, 
 
 Which may destroy but not create. 
 
 When the troops of the soul the battle wage, 
 
 Red in the van of Hate is Rage, 
 
 Malice and Envy lead the wings, 
 
 Hate from the rear his javelin flings : 
 
 See through the air his javelin fly, 
 
 Steeped in the poison of a lie. 
 
 Valour and Piety and Right 
 
 Lead the van of Love as the Passions fight ; 
 
 Equal the grappling Forces sway, 
 
 Doubtful the winner of the day. 
 
 But in the army of Hate is one, 
 
 Weareth a mask since the world begun, 
 
 So that not well a man may know 
 
 Whether he speak with friend or foe. 
 
 Not on the left nor the right stays he 
 
 But forward glideth subtilly. 
 
 Behold the army of Love he seeks 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 81 
 
 And in the ear of Valour speaks. 
 
 Smite him, I say, ay, smite him down, 
 
 Tear from his body mask and gown : 
 
 Smite, Valour, smite, ay, slay the foe 
 
 That in the guise of a friend doth go. 
 
 Smite and in weed of yellow see 
 
 The writhing form of Jealousy. 
 
 Worser than Edward's iron might, 
 
 Which at the Bridge doth Wallace smite : 
 
 More fell than Famine's staring eyes, 
 
 Which on the wings of Victory flies ; 
 
 Though Scotland at the Bridge prevails, 
 
 Jealousy wins where England fails. 
 
 Ay ! Jealousy wins those great Scots lords, 
 
 Who not for Scotland draw their swords, 
 
 Forasmuch as a knight of low degree 
 
 Is the victor Wallace of Ellerslie. 
 
 But the heart of Wallace knows not doubt : 
 
 " Come ye not with, I shall fare without 
 
 Over the Border and blade of steel 
 
 That England useth shall England feel ; " 
 
 Quoth Wallace, and round him, thick as smoke 
 
 Round the heart of the fire, are the common folk, 
 
 Rolling in columns over the Border, 
 
 Careless of all but Wallace order. 
 
 Durham, Northumberland, Cumberland, 
 
 These feel the weight of Wallace hand ; 
 
 From Inglewood to Derwentwater 
 
 Crimson the snows for English slaughter. 
 
 When the murdered stand around God's throne 
 
 To the count of England's King alone 
 
 Shall be placed this crimson harrying 
 
82 Coming of Sir William Wallace 
 
 On England brought by England's king. 
 Now for a gage that Wallace knew 
 What to the service of God was due, 
 Hear how at Hexham came to pass 
 The saying of the monkish mass. 
 Within the chapel Wallace stands, 
 Round him are drawn his warrior bands, 
 As with a word their wrath he stays, 
 And the monk trembles, yet obeys, 
 Muttering the Latin of the Faith, 
 Though at his heart is the fear of death. 
 Ere with quivering hands he raiseth up 
 The Blood of the Lord in the golden cup, 
 Wallace would put his arms away 
 That the better he may kneel and pray. 
 Therefore a moment passeth out 
 Wallace, when lo, with ribald shout 
 His followers seize the cup divine, 
 Wherein the Blood of Christ is wine ; 
 His vestment from the priest they tear 
 And the leaves of the missal everywhere 
 Are strown for witness of disaster 
 That folly works withouten master. 
 In the chapel Wallace stands again, 
 On his brow are written wrath and pain ; 
 Silence and terror as a pall 
 Upon those impious reivers fall. 
 High in the air that knave must swing 
 Who stole the cup, and the monks that cling 
 To the knees of Wallace and piteous crave 
 That as they his soul so he should save 
 Their bodies, these he bids abide 
 
Coming of Sir William Wallace 83 
 
 In sanctuary at his side, 
 
 " Seeing how the devils that England brought 
 
 The souls of the maddened Scots have caught." 
 
 Thus with the Faith did Wallace deal, 
 
 Whose scabbard never knew his steel, 
 
 And from this deed all men may see 
 
 The justice, ruth and piety 
 
 Prisoned within that mighty soul, 
 
 Which yet the stormy times control. 
 
 Now when to the north is Wallace come, 
 
 Of the lords of Scotland there be some 
 
 Who know that for their country's needs 
 
 Names must follow where genius leads. 
 
 Lennox and Douglas jointly work 
 
 On the other lords at the Forest Kirk, 
 
 Who with consentient voice declare 
 
 That Scotland rests in Wallace care. 
 
 Regent of Scotland, see him stand, 
 
 St Andrew's sword in his strong right hand, 
 
 For many of the country folk 
 
 Swear that Scotland's saint with Wallace 
 
 spoke 
 
 And girt him with such awful glaive 
 As at heaven's gate doth Gabriel wave. 
 To the banner of Scotland now behold 
 Wallace summon the young and the old, 
 And to Skirmishur the leal, the loyal, 
 Who did maintain the Banner Royal 
 At the Battle of Stirling Bridge, he gives 
 To guard the banner while he lives 
 To Skirmishur and his heirs together 
 To guard the banner of Scotland ever. 
 
84 Coining of Sir William Wallace 
 
 Now what of England boots to tell 
 
 As the armies of Scotland vaster swell ? 
 The heart of Edward oversea 
 
 Burns like a glowing coal as he 
 Swears upon Scotland to assuage 
 
 The fury of his kingly rage. 
 Therefore he findeth smooth excuse 
 
 To glad the French king with a truce, 
 And the waves of the North Sea bear him o'er 
 
 From Flemish coast to Sandwich shore. 
 " To York," my lords, " to York," he cries, 
 
 As on gray locks the salt spray dries 
 In crystals that the winds caress, 
 
 While the mighty round their monarch press. 
 See Hereford, Earl Constable, stand 
 
 By Norfolk Marshal, staff in hand ; 
 See Gloucester, Arundel, Percy, Wake, 
 
 See the King from the Earl of Surrey take 
 Such wisdom in his head that dwells 
 
 Whose heart to spurs and flight compels. 
 But not at York will Edward tarry 
 
 More time than asks to lift and carry 
 The sacred standard of St John 
 
 From Beverley with benison 
 Of monks right fain their saint to sell 
 
 And bless the armaments of Hell. 
 At Roxburgh town he stays his course, 
 
 Where champ their steel seven thousand horse, 
 Where eighty thousand footmen wait, 
 
 The Gascons whom the waves belate. 
 These when at last to Roxburgh come : 
 Quoth Edward : "By my halidom ! 
 
Coining of Sir William Wallace 85 
 
 Right dear the caitiff Scot shall pay 
 
 My Lord of Surrey's shameful day." 
 Meanwhile Sir William Wallace strove 
 
 All men to gather, as behove, 
 To guard their native land, but ill 
 
 Did the Scots lords their part fulfil ; 
 Though loyal to his banner came 
 
 Sir John, his friend, the leal, the Graham, 
 And Stewart of Bonkyl and Macduff ; 
 
 These though the best were scarce enough 
 To smite the English, Envy mean 
 
 Stood Wallace and those lords between, 
 Vile treason through the Scots camp stalked 
 
 And Wallace of the victory baulked. 
 In allies twain put Wallace trust, 
 
 To whom all yield, since yield they must. 
 For as Edward northward moved he found 
 
 A desolation spread around. 
 His fleet, long waited on, came not ; 
 
 He sought, but nowhere found, the Scot. 
 Famine and rage his vitals gnaw ; 
 
 True allies those, as Wallace saw. 
 Thus all were well and Edward spurned 
 
 By famine and No Foe had turned 
 To Edinburgh town once more, 
 
 Diseased, cold, starving, weary, sore ; 
 Had not two traitor Scots revealed 
 
 Where Wallace and his men, concealed, 
 Viewed Edward from the wood hard by. 
 
 Edward could ne'er the Scots espy, 
 Save for those traitor lords : they are 
 
 The Earls of Angus and Dunbar. 
 
86 Coming of Sir William Wallace 
 
 Poltroons and felons they declare 
 
 The secret ambush, for they were 
 Out of allegiance yesterday 
 
 And to creep back again to-day, 
 Sell Scotland to her Southron foe. 
 
 Thus deadly weeds together grow 
 With balsam in the self-same wood, 
 
 The very vile with very good. 
 
Battle of Falkirk 
 
 NOW of Falkirk's field be chronicled 
 The crimson bloody tale ; 
 A day of treachery, of rage, 
 Of envy, muckle bale 
 Falls now on Scotland ; great Scots lords, 
 
 Hark how they bicker loud, 
 And Comyn hath lured leal Bonkyl's Stewart 
 To speech that weaves his shroud. 
 
 Proud Barons, ill it likes them 
 
 That the son of a lesser lord, 
 (For Wallace' father held of Stewart), 
 
 Should wield the chiefest sword 
 Against the might of England, 
 
 It irks them to obey 
 Whose vassals, thralls, yet throng their halls 
 
 A lesser lord than they. 
 
 Therefore the bold, false Comyn, 
 
 Who leads the heavy horse 
 Hath now procured that Bonkyl's Stewart 
 
 Should steer a feckless course. 
 For he bids him seek out Wallace 
 
 And claim to lead the vaward : 
 " That shalst thou not, nor any Scot/' 
 
 Cries Wallace, " rest assured." 
 
 87 
 
Battle of Falkirk 
 
 Then the Lord High Stewart's brother, 
 
 For thus was brave Bonkyl, 
 Echoes the vile false fable 
 
 That the Comyn did instil. 
 " Hark, Warden/' cries to Wallace, 
 
 " To the tale of the howlat's deed, 
 That not endured," quoth Bonkyl's Stewart, 
 
 " To wear so mean a weed, 
 
 And craved of Dame Nature 
 
 That from each nobler fowl 
 She would pluck a feather and bind together 
 
 To deck withal the owl. 
 Where be thy thralls, Sir Warden ? 
 
 Thy vassals where be they ? 
 More fit, perdie, it were that we 
 
 Command, and thou obey." 
 
 Thus artless spake the hero, 
 
 As the crafty Comyn bade. 
 As a house on fire blazed Wallace ire, 
 
 Nigh brake his heart for rage. 
 " Know, Stewart, that I only 
 
 Have bearded Edward King, 
 But not to you this tale is due, 
 
 But to the false Comyn." 
 
 Thereat did Wallace leave him 
 
 And fain had passed away 
 With the whole Scots army from the field 
 
 When he marked the foe's array ; 
 
Battle of Falkirk 89 
 
 But when his eye of eagle 
 
 Saw that this might not be, 
 The schiltron's square, did straight prepare, 
 
 A fourfold prodigy. 
 
 With their lances slantwise turning 
 
 Outward upon the foe, 
 So nigh they stood was no man could 
 
 Atween those warriors go. 
 This was first done of Wallace, 
 
 Who first in history 
 Conceived the square and wrought it there 
 
 Hard by the Torwood's tree. 
 
 Then the bowmen placed behind them, 
 
 From Selkirk's forest came ; 
 The Stewart's brandanes most they were 
 
 And most bare Stewart's name. 
 Beyond these bands with Comyn 
 
 Black treason was a-horse, 
 Where Comyn stood hard-by the wood, 
 
 Pondering the coward's course. 
 
 Then to his lords spake Edward : 
 
 " Meseemeth best to wait, 
 How thinkest thou, Lord Marshal ? 
 
 Till our men have rest and ate ? 
 Right keen and hearty seem the Scots. 
 
 What redeth Lincoln's Earl ? 
 And what my lord of Hereford ? " 
 
 All answer : " We must hurl 
 
90 Battle of Falkirk 
 
 Our might upon them, whiles we may, 
 
 Else ere the set of sun 
 They shall have travelled league on league." 
 
 " In God's name, then, fall on," 
 Quoth Edward, and the first line moves 
 
 With those lords in command ; 
 But the great morass they may not pass 
 
 That spreadeth to either hand. 
 
 Therefore they fetch half circle 
 
 And the next line onward speeds, 
 Which Anthony of Durham, 
 
 That mitred warrior leads. 
 Quoth to those lords the Bishop : 
 
 " My lords, I rede ye stay, 
 Till my lord the King himself shall bring 
 
 Forward the third array." 
 
 " Stick to thy mass, Lord Bishop," 
 
 Shouts Bassett of Dray ton back, 
 " We will not stay us from the fray, 
 
 Though the Church's arm be slack." 
 " On then," shouts Durham answer, 
 
 " We all are knights this day," 
 And the green of the moss all plunge across, 
 
 To join the first melee." 
 
 But the thousand horse of Comyn 
 Turns bridle and takes flight 
 
 With shame and armour heavy clad, 
 For piteous cruel spite. 
 
Battle of Falkirk 91 
 
 Full six-and-thirty banners 
 
 Float over England's peers, 
 But the schiltron's square stands firm and fair 
 
 For all those Southron spears. 
 
 They furious charge the schiltrons, 
 
 And again and again they fail, 
 While the arrows of Stewart's bowmen 
 
 Pierce many a coat of mail, 
 But alas as the gallant Bonkyl 
 
 Goes a-gallop past his men 
 He falls from horse in rapid course 
 
 Never to rise again. 
 
 Then his bowmen gather around him 
 
 Where wounded he lies aground, 
 But the Southron foes are many, 
 
 And the weak spot they have found. 
 By sixties upon their twenties 
 
 They charge the Selkirk bows, 
 But there is not one faithful Scot 
 
 From Bonkyl's side that goes. 
 
 Like gods they die around him, 
 
 Ruddy and tall and fair, 
 And the Southron when the battle 's o'er 
 
 Makes marvel at them there, 
 Like statues of the gods of old 
 
 Round Ares self that lie 
 They fight till death draws their last breath, 
 
 Then by their Stewart die. 
 
92 Battle of Falkirk 
 
 Now where around brave Bonkyl 
 
 The tide of battle breaks 
 Comes the third line with King Edward 
 
 Who straight his vengeance slakes 
 On the bowmen of Selkirk forest, 
 
 As his slingers great stones whirl, 
 His knights ahorse their furious course 
 
 Upon the schiltrons hurl. 
 
 At the last the schiltrons waver, 
 
 As the Southron horse breaks through, 
 Trampling the brave Scots warriors down, 
 
 Outnumbered six to two. 
 There fifteen thousand perish, 
 
 With Macduff and the men of Fife, 
 But Wallace may yet flee away, 
 
 All lost but only life. 
 
 Right ruthless was King Edward, 
 
 No quarter took nor gave, 
 Though first of knights he claimed to be, 
 
 He was at heart a knave. 
 A cruel, bitter tyrant, 
 
 Loathed even of his lords, 
 His name was worse than any curse, 
 
 His bounties cut like swords. 
 
 When the bloody day was over, 
 He burned St Andrews town ; 
 
 Where'er he went, two words, " clene brent/ 
 The ancient scribe notes down. 
 
Battle of Falkirk 93 
 
 Toward the Merse fares Edward, 
 
 Brus flies as he draws nigh, 
 And the flames of Ayr's strong Castle 
 
 Stream on the midnight sky. 
 
 Red ruin brought King Edward 
 
 On all, both high and low, 
 No fame there is more ill than his 
 
 In all the ages' flow. 
 
 Mark we how in our Scotland 
 
 All things of great and high, 
 Steep rock and mighty precipice 
 
 Where foaming waters fly, 
 And camps where Roman legions camped, 
 
 All things of great and grand, 
 Bear Wallace name and deathless fame 
 
 Given by his grateful land. 
 
 Wallace was all a Scotsman, 
 
 Edward Plantagenet 
 Had nought of English but the soil, 
 
 Where his Norman camp was set. 
 Wallace for freedom battled, 
 
 Edward for cruel pride, 
 And the King in chains while memory reigns 
 
 By the martyred Scot must ride. 
 
Capture and Death of Wallace 
 
 NOW of the men of Scotland these 
 Be their names that won to King 
 Edward's peace : 
 All men I say, all men I mean, 
 Save one : ye ken the man I mean. 
 Champion of Scotland, not for nought 
 Hath Wallace against Edward fought. 
 Quoth the old parchment Norman-writ : 
 " To win their peace if they think fit, 
 These be the fines they shall acquit " 
 Alexander de Lindesay, Bois and Graham, 
 Soulis, Comyn, Eraser last the name 
 Of James we find, the Lord High Stewart. 
 Now to all save one is peace secured. 
 Turn we the parchment, rouse to hiss 
 The kingly serpent : Hark to this : 
 " Last as to William Wallace he 
 Shall crave an he will our clemency." 
 Such clemency do leopards shew 
 While above the clouds soars their eagle foe. 
 These words to William Wallace mean 
 Once more a flight to the forest green, 
 To the forest wilds of Dunfermline, 
 To moors and fells through shower or shine, 
 He must betake him. 
 
 94 
 
Capture and Death of Wallace 95 
 
 Seven long years, 
 Eagle in cloud, he disappears. 
 Yet some believe that Philip the King 
 Loved him right well and his signet-ring 
 Gave unto Wallace, to the end 
 That he through jocund France should wend 
 To Rome and with Pope Boniface 
 For Scotland plead in her distress. 
 None knows what here there is of truth, 
 Though Philip's writing stand for sooth, 
 Found in the Tower of London town, 
 An antique leaflet crinkled brown. 
 Perchance this well-worn screed was part 
 Of the light treasure near his heart 
 That Wallace carried with him aye 
 And pondered many a lonely day. 
 Full well it likes me now to dream 
 That the King of France was friend to him, 
 That for Wallace once the fragrant south 
 Gave him to kiss of her sweet mouth. 
 But be this false or be it true, 
 King Edward's peace he never knew, 
 And if he roamed in foreign land 
 Sought like the bird his native strand. 
 In the woods and the wilds he dwelt not lone, 
 For ever where greatness must atone 
 For greatness, drawn by what is great 
 Comes woman by decree of fate. 
 Her name we know not. As we pass 
 We raise to her a viewless glass, 
 And drink her health with endless honour, 
 She has her country's love upon her. 
 
96 Capture and Death of Wallace 
 
 How Wallace sleeping in his bed 
 
 Was by his trusted folk betrayed 
 
 I tell and of a certain Scot 
 
 Who was to him Iscariot : 
 
 He was Dumbarton's Governor 
 
 To Edward, but acquaint before 
 
 With Wallace and when Wallange came 
 
 From England, sold his name and fame 
 
 To Edward for a great reward : 
 
 Gold and to be of Lennox lord. 
 
 Wallace at Robroyston he took 
 
 By treachery of Wallace cook : 
 
 His cook that stole his arms away 
 
 Whiles Kerle slept, well knew, perfay, 
 
 What Wallace and one sword could compass. 
 
 Menteith came next with kiss of Judas, 
 
 Forsworn before, forsworn once more, 
 
 Swears that if Wallace let them lead him 
 
 Safe to Dumbarton he will free him. 
 
 " This dost thou swear upon thy soul ? " 
 
 Asked Wallace of Menteith, 
 
 (The scroll 
 
 Of infamy will hold no more,) 
 " Yea," quoth Menteith, and straight he swore. 
 Then unto Wallace privily 
 He spake : " Dear friend, 'twere meet that we 
 Do semblance make thine arms to bind 
 Lest Southron in Dumbarton find 
 The purpose in my loyal mind." 
 Then with strong cords his arms they bound 
 Suchwise as most his flesh to wound, 
 And never loosed these bonds shall be 
 
Capture and Death of Wallace 97 
 
 Till straight convoyed o'er Solway's Sea 
 At Carlisle lies within the Tower 
 Beareth his name unto this hour. 
 Next in the Tower of London we 
 The Saviour of all Scotland see, 
 And savage Edward laugh for glee. 
 These tie their names to such a bell 
 As clattereth aye on the road to hell. 
 Hark to the clatter : ye shall hear 
 A peal to crack the devil's ear. 
 Hear peal the first, his grievous name 
 That cowereth 'mid unending shame ; 
 Hear English Langtoft and beneath 
 An English pen first find Menteith : 
 " Sir John Menteith pursued so nigh 
 He took him on nyght his leman by." 
 Hear the Scots Winton : "In tha dayis 
 Jon of Menteith tuk Willame Walays 
 In Glasco." Hear Blind Harry noise 
 The like fell truth with tuneful voice : 
 " For cowatice, Menteth, apon falss wyss 
 Betraysyt Wallace, that was his gossop twyss." 
 And with English Lingard, Scottish Hailes 
 At feckless old Blind Harry rails. 
 Take we the wings' wide privilege 
 And in an instant span an age. 
 Behold Lord Hailes ! Ay, take a pinch 
 Of snuff, my lord, thou'llt never flinch 
 In giving judgment for the great 
 And let the weak on judgment wait. 
 " That most respectable authority 
 Blind Harry bard doth not agree 
 G 
 
98 Capture and Death of Wallace 
 
 With my well-thought apology 
 
 For John Menteith." Methinks we see 
 
 In seventeen hundred and sixty-three 
 
 Lord Justice Hailes, come home from Court, 
 
 His feet in slippers, glass of port 
 
 On the mahogany at his side, 
 
 The day's wrongdoers hanged and tried. 
 
 How shall he fill his learned leisure 
 
 Better than judging for his pleasure ? 
 
 So let Sir John Menteith be tried 
 
 For Wallace martyred : on a side 
 
 Menteith and Edward stand for panel : 
 
 Blind Harry with his pipe of scrannel 
 
 Stands on the other. Evidence ! 
 
 Let Harry the bard be taken hence 
 
 And duly in the stocks screwed tight, 
 
 That dares to have been in the right ! 
 
 A sorner l minstrel grown in jails 
 
 Condemn Menteith, King Edward, Hailes ! 
 
 That makes even Justice drop her scales ! 
 
 Sad proof is here and all too clear 
 
 But tragic truth long fared afoot, 
 
 Till Harry took his pipe unto't. 
 
 Strange likeness bears the scene divine, 
 
 Long since played out in Palestine, 
 
 To Scotland's champion seized and bound, 
 
 By one he trusted compassed round : 
 
 Menteith's betrayal under tryst, 
 
 Iscariot's of our Saviour Christ ; 
 
 At marks three hundred Wallace priced, 
 
 1 Sorner = one who takes free quarters. Jamieson. 
 
Capture and Death of Wallace 99 
 
 At thirty pieces Jesus Christ. 
 
 Christ for betrayer had, I wot, 
 
 Judas, surnamed Iscariot, 
 
 Wallace his comrade, for beneath 
 
 And above them all ye shall find Menteith. 
 
 The sign for the Son of Man betrayed, 
 
 The kiss, the Sacrament of Bread 
 
 For William Wallace, likewise Bread 
 
 The Loaf turned flat side up on its head. 
 
 With Laurel for a sign of scorn 
 
 Was Wallace crowned, as Christ with Thorn. 
 
 Christ died the whole wide world to save, 
 
 Wallace his life for Scotland gave. 
 
 Methinks the Jew Iscariot 
 
 Less felon than Menteith the Scot, 
 
 For this, that while his own hand slew 
 
 Iscariot the repentant Jew, 
 
 Menteith the traitor Scot waxed fat 
 
 Upon the English gold he gat, 
 
 And that he was of Stewart kin 
 
 Makes yet more great his load of sin. 
 
 Twelve the Apostles were, I ween, 
 Who with Iscariot were thirteen ; 
 Twelve times twelve Stewarts lie beneath 
 Heroic stone for one Menteith. 
 Great men, great races thus are known : 
 They dare their sins confess, atone. 
 Right fitly as it seems to me 
 Do we compare where they agree 
 What happed unto the good and true 
 With Him who all things human knew. 
 
ioo Capture and Death of Wallace 
 
 Christ Jesus for the whole world shone, 
 Wallace was Scotland's Champion. 
 
 Stood Wallace in Westminster Hall, 
 
 A giant towering over all. 
 
 The crown of laurel on his head 
 
 Set there because in jest he said 
 
 He should be crowned in Westminster, 
 
 As one well used to crowns he ware. 
 
 He sat upon a bench alone, 
 
 As might a King upon his throne. 
 
 Rose up Sir Peter Mallorie, 
 
 Judge for King Edward : thus the plea : 
 
 Treason in chief that Wallace wrought, 
 
 When against England's King he fought, 
 
 Whose army down to doom he hurled 
 
 Where at Stirling Bridge Forth's water swirled ; 
 
 That after, bands and leagues he formed 
 
 And England's strengths and castles stormed, 
 
 Abbeys and villages he brent, 
 
 Liege subjects of the King he shent. 
 
 This the impeachment. Wallace spake : 
 
 His voice it made the roof tree quake. 
 
 " In the chief article ye lie, 
 
 Not guilty of aught treason I 
 
 That ne'er allegiance owed nor owe, 
 
 But was and am the deadly foe 
 
 To England and to England's king 
 
 Whom well I know unpitying. 
 
 I stormed his castles, abbeys burned, 
 
 His townships, villages I turned 
 
 To ruins smouldering that he 
 
Capture and Death of Wallace 101 
 
 Who brought all tears, all misery, 
 
 On Scotland mine, should mark the same 
 
 When unto England home he came. 
 
 Of English men full many a score 
 
 This strong right arm hath slain in war : 
 
 Right glad were I they had been more/' 
 
 He spake and fell a silence dread, 
 
 As Mallorie the sentence read. 
 
 And as he read, so was it done, 
 
 A deed makes blink the very sun. 
 
 Discrowned and chained, at horses' tail 
 
 Do headsman's varlets Wallace hale 
 
 To Smithfield elms, there hang him high, 
 
 Yet not so long as he shall die ; 
 
 Then cut him down whiles he doth live 
 
 And to the flames his vitals give. 
 
 This do they that he may behold 
 
 Those parts consumed that made him bold. 
 
 His head with many strokes struck off 
 
 They set upon a pole for scoff 
 
 On London Bridge, whence it looketh down, 
 
 And yet on Englishman doth frown. 
 
 Next of his limbs : his great right arm 
 
 They carry where it wrought most harm, 
 
 To Bridge of Tyne at Newcastel, 
 
 Where heavy on the folk it fell ; 
 
 The left at Berwick-upon-Tweed 
 
 Bleeds where it made full many bleed. 
 
 To Scotland goes his dearest part, 
 
 To Aberdeen the Wallace heart ; 
 
 Perth asks not his right foot and limb 
 
 To mind its folk full well of him. 
 
102 Capture and Death of Wallace 
 
 " 'Stead of his banner and gonfanon 
 These be the trophies ye look upon," 
 Writ an English clerk, to flout the Scot. 
 More than aught banner, well I wot, 
 Do these poor relics rouse the Scot, 
 That withered limb, this bloodied arm, 
 See they are now a potent charm ; 
 That heart, which now no more can beat 
 Driveth the blood at fever's heat 
 Through the chill north. 
 
 Had Edward striven 
 
 How best from the Scot his yoke be riven, 
 Thus of the hero to display 
 The relics were the surest way. 
 Blows force obedience from the slave, 
 To victory urge the conquered brave. 
 Certes the limbs of Wallace fight, 
 Thus torn asunder, with more might 
 Than when his men-at-arms were hurling 
 Half England from the Bridge of Stirling. 
 
 But winter falls upon the land, 
 
 Right heavy is King Edward's hand ; 
 
 So let's be hush and in your ear 
 
 Ye shall a little whisper hear 
 
 Whiles the snow falls : December's cold, 
 
 But Edward, as the year, is old. 
 
 This is the tale of a great white gled 
 
 Which plucked the een from Wallace head, 
 
 On London Bridge and over Tweed 
 
 Bare and let drop them nigh a mead, 
 
Capture and Death of Wallace 103 
 
 Upon a bank where grows the fern 
 Hard by a town where flows a burn. 
 Untouched, unseen of all are they 
 And with the winter's rains decay. 
 But every spring a bed as blue 
 With flowerets as his eyes were true 
 Blossoms, until they watch a scene, 
 That likes full well those bluebell een. 
 See ye the bank, the town, the burn ? 
 Behold ! I thrust aside the fern. 
 
James, 5th Lord High Stewart 
 
 DIED 1309 
 His SON WALTER MARRIED PRINCESS MARJORY BRUS 
 
 AND DIED 1326 
 
 SOMEWHAT the muse of Falkirk Field hath 
 told, 
 How that the Stewart's brother, brave Sir 
 John, 
 
 Fell with an arrow smitten and his bold 
 Brandanes of Ettrick Forest died upon, 
 Around his knightly body, as they fell 
 That fought for good King James at Halidon. 
 Those from their slayers did high praise compel, 
 For goodly, strong, was every forester, 
 And sad it was to see them lying there. 
 
 Told also is some part of Scotland's woes 
 
 That followed after : Wallace great and good : 
 
 But not Caerlaverock held against the foes, 
 
 Nor how the wee Scots garrison withstood 
 
 England in arms, then issued forth a band 
 
 Of starveling heroes, and the savage mood 
 
 Of Edward melted not indeed, but planned 
 
 Less than its wonted evil, for their lives 
 
 In chains he gave the Scots, but spared their wives. 
 
 Pause we a moment now by Bonkyl's grave, 
 Who fell at Falkirk in the red July : 
 
 104 
 
James, 5th Lord High Stewart 105 
 
 His life for Scotland and their lives he gave 
 To seven sons and to a daughter. Cry 
 Their names with me, for 't is a pleasant game, 
 And to the days of old best draws us nigh. 
 First then of Alexander, Douglas came, 
 Red Earl of Angus : many Earls he gat ; 
 But one alone methinks that belled a Cat ! 
 
 Next stands Sir Alan Stewart of Dreghorn ; 
 From him came Lennox Dukes, to kingship near, 
 From him were Earls of Darnley, D'Aubigny born, 
 From him the Earls of Galloway and here 
 The Stewart Muse would heartily rejoice 
 Their scion lives and makes with Stewarts cheer 
 And more, his Countess hath bred jolly boys 
 The Earl that proves raise high the Loving Cup ! 
 Male line direct to Falkirk's hero up. 
 
 The fourth gat Earls of Buchan, of Traquair, 
 Of Athol, Lords of Grandtully and Lorn, 
 Of Appin ; these a special sadness wear, 
 As being most of ancient glories shorn. 
 Like to a high-born maiden raped from home 
 This ancient name from ancient hills was torn, 
 And Campbells o'er the hills of Appin roam. 
 Appin hath lost his lordship, Lorn his name, 
 Campbell won both and therewithal won shame. 
 
 Third stands Sir Walter Stewart, Dalswinton, 
 From him the Lords Blantyre, the Earls of Galloway ; 
 The seventh Steuarts of Coltness, Allanton, 
 And others that I may not speak this day ; 
 
106 James, 5th Lord High Stewart 
 
 But three, Sir John, Sir Alan and Sir James 
 Fell fighting as their sire in deadly fray, 
 Each as his sire the patriot's laurel claims, 
 Each for his land the soldier's task hath done 
 At sunset on the Hill of Halidon. 
 
 Margaret the daughter Thomas Randolph wed, 
 
 Him that was Earl of Moray, Lord of Mar. 
 
 But now methinks the Muse your thoughts hath 
 
 led 
 
 Back to the Stewarts. What the doings are 
 Of the High Stewart, fain would tell this rhyme : 
 Mayhap he sailed to France, ambassador, 
 To crave King Philip's aid, for toward this time 
 King Edward Paisley Monastery burned 
 Warm thanks which such a voyage may have 
 
 earned. 
 
 This only is for sooth that ere he died 
 James the High Stewart sware allegiance 
 To Brus, and signed the writing that defied 
 Edward and sent it to the King of France. 
 His spouse, Lord March's child, Cecilia, 
 Left issue Walter, John who by mischance 
 Fell at Dundalk, and Stewart of Durrisdeer, 
 That Walter's, his boy nephew's warriors led 
 With Douglas, Randolph, upon many a raid. 
 
 Fourth of the name and sixth to hold the place 
 Which to the zenith of fair fame shall grow 
 Is Walter Stewart. See his boyish face 
 Shine at the Torwood's muster, and the foe 
 
James, 5th Lord High Stewart 107 
 
 At Bannockburn shall feel his hardihood, 
 For valour sooner than the beard doth shew, 
 When through the veins of youth runs hero blood. 
 Of this anon, for now the Muse would tell 
 How at the crowning of the Brus befell. 
 
The Coming of Robert Brus 
 
 NOT with the sounding of trumps nor the 
 voicing of heralds he comes, 
 Robert the Brus in times troublous and 
 
 ill at ease ; 
 Grandson of him that I sang who lost at Norham 
 
 a kingdom 
 
 By the choice of Edward the King whose eyes as 
 December freeze : 
 
 Not with the beating of drums ! 
 Not with the heralds he comes ! 
 
 Snow puppet Balliol melts in the first rays of February's 
 
 sun ; 
 Wallace was sword and a heart : Brus is the coming 
 
 of spring. 
 Comyn the Red the Earl hath the sister of Balliol 
 
 wedded : 
 Nearer the throne by a span ! Nearer the throne by a 
 
 ring! 
 
 Place on the throne but for one 
 Only since time begun ! 
 
 League betwixt Balliol and Comyn ! Ha ! Ha ! there 
 
 be men in the north ! 
 Southward they march and besiege him that would 
 
 bend not the knee. 
 
 108 
 
The Coming of Robert Brus 109 
 
 Brus must from Annandale fly must fly from his 
 
 castle Lochmaben. 
 
 Proud and strong is the Brus, strong need his con- 
 querors be ! 
 
 Comyn is Cock o' the north ! 
 Comyn is over the Forth ! 
 
 Shall not the Brus seek revenge ? Not the Brus, but 
 
 the leopard of England ! 
 Edward shall march to the north, Edward and that 
 
 shall avail ! 
 Thus to and fro as the waves of a vast river surging at 
 
 flood-tide 
 
 Sway the ships of the states, craftily wise men sail. 
 Comyn and Bruce have a band ! 1 
 Lo they are hand within hand ! 
 
 Wisdom had Robert the Brus, ye shall blink at his 
 
 radiant renown 
 Scintillant over his head, Brus that had Douglas to 
 
 friend ! 
 Valour and wisdom were his, but the first wore the 
 
 robes of the second, 
 Else had he never achieved, foiled at the start of his 
 
 end. 
 
 Wit to win Scotland's crown ! 
 Strength to pull England down ! 
 
 " What will ye give me, my lord, if I yield ye my 
 
 claim to the throne ? " 
 As they from Striveling 2 rode, quoth to the Comyn 
 
 the Brus. 
 
 1 A band in old Scotland meant an agreement of mutual support. 
 2 Stirling. 
 
no The Coming of Robert Brus 
 
 " Brus, thou shall'st have my claim if thou yield me 
 
 thy lands for a shadow/' 
 
 Answered the Comyn to Brus : " ay ! and the help o' 
 my hous ! " 
 
 Mighty lords riding alone 
 Barter the claim to a throne ! 
 
 Thus they agreed, thus sware, but the splendours of 
 
 kingship to Comyn 
 Even as to Robert the Brus more than all baronies 
 
 were. 
 Edward hath learned of the pact, but Brus' cousin of 
 
 Gloucester 
 
 Sends him a wordless rede : gold and the glint of a spur. 
 Time o'er the Border to win, 
 Thanks to the love of his kin ! 
 
 Over the Border by night flies the Brus and the terrible 
 
 Edward, 
 Fingering the keys of the Tower, thinks he was late by 
 
 an hour. 
 Over the Border fares Brus and he meets a retainer of 
 
 Comyn 
 Galloping southward to Court. Slain ! the despatches 
 
 he bore, 
 
 Ah ! they make Brus clutch his sword : 
 " So ! we'll be even, my lord ! " 
 
 Guile hath the Brus when he will. What pious lords 
 
 at Dumfries 
 Enter the Chapel to pray ; Now the chief altar are 
 
 nigh ? 
 
The Coming of Robert Brus 1 1 1 
 
 Ha ! but their speech waxeth loud ever louder as 
 
 near the high altar : 
 
 " Traitor/' cries one and " Ye lie," hark to the other 
 reply. 
 
 Hallowed shrine of Dumfries, 
 Strange is the praying of these ! 
 
 Flashes the dagger of Brus, Comyn turns, but the 
 
 dagger is quicker : 
 
 Murder and sacrilege both ! Comyn in agony lies 
 Blooding the altar steps. " I doubt I have slain him, 
 
 Kirkpatrick," 
 
 Crieth the Brus, as a ghost, pale from the chapel he 
 flies. 
 
 " Doubt ye ? But I'll mak sicker 
 Comyn shall nae mair bicker," 
 
 Fiercely Kirkpatrick makes answer, and rushing with- 
 in finds one, 
 
 Robert Comyn the Knight, 'ware of his kinsman's 
 plight. 
 
 Slays him and slays too the Earl, where his life at the 
 altar is ebbing. 
 
 " Sicker " in truth hath he made, now joins his master 
 in flight. 
 
 Now is the fell deed done, 
 Sacrilege, murder, in one. 
 
 Sacrilege, murder are done ! will the Brus dare King 
 
 Edward defy ? 
 England in arms against Brus ! true will his Scotland 
 
 abide ? 
 
H2 The Coming of Robert Brus 
 
 Nay, but the many have fear, and Scotland is also for 
 Edward ; 
 
 Fourteen barons for Brus, Lennox and Atholl will ride. 
 Brus in the Brus shall rely, 
 England and Scotland defy ! 
 
 These with the Earls be the first that dare to declare 
 
 them for Brus : 
 Bishops of Moray, of Glasco, St Andreys, the Abbot of 
 
 Scone, 
 Gilbert of Errol and Hugh de la Haye, Boyd, Barclay 
 
 and Fleming, 
 Fraser the brother of Simon ; Somerville craveth the 
 
 boon. 
 
 Somervilles' out with the Brus, 
 Shall Thomas Randolph refuse ? 
 
 He that is kin, Brus's brethren four and the Earls that 
 
 their troth gave, 
 Atholl and Lennox alone ? These against all men be 
 
 few. 
 " Not with the crown on my head/' quoth the Brus 
 
 as to Scone from Lochmaben 
 Faring he meets by the way one that shall ever be 
 
 true : 
 
 Douglas the bold and the brave, 
 True beyond death and the grave ! 
 
 Robert the Brus come to Scone for the crowning, but 
 
 where be the crown, 
 Where be the sceptre and robes ? vanished the 
 
 Destiny stone ! 
 
The Coming of Robert Brus 113 
 
 Stolen by Edward the King, but the banner of Balliol 
 
 doth service : 
 
 Majesty all of his own Brus o'er his shoulders hath 
 thrown. 
 
 Homage, my Lords, bow down 
 
 To the King in the * Saints' gilt crown ! 
 
 Crowned ! it is over and done, when sudden a sound as 
 
 of strife ! 
 Quickly the King grips his sword ! Thunder of 
 
 horses of war ! 
 Friends ! 'tis a lady fair ! Isabella, Countess of 
 
 Buchan, 
 Gallopeth up to the porch, waving her hand from 
 
 afar. 
 
 Buchan hath her to wife, 
 Blood of the Thanes of Fife ! 
 
 Long ere King Malcolm's days hath the blood of 
 
 Macduff had the setting 
 
 Kings of Scots in the chair, ancient as fable of Troy. 
 Pledged unto Edward is Fife, but for Brus is his sister 
 
 of Buchan ! 
 
 Hark how she winsomely pleads : " Had I been born 
 but a boy ! " 
 
 Surely her suit she shall win, 
 Crown him as Earl she had been ! 
 
 Ivory smooth are her hands, and her gold-plaited hair, 
 
 a delight, 
 Ripples in tassels of gold, glitters the old Abbey 
 
 through ! 
 
 1 At the coronation a crown was taken from the head of the 
 image of a saint. 
 
 H 
 
114 The Coming of Robert Brus 
 
 Roses are red on her cheeks, as she rangeth the robes 
 
 of the King : 
 
 All she hath craved he hath done, more if she would 
 he will do ! 
 
 Bright gleam her eyes, so bright ! 
 Crowned ! she hath crowned him aright ! 
 
Events following the Coronation of 
 Brus to the setting forth of 
 Edward I. on his last Expedition 
 against the Scots 
 
 1305-1306 
 
 WHEN now the Brus was crowned, no 
 time he let, 
 But gat him straight to horse, and soon 
 he set 
 
 The Border in amaze, for Edward's men, 
 Sheriffs and bailiffs, threw he in their jail, 
 And to the heart of Scots brought Wallace home again. 
 
 But Edward, when at first he heard the tale 
 Of Comyn slain, Brus crowned, went deadly pale, 
 From red he wont to be and grim he grew, 
 For at his vitals gnawed a mortal spite, 
 That the down-trampled Scot should dare to take his 
 due. 
 
 But chiefest plagued him that the lordly might 
 Of Brus should now his Norman Master smite. 
 (His gossip once was Brus, and histories tell, 
 How that the twain at hazard wont to play, 
 And Edward in his cups of felon Scots would mell. 1 ) 
 
 1 Talk of. 
 
 115 
 
1 1 6 Events following Coronation of Brus to 
 
 Yet though thus shrewd the thrust, he wastes no day, 
 Making him ready for the deadly fray, 
 And first his son the Prince of Wales shall keep 
 High vigil in the Church at Westminster, 
 Where, as men said, the Prince of Wales did fall on 
 sleep ! 
 
 But these be toys. Full knight he dubs him there, 
 And many squires besides, then passeth where 
 Spread is a mighty feast, and when the Swan, 
 Which is, as all men know, for sign of troth 
 And steadfastness, within its golden leafage shone, 
 
 Rose up the King, and grim and old made oath 
 " On 1 Goddes sowle and on the wythe Swan both," 
 That on the Scot he'd bloody vengeance take 
 For Comyn's blood and for all treachery done, 
 Then to the Holy War set forth and die for Christ his 
 sake. 
 
 He spake, and lo, the Prince upon the Swan 
 Constrained to swear that if he die ere done 
 The vengeance, then the Prince shall straightway boil 
 His flesh from off his bones, and carry these 
 Displayed until the Scot he utterly shall foil. 
 
 The Prince must swear, perforce, to gain his ease 
 From one whose eyes could as December freeze, 
 
 1 From a statement in the Battle Abbey Book by the late 
 Duchess of Cleveland, I gather that the following motto is the 
 oldest extant in English and it dates from about this period : 
 " Ha, ha, the wythe Swan 
 By Goddes sowle I am thy man." 
 
Edward I.'s last Expedition 117 
 
 For careless he of any malison, 
 
 And careless too of murdered infants' eyes, 
 
 Who only dalliance loved and Piers Ga vest on. 
 
 NoV that the King may thoroughly chastise 
 Those felon Scots, is need of vast supplies. 
 Thus he ordains : One tenth shall laymen bring, 
 The clergy one thirteenth for in that day 
 The King ruled rich and poor, but now the poor rule 
 rich and King. 
 
 Northward King Edward and his arms make way, 
 And as they pass, the Prince of Wales will slay 
 Woman and child, and lo, King Edward chides 
 His offspring for this wanton cruelty 
 But in the Leopard's cub the Leopard's blood abides. 
 
 Full sick King Edward at Carlisle must lie, 
 But ordereth Earl Pembroke presently l 
 Lead on to Scotland all his vast array ; 
 Then cometh unto Borough-upon-Sands, 
 Where One shall force him make full long delay, 
 And for the last time clasp to curse the Scot his 
 mailed hands. 
 
 1 i.e. at once. 
 
Adventures of the Brus 
 
 FROM tree to tree the bird of song takes wing, 
 And change shall know the Muse that Brus 
 would sing, 
 For various as the plumage of these rhymes, 
 So Brus shall change his fortune many times, 
 And bred a Norman at an English court 
 Shall oft behold the random Fates at sport, 
 Ere holpen with strong arm and stedfast mind 
 Fate, like a woman won, shall turn most kind. 
 Now see the Brus below the walls of Perth, 
 And hear him challenge Pembroke's earl, whose birth 
 Hath not o'ercome a certain subtlety 
 In one who answereth Brus : assuredly 
 The morrow morn they'll meet in single fight, 
 But falleth on the Scots that self-same night, 
 When all disarmed and all were off their guard 
 That put full trust in Pembroke's plighted word. 
 
 Pembroke ! a pretty wit, that drave the foe 
 Outnumbered and outmatched to fight, although 
 Others methinks that bore your lofty name 
 Noblesse oblige and chivalry ! might blame. 
 But let it pass. Forsooth, my lord, well nigh 
 You with your war-horse came that night to die, 
 For Brus, when first he knew of the surprize, 
 Sprang to his sword and what is that he cries, 
 
 118 
 
Adventures of the Brus 119 
 
 As high it swings, and lo, your steed falls dead, 
 And you, my lord, must tumble o'er its head ? 
 History records not leaves us all to guess 
 But you, my lord, were saved, for all the press 
 Of Edward's men came up and Methven's wood 
 Reeked red with Scotland's best and bravest blood. 
 Thrice was the Brus unhorsed and once so nigh 
 Taken that Mowbray dared aloud to cry : 
 " I hold the Brus " : but with a fearful blow 
 That Mowbray felled made Set on answer : " No." 
 Five hundred strong, a band of brave men fought, 
 And from the wood escaping, Atholl sought. 
 But Brus' brother, Edward Brus, was taken, 
 And Randolph, nephew ; not on these was slaken 
 King Edward's wrath, but many a lesser knight 
 Must Pembroke hang to sate his sovereign's spite. 
 
 Behold the Douglas and his King and Queen, 
 That queenly wins to him nigh Aberdeen, 
 With other dames whose escort cavalier 
 Is Nigel, Brus' brother, beyond peer. 
 Fain had the Brus maintained him in the town, 
 But he must fly, and trailing locks and gown 
 And female smoothness bear along with him, 
 Where brambles tear ; and ah ! the forest dim ! 
 But good Sir James, he slays the deer and roe, 
 Catches and cooks the salmon, cheers their woe 
 With many a merry tale of courtly France 
 Where ladies languish and where palfreys prance. 
 And to these ladies seems it strange that he 
 Thus well-attuned to softest luxury 
 
I2O Adventures of the Brus 
 
 Should roam the wilds and laugh at cold and fears, 
 Who more than Brus himself their spirits cheers. 
 For Douglas hut and palace were the same, 
 A gallant knight was he, where'er he came. 
 True chivalry is like the diamond stone 
 Which oft with worthless pebbles lies unknown : 
 Befalls adversity with hammer cruel, 
 Shatters the pebbles but reveals the jewel. 
 
 They laughed and wandered, till upon a day, 
 Behold them at the sources of the Tay, 
 Hard by the country of the Lord of Lorn 
 Who on the Brus hath deadly vengeance sworn 
 For the Red Comyn slain, whose kin he wed, 
 And now a thousand Highlandmen hath led, 
 Joined with Argyll and every pass beset, 
 That hardly men on foot might passage get, 
 Never a mounted knight upon his steed, 
 Which the Lochaber axe and dirk make bleed 
 With stabs and gashes, till the Brus is ware 
 That Parthian is the victory he must dare. 
 Therefore he sounds retreat. When all have 
 
 passed 
 
 Brus turns about, heroic, lone and last. 
 Backward they pass, while Brus' mighty sword 
 This way and that way swinging, of the horde 
 That presseth on them ever shears the head. 
 'Tis doughty done and many an one falls dead. 
 But three there be amid the swarming throng, 
 Father and sons, that stalwart are and strong. 
 These make an oath that they the Brus will slay 
 Or seize for prisoner (ancient feud had they, 
 
Adventures of the Brus 121 
 
 Being of Durward's blood) ; 
 
 Then One ! Two ! Three ! 
 Onward they rush where room for one may be 
 Betwixt the ledge of rock and loch below. 
 The first hath gripped his rein, but at a blow 
 Shoulder and arm are sheared, the next his foot 
 Grips 'neath the stirrup, but the King hath stood 
 Upright, and digging spurs into his horse 
 Forward he boundeth, but the foe perforce 
 Brus draggeth with him, till his sword hath cleft 
 Through pate and arm ; of these their sire bereft 
 Leaps like to cat-o'-mountain on the King, 
 And at his back so closely doth he cling 
 That Brus wants space his mighty sword to swing, 
 But stooping quick draws forth his iron mace, 
 Strikes, slays, but rids him not of that embrace ; 
 And close the dead man's grip his mantle holds 
 In death as life, and death were in its folds, 
 But Brus makes loose the brooch brooch, cloak and 
 
 ketheran fall 
 
 And Brus' mantle is the ketheran's pall. 
 Thus from the pass by force of wit and arm 
 The King guards all beyond the reach of harm. 
 And still MacDougal vaunts " The brooch of Lorn," 
 His heirs shall vaunt it to the men unborn, 
 For Brus will yet be Scotland's Evergreen 
 When twice six hundred years shall roll between. 
 
 Thus having gained of time, not foes, a truce 
 Farewell unto his Queen, must bid the Brus, 
 And in the charge of Nigel shall she ride 
 First to Kildrummie, but not there shall bide, 
 
122 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 But having gained St Duthac's shrine at Tain 
 Craves of that saint protection all in vain. 
 The felon Earl of Ross burst in and gave 
 The Queen to Edward Earl that played the knave- 
 But Brus afoot fled westward to the wild : 
 In Rachrin's isle the winter months beguiled. 
 Most brave and beauteous youth was Nigel, mild 
 And courteous with fair dames they loved him well- 
 But when his blood was stirred, a brand of hell. 
 Kildrummie Castle standeth on a hill, 
 Hath men, hath water and hath food, and ill 
 Would Nigel Brus conceive he held the place, 
 If from the Southron he should crave for grace. 
 No grace he craves, but counting on his corn 
 Stored up within, he payeth scorn with scorn. 
 Betrayed by traitors of his garrison, 
 Burned is his corn and Nigel is undone. 
 At Berwick-upon-Tweed his head shall fall, 
 The brightest, bravest, youthfulest of all. 
 The first brave crocus of the chill young year 
 From Nigel's grave thrusts forth her flaming spear. 
 The dying Edward on his captives gloats 
 And gluts his vengeance, as when Atholl floats 
 By cruel hazard on Northumbrian coast, 
 And Edward dying crieth : " He shall boast 
 A higher gallows that boasts royal blood." 
 So was it done as seemed to Edward good, 
 And unto Simon Eraser, Wallace friend, 
 Did Edward's hatred scheme like cruel end. 
 Crowned, not with laurel, but with periwinkle, 
 A star in Wallace Sign shall Eraser twinkle. 
 
Adventures of the Brus 123 
 
 Think now on worst of horrors thou hast known, 
 
 Then add to these the martyred patriot's moan, 
 
 Then cast an eye on the memorial stone 
 
 At Westminster, where Scotland's foe doth rot : 
 
 " Here Edward lies, the Hammer of the Scot." 
 
 Nought can such cruel deeds in Kings excuse, 
 
 And if you seek a contrast, see the Brus. 
 
 Brus after Bannockburn and oft before 
 
 To gallant foe gave liberty and more 
 
 Loaded with favours many an enemy 
 
 That hoped to win base life on bended knee. 
 
 Edward by all was loathed, by none gainsaid, 
 
 The Brus by all was loved, by all obeyed. 
 
 His last command King Edward dying gave : 
 
 The Second Edward danceth on his grave. 
 
 King Robert whispers : soul and body part : 
 
 The Douglas keeps and cherishes his heart, 
 
 Doing for love what none will do for fear ; 
 
 True love and springtide die not with the year. 
 
 But of a lady fair I would a word, 
 
 Buchan's fair Countess, prisoned like a bird 
 
 Within a cage at Berwick must she dwell. 
 
 Thus Edward strives to build for her a hell 
 
 And teach to dames how terrible their doom 
 
 That cherish other flower than flower of broom. 
 
 Thy body in a cage, sweet wretch, he pent, 
 
 But crushed for us full sweet he made thy scent. 
 
 Most sweet thou carollest through thy cage bars, 
 
 And see thy fame, it soareth to the stars : 
 
 White hands that crowned the Brus, brave mind and 
 
 heart 
 That urged thee on to dare the hero's part. 
 
124 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 But for the Brus, his lordships Annandale 
 And Carrick, English lands within the pale, 
 Gives Edward to his lords : these gifts avail 
 On earth as doth the papal curse in heaven 
 To rend from Brus what God Himself had given : 
 Strong arm to take his own, strong mind to prove, 
 And more than all, the power to conquer love. 
 For all men loved the Brus, that dealt with him, 
 And I might tell of ancient legends dim, 
 His constancy and shew the spider climb, 
 A legend soothfast, simple and sublime 
 Might of the dame unknown discourse who gave 
 Shelter and food and forty swordsmen brave, 
 Of Edward Brus that was of Ireland King 
 And all aflame, like Phoenix on the wing ; 
 Might of the Douglas and his " Larder " tell- 
 Fain would I linger on in Douglasdale 
 Of John of Lorn and of the sleuthhound true 
 That tracked its master and the arrow slew, 
 How Brus escaped and lived to wear the crown, 
 Not so Lorn's men that strove to hew him down ; 
 How Cuthbert lit no beacon on the hill 
 And yet it burned, and well it happed, not ill ; 
 Of the great blast upon his horn that blew, 
 The Brus and Douglas heard afar and knew 
 The King was come, of how with one good sword 
 He scattered full two hundred at the ford, 
 And when his men came up they found the Brus, 
 His basnet doffed, that blessed the midnight dews, 
 Of how unto the cottage wife he came 
 And she received him in King Robert's name, 
 Nor guessed at all the traveller was the King. 
 
Adventures of the Brus 125 
 
 And when she knew, how great her pleasuring ! 
 Brus in the north ! how rage the Brus hath healed 
 That could not walk, how Comyn's doom is sealed. 
 The harrying of Buchan ! 
 
 As the levin 
 
 Strikes Brus all Buchan, once to Comyn given, 
 Burning in righteous wrath upon his way. 
 Men trembled then, men tremble to this day, 
 When yet the crofter in the peat reveals 
 The oak beam charred that Brus' vengeance feels. 
 
 These and a many more were joy to sing, 
 Great deeds for ever newly chronicling, 
 Since not to sing the new to me is dear, 
 But turning to the old things all know well 
 To echo forth with murmur musical 
 The tides of history in their rise and fall, 
 And breaking waves between, like a sea-shell. 
 But here some little part I will rehearse 
 Of deeds that clamour at the forge of verse. 
 
 The Brus sends Edward Brus into the West 
 
 Where the men of Galloway ever in unrest 
 
 Have joined themselves with England : wild are they 
 
 And cruel in the field, but now perfay 
 
 There's one abroad shall hunt them all to bay. 
 
 O gallant Edward Brus ! Thou bright of eye, 
 
 Thou strong of wing, ready all flights to fly, 
 
 Thou Conqueror King of Ireland and the Isles, 
 
 Thou that no tinge of aught impure defiles ; 
 
 Aflame with courage that with fifty men 
 
 Chargedst on fifteen hundred ; twice again 
 
126 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 And thrice thou earnest on with furious blast 
 Of horn and thunderous hoof until at last 
 Wild panic took the Southrons and they broke. 
 Of chivalry was this a right fair stroke. 
 Farewell thou brave of heart and bright of eye ! 
 We meet at Bannockburn : till then, good-bye ! 
 
 What of the Douglas ? Like the wind he was, 
 
 That blows now east now west now north across 
 
 Scotland, and to and fro he went, but best 
 
 He loved to hover round his native nest. 
 
 Deep in ancestral forest would he lurk, 
 
 Then creeping up as gathered thick the murk 
 
 Close to the Castle wall he overpowers 
 
 The garrison of his ancestral towers. 
 
 Or else he'd match their wit some otherwise : 
 
 Whatever he did 'twas ever a surprize, 
 
 As when to drill her child the mother threats 
 
 To give it to Black Douglas : " Douglas waits " : 
 
 Speaks on the wall a voice : she turns afright 
 
 And sees indeed a tall and black-browed knight, 
 
 The Douglas self, that thus by escalade 
 
 To his own castle hath a visit made, 
 
 The Douglas guards them both with pious care 
 
 But for those others evilly they fare. 
 
 Mind ye of Brus' venture, when he slew 
 
 The Highland ketherans of Lorn, and knew 
 
 The bite of evil fortune's wolfish teeth 
 
 When strown with Scottish slain was Methven's heath ? 
 
 Hear now of Brus and Douglas joined together, 
 
 As then for pain they fared, so now for pleasure. 
 
Adventures of the Brus 127 
 
 With veteran troops and all good men's good-will, 
 
 They turn on Lorn to render ill for ill. 
 
 Thus by the common folk they come to know 
 
 Where Lorn is waiting for his ancient foe. 
 
 Betwixt Lochs Awe and Etive winds a glen 
 
 Along rough shoulders of Ben Cruachin, 
 
 Here on the hillside as in days gone by 
 
 In ambuscade a many ketherans lie, 
 
 But their great chief, too great himself to 
 
 strive, 
 
 Awaits the victory on Loch Etive, 
 Within a " lymphad " galley, many-oared, 
 Upon the loch it floats, the Lord of Lorn aboard. 
 Now had the King not chanced to know before 
 Their well-devised plot, 'tis like that sore 
 He had lamented this too venturous quest ; 
 But knowing well, he speeds atop the crest 
 By path circuitous no less a knight 
 Than Douglas with a troop of archers light, 
 While he moves slowly with his veterans 
 To meet the horde of murtherous ketherans. 
 Thorough the narrow pass, where most it narrows, 
 These hurl down stones and darts and shoot their 
 
 arrows 
 
 Upon their victims, thinking to surprize ; 
 Those victims are prepared, but not for sacrifice. 
 Yelling and springing, down the ketherans leap, 
 But Brus and his await them and still keep 
 Their order, till above a loud-blown horn 
 Astoundment brings unto the men of Lorn, 
 And to their bodies bodes a muckle pain, 
 For seldom James the Douglas strikes in vain, 
 
128 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 Then Brus and his spring upward, Douglas down ; 
 
 Right gallantly they fight and win renown, 
 
 Those men of Lorn upon Cruachin Ben, 
 
 Between the hammer and the anvil taen. 
 
 Which was the anvil ? Douglas or the Brus ? 
 
 Methinks those ketherans found it hard to choose. 
 
 Of even form and metal were the two, 
 
 Heroes more real than old Homer knew. 
 
 What of the Lord of these brave men that lie 
 
 With sightless eyes gazing into the sky ? 
 
 It irked him much to see this utter rout, 
 
 When he expected, never cared to doubt, 
 
 That Brus and Douglas on his lymphad bound 
 
 Should grace Dunstaffnage rocky heading ground. 
 
 But otherwise had willed the fates perverse 
 
 And Lorn must see the bad become the worse. 
 
 Safe in Dunstaffnage strong upon the sea, 
 
 He thought defy the Brus, but presently 
 
 The Brus sits down before Dunstaffnage walls, 
 
 A sight which the Castellan's heart appals : 
 
 (Whose courage never soaring very high, 
 
 When it descended had not far to fly). 
 
 Therefore he cometh forth on bended knee 
 
 Homage to swear and troth and fealty 
 
 To Robert King of Scots, and Douglas smiles 
 
 To see him bowed thus low, the Lord of many Isles, 
 
 As manners vary now from clime to clime, 
 
 So were they other in that ancient time ; 
 
 Oaths were oft taken and as often broke, 
 
 As urged convenience, power, or fortune's stroke. 
 
Adventures of the Brus 129 
 
 Now as the churchmen best knew how to win 
 
 The Church's pardon for a churchman's sin, 
 
 Sware they right willingly allegiance 
 
 To England, Scotland, Norroway or France ; 
 
 Then changing swore the opposite to gain 
 
 More than if unforsworn they should remain. 
 
 Now Lamberton and Wishart wore the steel 
 
 Beneath their rochets and were counted leal. 
 
 How many heroes chronicled in rhyme 
 
 Would heroes stay if born a second time ? 
 
 Hark to these Bishops swear, whose oaths were taken 
 
 As surely as their keeping was forsaken. 
 
 The Comyn slain, shall Lamberton refuse 
 
 St Andrews' aid unto the slayer Brus ? 
 
 The Brus is worsted : Bishop Lamberton 
 
 Takes oath to Edward, all he lost hath won. 
 
 Lamberton changeth sides and schemes with Brus 
 
 And gives the Stewart's son as his excuse. 
 
 But Edward's power hath grown, the Bishop swears 
 
 To Pembroke's Earl for Edward, then repairs 
 
 To Brus' camp and treats with Brus again, 
 
 And Edward to the Pope appeals in vain 
 
 To punish acts of perjury and treason. 
 
 Yea, Lamberton can break an oath in season 
 
 With any layman and with any other, 
 
 Save perchance Glasco's very holy brother. 
 
 Fealty to Edward swears upon the rood 
 
 Wishart of Glasco, but his vagrant mood 
 
 Marcheth with Balliol, till that princeling fails, 
 
 Then quick for Edward he will tack his sails. 
 
 Not once to Edward, Wishart swears, but twice, 
 
 That nought shall him from the first oath entice ! 
 
130 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 Wallace and Brus ! Scarce had the Bishop reckoned 
 
 Upon two champions ! Oaths the third and second 
 
 Must in a trice be broken both together, 
 
 And Wishart swears to Brus to serve him ever. 
 
 Alas, less bright shine the affairs of Brus, 
 
 And as you guess our Bishop cannot choose 
 
 But pass to Edward, swearing on his soul 
 
 Fealty, and therewith swears he to control 
 
 The schemes of Brus and be his surety. 
 
 Prospers the Brus, again the Wishart swings ; 
 
 The Brus declineth, Wishart is the King's ! 
 
 But charged, the Wishart charged ! Ah ! well- 
 
 a-day, 
 
 With having sworn, the better to betray 
 The strength of Roxburgh Castle to the Scot. 
 Who could believe it ? Edward certes not, 
 And Glasco's bishop courteously entreats, 
 Who for the fourth time on the rood repeats 
 His oath to Edward, which he means to keep 
 Till he shall send his Scots to carry sheep, 
 Or any other beast alive or dead 
 That they shall find on England's pastures bred. 
 Grim Edward conquers ; Wishart once again 
 Veers with the wind and glitters with the vane. 
 Full strange it seems, from Edward hath he back 
 Those earthly treasures which his soul doth lack, 
 And swears most solemnly, time sixth and last, 
 Fealty to Edward and forget the past ! 
 Behold the fame of Brus to heaven soar, 
 The Bishop turns and fealty swears once more 
 Unto the Brus, and Edward seeks in vain 
 To tempt him from his Scottish oath again. 
 
Adventures of the Brus 131 
 
 Now Brus is strong the Bishops' patriot, 
 Swearing he'll die, as he hath lived, a Scot. 
 Thus in his later day the Bishop prayed : 
 " To fight with England equals a Crusade." 
 
 One geste the more I tell, of how the Brus 
 St Johnston 1 took by force of arms and ruse. 
 For six long weeks he had in vain sat down 
 And strait beset that proud disloyal town. 
 All round about with towers girt it was, 
 And deep and broad the water in the fosse, 
 That Brus by no means might contrive to cross. 
 The garrison, half English and half Scots, 
 Well knew their foe and guarded feeble spots 
 Both night and day, and who passed o'er the water 
 Most certain were of very present slaughter. 
 Therefore the King gave order break array, 
 Strike tents and win from this dour town away. 
 For eight long days his army lay perdu, 
 But on the ninth night heavy was the dew 
 And mirk the air, and yet a little wind 
 Stirred in the reeds that rustled them behind, 
 As Robert Brus, the hero and the King, 
 Crept silent with a few unto the brink 
 Of this same fosse, and Brus set forth to wade, 
 Who going first, but little ripple made, 
 Moving most softly. Of those following him 
 The tall might wade, but all the short must swim. 
 Thus as they passed with hooks and ropes of scale, 
 Marvelled thereat a Gascon knight, for pale 
 Were many knights, quoth he, at such emprize 
 As now achieves this King before mine eyes. 
 
 1 Perth. 
 
132 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 My King he is not, but a knight must win 
 
 Where leads the way himself a crowned King. 
 
 Thus as he spake ; he entered in the fosse 
 
 And safely too that Gascon came across 
 
 And with King Robert scaled the sleep-bound wall, 
 
 And Gascon shout shall sleeping men appal 
 
 As the King leads them o'er the bastion, 
 
 And they do fall upon the garrison. 
 
 Spared are the English that are prisoner taken, 
 
 Swift on the Scot is righteous vengeance slaken. 
 
 To spare the English foe aye sought the Brus, 
 
 But for the homebred foe found ready noose. 
 
 Behold the terror of the Brus' name 
 
 Blazing through England as the furnace flame. 
 
 Through England's north, the Brus, the Douglas rode, 
 
 And Chester city pleased them for abode. 
 
 Then Durham's terror melted all to gold, 
 
 Then other counties were as Durham bold, 
 
 That passing south not there the Scot should tarry, 
 
 But southern shires and nigher London harry ! 
 
 Then many doubters leaped the Rubicon, 
 
 Then England's king was Piers Gaveston, 
 
 Then Scotsmen's deeds like a vast river spate 
 
 Were swelled the more by rivulets waxen great, 
 
 For humble folk now sought the halls of fame, 
 
 And the Black Douglas blots not Binny's name. 
 
 Linlithgow's Castle standeth on a mound 
 Whence danger 's visible for miles around, 
 And scarce a murmur riseth from the plain 
 Save Binny walking by his loaded wain, 
 
Adventures of the Brus 133 
 
 That hums a merry tune, an humble swain. 
 Tis come right nigh the Castle gate, his wain, 
 And at a word from Binny watchers raise 
 The heavy-hinged portcullis and the hay 's 
 Shaken and jolted as the gate they gain 
 And Binny hums a tune beside his wain 
 And though the draught be light the oxen strain : 
 Ay ! though the load be only summer's grass, 
 Straining below the portcullis they pass 
 And Binny stays his tune beside the wain. 
 Sudden the waggoner cuts the ropes in twain, 
 Sudden the hay leaps up like armed men, 
 Sudden the English garrison is slain, 
 Sudden Linlithgow Castle Binny's ta'en, 
 That hummed a merry tune beside his wain. 
 
 Tis Fasten's E'en and Roxburgh Castle towers 
 
 Reecho song and laughter that outpours 
 
 From the great hall where feasts the governor, 
 
 And round him many gallant knights there are, 
 
 All English-born, but all a Gascon he, 
 
 Marked out by Edward for his bravery, 
 
 His craft of war and eke his flattery. 
 
 De Fiennes, 'twas thus he hight, doth make good 
 
 cheer, 
 
 For the morrow brings the ashes of the year. 
 Therefore with song and wine and friendly bout, 
 They see the sad time in, the glad time out. 
 Their revelry reechoes from the towers, 
 Where sentinels must tread and count the hours, 
 Cursing their lot that bids them lonely stay 
 And gloomy gaze on gloom when all are gay. 
 
134 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 " Those beasts be late abroad this night, I trow," 
 
 Quoth one of these, and in the park below 
 
 Points where vast bulks toward the castle move, 
 
 Pausing the while to graze as should a drove. 
 
 " I' faith they be," makes answer then the other 
 
 Then do they fall a-pitying one another. 
 
 Meanwhile within, De Fiennes with merry shout 
 
 See'th the sad time in, the glad time out, 
 
 Meanwhile those obscure kine move ever near 
 
 And yet more near the castle. " Didst thou hear 
 
 A sound below ? " quoth one, " Nay," quoth the other 
 
 Then fell again lamenting with his brother. 
 
 Meanwhile the foremost of the drove hath come 
 
 Unto the wall and lo, he is not dumb, 
 
 But speaking in a human voice commands, 
 
 And like the horse of Troy hath many heads and hands. 
 
 The Douglas self, for it is he, climbs first, 
 
 Then all the drove, for glory all athirst, 
 
 Cast off the peltry and are men-at-arms, 
 
 And climbing one by one, a voice alarms 
 
 The sentry that comes running to the place 
 
 And finds the Douglas : mayhap hath he grace 
 
 Of God, but ere he can achieve to cry, 
 
 The Douglas dagger speedeth him on high 
 
 The others then win up and quick they slay 
 
 Those other sentinels that bar their way. 
 
 De Fiennes hath raised his goblet in the hall, 
 
 About to quaff, when lo ! the shout of all 
 
 Most awful, sounds without : " Douglas ! ha ! A 
 
 Douglas ! 
 A Douglas ! " 
 
 And the torches reel and sway 
 
Adventures of the Brus 135 
 
 As Douglas and his men-at-arms rush in 
 
 And all is blood and strife that erst was din. 
 
 They slay, they slay, till England cries : " We yield," 
 
 And Douglas spares, where Edward would have killed. 
 
 What of the governor, the gay de Fiennes ? 
 
 A sword he snatcheth up and one to seven 
 
 Fighteth upon the steps until his blood 
 
 Drowneth his eyeballs in its crimson flood 
 
 From wounded brow ; but Douglas saves and tends 
 
 His foe, and safely back to England sends 
 
 A gay goss-hawk that tried an eagle's flight, 
 
 Not long to cumber earth, a hapless wight. 
 
 Thus Douglas knocks the towers of Roxburgh o'er, 
 
 While in the Isle of Man the King makes war 
 
 On the Macdougalls, foes that were before 
 
 Lords of all Galloway, and very soon 
 
 These crave their lives and get them as a boon. 
 
 But Edward Brus, he of the phoenix wings, 
 
 Scourgeth the north and Edinburgh brings, 
 
 And now Dundee to right allegiance. 
 
 Then upon Stirling's strength he makes advance, 
 
 A mighty Castle standing on its rock, 
 
 Greatest of strengths, forbye Caerlaverock. 
 
 Then Mowbray, when now winter-long the siege, 
 
 Lacked corn and victuals and his crowned liege 
 
 Sending nor men nor word, his crafty mind 
 
 Discovered where in Edward Brus to find 
 
 A spear-hole in the armour. Then he cries 
 
 To Edward Brus, the knight, in knightly wise : 
 
 " O grant a truce, and if no succour come 
 
 By midsummer, upon a knight's true word, 
 
136 Adventures of the Brus 
 
 As knight to knight, by Arthur overheard, 
 By Richard's Lion Heart, the paladin, 
 By wounds of God, by beard of Saladin, 
 I, Thomas Mowbray, swear to Edward Brus 
 To yield up Stirling Castle/' 
 
 To refuse 
 
 Such knightly gage, to Edward Brus' mind 
 Were almost to play traitor to his kind. 
 Therefore, Achilles-like, he signs the truce, 
 And Mowbray for his King thus gains the use 
 Of all the Maydays, all the eager spring, 
 To gather England's might and all to fling 
 On Scotland and though lads and lassies fought 
 Though white beards and old wives and infants sought 
 The field of battle Scotland all together 
 Would fail of half the men that England's horn can 
 
 gather. 
 
 When now the Brus had seen the subtle snare 
 That Mowbray set and that all unaware 
 His brother Edward entered, waxed his ire, 
 For easy were it ere the spring expire 
 To starve Sir Philip Mowbray till perforce 
 He should throw ope the gates, but now his course 
 By brother's plighted word is all fenced in 
 And he must bide until the summer's in, 
 Until King Edward shall have time to call 
 From all of England, Flanders, Wales and all 
 His vast dominions far ayont the seas 
 The very marrow of their chivalries, 
 And tempt with English gold to join with these 
 A many thousand more, and all to crush 
 One northern land which bended as the rush 
 
Adventures of the Brus 137 
 
 Before his sire, set straight by Brus but now : 
 
 Eftsoons the Brus hath cause to crease his brow. 
 
 All this was seen at once by Brus the King, 
 
 Though Edward Brus saw nought, but now we bring 
 
 The question to an issue ; shall he stay 
 
 By brother's word or follow England's way ? 
 
 Certes, before, King Edward First had sworn 
 
 The like oath at Dundee and was forsworn, 
 
 But Brus was not as Edward King, but loth 
 
 To sully Brus' fame with broken oath. 
 
 So when his ire was passed, he clasped the hand 
 
 That Edward Brus held out and said : " We stand 
 
 Or fall together by thy plighted word." 
 
 This when from Robert Brus his brother heard, 
 
 He fell upon his knee and fain had spoken 
 
 In words his thanks, but spake them better broken 
 
 In little tears as he felt the whole 
 
 Of his great brother kindle to his soul. 
 
 Yea, Edward Brus staked Scotland on a throw, 
 
 Turn ye the leaf, the dice's fall to know. 
 
The Eve of Battle 
 
 ONCE in the life of a man is it given to grasp 
 his fate, 
 Be it a love or a crown, be it a cause or a 
 creed. 
 Early in youth it may come, mid-course, or it may 
 
 be late, 
 
 Rosy with fingers of dawn, trailing a tragical weed. 
 
 Careless mayhap, unready, too timid or rash too soon ! 
 
 Gone it is gone for aye, vanished the infinite 
 
 boon. 
 Vain are all lamentations now : " Ah ! had I then but 
 
 known 
 
 The time to strike, the time to pause, now all had 
 been my own." 
 
 Ye may tread for ever the place, 
 Ye shall never know it again, 
 That smile of the loved one's face, 
 That chance of the crown to gain, 
 Ye shall seek it in vain. 
 
 Once in a country's life, in its life of a thousand years, 
 The past rolls up in a cloud, ready to shatter and 
 
 whelm 
 
 One or the other side ; vain now are hopes and fears, 
 Now is the moment to do ; whom have ye placed 
 at the helm ? 
 
 138 
 
The Eve of Battle 139 
 
 Come ! it is come for Scotland the moment that 
 
 measures all : 
 Shall the Scot be a proud man and free ? Shall 
 
 he be little and fall ? 
 Nay, we shall see how Scotland fares, nay, we shall 
 
 know full well 
 
 Who rules the rudder with his hand, whose voice is like 
 a bell 
 
 Calling and all shall obey, 
 Striking, they rise no more, 
 Terrible, gentle and gay, 
 Hero that all men adore 
 We have Brus at the Nore. 
 
Battle of Bannockburn 
 
 EDWARD Second of England, lapped in 
 unglorious ease, 
 Was stirred with the spirit of battle when 
 he heard of Stirling's siege, 
 And he summoned a feudal levy of barons of all 
 
 degrees, 
 And with each his horses and arms and with 
 
 each his bondman and liege. 
 He ordered the counties of England and the conquered 
 
 land of Wales 
 
 To furnish a further levy and a fleet of forty sails, 
 And to O'Connor, Irish Prince, and to De Burgh he 
 
 wrote, 
 
 And to the Bishop of Constance, and bade Argyle to 
 float 
 
 With his fleet and be Admiral 
 
 Over the northern seas, 
 Bade Berwick to be for all 
 
 Meeting-place till he shall please 
 Bring the Scot to his knees. 
 
 Knights sailed from the port of Flanders, came forth 
 
 the Low Countrees, 
 
 From Almayn, from the Duchy, from Poictiers, 
 from Bayonne, 
 
 140 
 
Battle of Bannockburn 141 
 
 That the back of every breaker through all the northern 
 
 seas 
 Was broke with the weight of warriors in steely 
 
 morion, 
 Hasting to join their valours with great Plan- 
 
 tagenet 
 Though mightily they hasten, 'tis little praise 
 
 they'll get ! 
 But to the Earls of Hereford and Gloster Edward 
 
 gave 
 
 To lead the vaward of his array, being most 
 wise and brave ; 
 
 And Sir Giles de Argentine, 
 
 Most gallant of cavaliers, 
 
 With Sir Aymer of long line 
 
 At the rein of the King careers, 
 Who shall banish his fears. 
 
 Mighty and rich is England and an hunded thousand 
 
 strong 
 Were less by far than the muster of all that 
 
 armed throng ; 
 
 All the great vassals of England and the lesser barons all, 
 And forty thousand horsemen and as many 
 
 bows to gall 
 The flanks of the " Scottish rebel," waggon and car 
 
 and tent, 
 
 Armourers, smiths and masons, another armament. 
 With these to do his bidding, a splendid throng, God 
 
 wot, 
 The mighty King of England rode forth to crush the 
 
 Scot. 
 
142 Battle of Bannockburn 
 
 With his Queen rode forth on his way, 
 Lincoln and York he passed ; 
 
 At St Albans paused to pray ; 
 
 By the sound of his trumpet's blast 
 He's at Berwick at last. 
 
 But long ere he passed the Border, had Brus right 
 
 balanced and weighed 
 The weight of the battle's chances and the choice of 
 
 his captains made; 
 Douglas and Edward and Randolph whose word had 
 
 brought them here, 
 And the bonnie High Stewart of Scotland, a callant 
 
 of twenty year. 
 To each was his charge allotted, to Randolph fell the 
 
 vaward, 
 The right to his brother Edward, the left to the Douglas 
 
 and Stewart. 
 With forty thousand fighting men, five hundred men 
 
 ahorse, 
 
 The Scot an hundred thousand met by the Bannock's 
 bickering course. 
 
 But with Robert the King nigh the centre, 
 
 With the Highlander ready to fall 
 To the right or the left as the venture 
 Or the need of the battle call, 
 They shall fear not at all. 
 
 The Brus hath chosen the battle-field, no wiser a choice 
 
 could be, 
 
 In the Park by the Castle of Stirling, planted 
 with many a tree, 
 
Battle of Bannockburn 143 
 
 With the marsh leading on unto it, blue flowrets in the 
 
 field, 
 By the Bannock-burn on the right wing, old nature's 
 
 brawling shield. 
 Here must the horse of the foeman find ill to gallop i' 
 
 faith- 
 Yea many an one that enters shall gallop the 
 
 road to death. 
 But on the left wing Stirling's towers frown menace in 
 
 the rear, 
 
 And though Mowbray's word holds danger back, 
 Brus thinks on other gear. 
 
 Green is the field by the city, 
 
 Smooth as for steeds to race, 
 Now with calthrop of iron and pit he 
 Bids dig, spike, then cover its face, 
 Smooth to leave not a trace. 
 
 Fasted the Scots by Stirling on the vigil of St John, 
 And the King on the Sabbath morning, when the mass 
 
 was over and done, 
 
 Spake thus unto the army : "If any be wavering, 
 Let him take what road he listeth, he shall have no 
 
 hindrancing." 
 Then a lion's roar made answer, like the falls of the 
 
 Clyde in spate : 
 " We do all abide the battle." Then they sought their 
 
 banners straight, 
 With Edward Brus upon the right, Earl Randolph 
 
 in the vaward, 
 With James the Douglas on the left, with Walter the 
 
 Lord High Stewart, 
 
144 Battle of Bannockburn 
 
 They ranged them, and lo ! the Highlands 
 Towered with the King behind, 
 Argyll, Kintyre and the Islands 
 The King with his fame can bind, 
 As the foemen shall find. 
 
 Round the first of the battle's doings clings the scent of 
 
 a fallen rose, 
 Which fell from the chaplet of Randolph and was 
 
 gathered by his foes, 
 For he spyed not Sir Robert Clifford, as the King had 
 
 bade him spy, 
 That crept to relieve the Castle, and perdy was come 
 
 right nigh, 
 When the King turned sudden on Randolph and 
 
 pointing : " Nephew of mine 
 Behold a rose hath fallen from that rosy chaplet of 
 
 thine." 
 Swift as a swan-winged arrow he speeds to retrieve 
 
 his fame, 
 
 And all his hero's heart's afire and red his cheeks for 
 shame ! 
 
 Foursquare his spearmen face, 
 Furious gallop their foes, 
 Clash ! but the Scot keeps his place 
 Clash ! but the Scot overthrows 
 Will he rescue his rose ? 
 
 Upspake then Sir Robert Clifford : " We must com- 
 pass them round about, 
 
 We are double the Scotsmen's number and they 
 light-armed and afoot." 
 
Battle of Bannockburn 145 
 
 So they cantered away and wheeling divided their 
 
 troop in four, 
 Then at the gallop charging the battle raged once 
 
 more. 
 When now Sir James the Douglas, as he stood at the 
 
 Brus's side, 
 Marked Randolph and his spearmen, how sorely they 
 
 were tried, 
 He craved that he might go forward and somewhat of 
 
 succour bring. 
 
 " Thou shallst not change my battle-ground for 
 Randolph," quoth the King. 
 
 Meanwhile on their ears comes ringing 
 The clash of the sword and the spear, 
 The melee is swaying and swinging, 
 Steeds maddened with wounds and with 
 
 fear 
 Plunge forward and rear. 
 
 Then the Douglas cries to the monarch : " My life is 
 
 thine till death, 
 But I may not stand by slothful, while Randolph 
 
 perisheth." 
 With that he speeds to the rescue, but as he draws 
 
 more nigh, 
 He beholds the English waver, then break, and some 
 
 to fly. 
 " Halt ! " to his men calls Douglas, " for Randolph 
 
 shall win the fray ; 
 Let us not with needless succour take aught of his 
 
 fame away." 
 
 K 
 
146 Battle of Bannockburn 
 
 Right gallant spoke, O Douglas ! let Randolph wreak 
 
 alone 
 
 His victory o'er fearful odds and thus his fault atone. 
 Now when Randolph marks them waver 
 More furious yet he throws 
 Men, body and soul together 
 They shatter and scatter the foes 
 He hath won back his rose ! 
 
 Mounted upon a palfrey, meanwhile the Brus pricked on 
 To view the left and vaward, now Douglas and Ran- 
 dolph gone ; 
 But behold the vaward of England of a sudden come in 
 
 sight 
 With the Earls of Gloster and Hereford, and before 
 
 them an armoured knight, 
 Sir Henry de Bohun, by a bowshot, on his war-horse 
 
 caracoled, 
 And he knew the Brus by his helmet with its lofty 
 
 crown of gold. 
 
 Thereat he gave his battle cry and galloped on the Brus 
 Who saw him come and might and should draw back 
 with just excuse, 
 
 Being mounted upon a palfrey, 
 
 For he thought not to fight that day, 
 Yet the knight in his bosom felt he 
 Give the King of Scots no stay 
 He must e'en to the fray. 
 
 Therefore he cantered forward, as the knight in full 
 
 career 
 Came thundering down upon him, and O but he came 
 
 near ! 
 
Battle of Bannockburn 147 
 
 And the whole array of Scotland watched close and 
 
 caught its breath, 
 For who should lead them to victory, if the King went 
 
 first to death ? 
 Like a tidal wave in a river came the knight upon the 
 
 King, 
 
 Who calm as in the tilt-yard met his furious oncoming, 
 Parried with ease his lance-thrust and as he galloped by 
 Rose high up in his stirrups. By God, the knight shall 
 die! 
 
 Swinging his ax of battle 
 At a blow cleft basnet and brain 
 Dead fell the knight from saddle 
 Dead ere he touched the plain 
 Then the King turned rein. 
 
 Then with a mighty shout and a clashing of spears the 
 
 Scot 
 Ran on the English line, but the King vouchsafed 
 
 them not, 
 For the night was coming apace and he bade them rest 
 
 and pray ; 
 They should fight their fill on the morn. And i' faith 
 
 at the break of day 
 Each Scot stands firm in his place and the Abbot of 
 
 Inchaffray 
 Passeth along their lines and the Scotsmen kneel and 
 
 pray, 
 Which when King Edward seeth : quoth he to one 
 
 hard by : 
 " These rebels plead for mercy : they will not fight, 
 
 but fly." 
 
148 Battle of Bannockburn 
 
 Quoth Sir Gilbert, Sire, indeed, 
 As thou sayest it well may be, 
 That the Scots for mercy plead, 
 But they ask it of God, not thee : 
 They will die or be free/' 
 
 " Good/' answereth Edward the King and straight 
 
 bids sound the charge, 
 And the English vaward meets the Scots 'mid clash of 
 
 spear and targe. 
 Then hail the arrows of England, like hail that the 
 
 tempest drives, 
 And the vaward led by Randolph in the ocean of 
 
 England dives ; 
 For the Scots that are led by Randolph are lost as in 
 
 the sea 
 In the vasty body of Englishmen that compass them 
 
 round, perdie ! 
 Then Sir James the Douglas and the Stewart bring up 
 
 the other wing 
 
 And like the smithy of God Thor these three great 
 battles ring, 
 
 AnditVHa! for St George and England ! " 
 
 As they fall on the Scottish square ; 
 "St Andrew! St Andrew! for Scotland!" 
 Meets that in the air, 
 And the Scot stands fair. 
 
 Then the Brus when he sees how the archers gall sends 
 
 his five hundred horse, 
 Who fall from the flank upon them and they die or 
 
 flee, perforce, 
 
Battle of Bannockburn 149 
 
 And though the English stubborn fight yet the eagle's 
 
 eye of the Brus 
 Sees where they plunge right recklessly, sees the leaders 
 
 that they lose. 
 Then with his fourth great battle, the Highlanders and 
 
 the Isles, 
 Joins the Brus the other three battles, where they fight 
 
 amid gory piles : 
 Pennon and spear and banner, scarves torn and 
 
 smeared with blood, 
 
 And banners rising, falling, steeds plunging amid the 
 mud. 
 
 See the King and his Phoenix brother, 
 Douglas, Randolph and the Stewart, 
 All fighting nigh one another, 
 Great ships that give battle moored ! 
 Which the glory secured ? 
 
 Neither the one nor the other, the glory is over them 
 
 all, 
 But who be the new men a-coming whose sight doth 
 
 the English appal ? 
 'Tis the serving men and the followers that hasten over 
 
 the law 
 To get a sight of the fighting, that fills the English 
 
 with awe. 
 Yet the Brus with his eye of eagle sees them waver and 
 
 cries, " They come/' 
 Then the Brus with the Brus' war-cry charges furiously 
 
 home. 
 And where their King shall lead them there's ne'er 
 
 a Scot but goes, 
 
1 50 Battle of Bannockburn 
 
 And the whole long line of Scotsmen just breaks their 
 Southron foes. 
 
 Vainly they strive to rally 
 When King Edward turns to fly, 
 What matter if Gloster sally, 
 If an Argentine will die ? 
 We have conquered, they fly ! 
 
 Dryshod across the Bannock burn the gallant Scot 
 
 shall tread, 
 For the English on that fatal field left thirty 
 
 thousand dead ; 
 The Earl of Gloster and Clifford and Edmund the 
 
 Seneschal, 
 Two hundred knights, seven hundred squires are 
 
 few amid them all. 
 Never before nor after hath England the like thing 
 
 known 
 
 Waterloo, Cregy, Trafalgar Bannockburn stands 
 alone. 
 
 So here's to the Brus that led 
 
 And here's to the hero Scot, 
 
 And here's to all brave that bled, 
 
 To the Wallace forget-me-not 
 
 Blooms yet on the spot ! 
 
After Bannockburn 
 
 DOUGLAS IN PURSUIT OF KING EDWARD. 
 
 PLANTAGENET Edward of England 
 Flees southward on wings of the wind, 
 The Douglas espies him in panic that flies 
 him 
 
 And he thunders close behind. 
 With the Stewart by Torwood he gallops, 
 
 Meets Sir Laurence Abernethy : 
 Quoth Sir Laurence : " Where be, Sir, King Edward ? " 
 " They flee, Sir," 
 
 Quoth the Douglas, "Join thou with me ; 
 If thou seekest the King of England, 
 
 See him crave of the Douglas grace, 
 Who with horse five hundred by Torwood thundered, 
 
 But a passing moment's space/' 
 Quoth Sir Laurence to James of Douglas : 
 
 " O Douglas I join with thee, 
 
 I will find a pardon of Bras for guerdon, 
 
 If I help take those that flee." 
 
 Thereat swears Sir Laurence to Douglas 
 
 His troth to the Bras, the King ; 
 Thus with words right few can the Douglas anew 
 
 To the trail of the fugitive cling. 
 They come on the King by Linlithgow, 
 
 They could charge, on the Southron flight, 
 
 151 
 
1 52 After Bannockburn 
 
 But too few they be for the jeopardie, 
 
 Right great is the Southron's might. 
 But they follow right nigh them fleeing, 
 
 That dare not to break array, 
 For if any draw bridle there's a Scot at his side will 
 
 Or take him alive or slay. 
 Thus King Edward to Winchburgh gallops, 
 
 Where King Edward draws rein to bait, 
 But the Scots bait anigh him, close watch him and ply 
 him, 
 
 On the least of his motions wait. 
 When the King leaps again on his saddle, 
 
 Leaps the Douglas again to horse ! 
 And they gallop afar to the towers of Dunbar 
 
 Where they halt on their perilous course. 
 For the constable here is Earl Patrick, 
 
 Who openeth wide to the King, 
 And the Douglas turns rein, he hath followed in vain, 
 
 And back to the Brus he will win. 
 When the dust of the Douglas' going 
 
 Long hath settled upon the highway, 
 Ventures Edward afloat in a wee sailing boat, 
 
 That came forth with so mighty array. 
 Thence he saileth to Bamborough Castle, 
 
 Where he's safe, back in England once more, 
 Ah ! had Douglas the men, he'd have taken him then, 
 
 For whom a worse fate is in store. 
 Thus befell to the Leopard of England 
 
 That harried the Right Lion Scots : 
 Till the twain wed together they'll e'en bicker ever 
 
 Till they're linked with the nuptial knots. 
 
Robert Brus on the Field after the 
 Battle 
 
 NOW greater had been their number 
 That galloped with good Sir James, 
 But around the Rock of Stirling 
 Yet cluster illustrious names, 
 And the King that is prudent ever 
 (Save when the knight's afield) 
 Sends forth a stark Scots company 
 
 To ken if the Southron yield. 
 They yield them to his mercy 
 
 Of barons full a score, 
 A mighty throng of yeomen, 
 
 Of knights there were sixty and four. 
 Come forth from Castle of Stirling, 
 Yields Mowbray up the keys ; 
 Barons and knights and yeomen, 
 Brus hath them to his peace. 
 More human than Plantagenet 
 
 Was Robert Brus our King, 
 That reverently used the dead 
 
 And kindly the living. 
 The young dead Earl of Gloster 
 
 Bids lay in holy kirk 
 And all the rites of Christendom 
 He bids around him work ; 
 
 158 
 
154 Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 
 
 To Gloster and brave Lord Clifford 
 
 Rendereth all honours due, 
 Then bids convoy to England home, 
 
 To rest beneath the yew. 
 But when the Southron yield them, 
 
 And the Scot hath nought to dread, 
 Speaks the Brus the word that slips them 
 
 Glean spoil well merited. 
 Vessels of gold and of silver 
 
 And treasure of kists and gear 
 Upon the ground all strown around 
 
 They gather far and near. 
 " League-long our waggons stretched them," 
 
 Quoth Thomas of Malmesbury, 
 " piteous day, O day of dule, 
 
 O England's misery ! " 
 Two hundred thousand pieces 
 
 Were in Brus' treasure told, 
 Which if Bannockburn happed yesterday, 
 
 Were three millions of our gold. 
 For the Earl of Hereford taken 
 
 That in Castle Bothwell hid, 
 Must King Robert's daughter, sister, queen, 
 
 Their Southron jailers bid. 
 On the morrow at gray of dawning 
 
 Rose the King as wont he was, 
 And o'er the ground he had made renowned 
 
 He set him forth to cross. 
 Sudden from out a coppice 
 
 Upsprung a blood-stained knight, 
 He kneeled before the monarch, 
 
 And his eyes with hope were bright. 
 
Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 155 
 
 " Who art thou ? " quoth King Robert 
 
 " And who hath taken thee ? " 
 " Sir Marmaduke de Twenge my name, 
 
 And I crave thy clemency." 
 " Sir Marmaduke, I know thee," 
 
 Made answer Brus the King, 
 " Methinks thou art the self -same knight 
 
 That Stirling Bridge made ring 
 With stroke on stroke, and only 
 
 Of all that ventured there 
 Escaped the sword of Wallace 
 
 Who most that sword did dare. 
 Rise up And see thou tend him," 
 
 Quoth the King to Sir James of Luss ; 
 " This night an thou willst, Sir Marmaduke, 
 
 Thou shallst e'en sup with Us." 
 Then Sir Marmaduke, the starveling, 
 
 Ventured a pleasant jest, 
 For the sight of good King Robert 
 
 Brought the heart back to his breast. 
 " Sire," quoth he, " much I thank thee, 
 
 For with thee to make good cheer 
 With the good red wine and venison 
 
 To me it is more dear, 
 Than to hang with neck in halter, 
 
 As was King Edward's use 
 With the Scots he took in battle, 
 
 Yea, the way of King Robert Brus 
 Methinks hath more to please me, 
 
 I sup with thee this day, 
 To the King of Scots I yield my sword, 
 
 Faith ! 'twas a pretty fray." 
 
156 Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 
 
 Thereat King Robert smiling, 
 
 Quoth, " See thou tend him well." 
 At the King's right hand Sir Marmaduke 
 
 That night doth feast and tell 
 Full many a knightly venture ; 
 
 The King of Scots and Hearts 
 Laughs, listens and Sir Marmaduke 
 
 Loaded with gifts departs. 
 King Robert laughs the morrow 
 
 When Baston Carmelite 
 Is haled before him captive, 
 
 The monk that should indite 
 The geste of Edward Second 
 
 In verses leonine 1 
 How England wins the victory, 
 
 And how the Scots must pine. 
 For Baston friar had Edward 
 
 Carried from south to north, 
 That when the Scots were vanquished 
 
 His fame be published forth 
 By Baston friar, his mouthpiece, 
 
 To the comers of the earth : 
 Such minstrel as was Baston 
 
 Was Edward's valour worth. 
 Now the Brus, when he hears the verses, 
 
 Loud laughs and claps his thigh : 
 Quoth he, " Twere sin from Edward King 
 
 To keep such minstrelsy." 
 But hark thee, Master Baston, 
 
 Now, now shallst thou write anew 
 
 1 Leonine verses are Latin hexameters. The verses by Baston 
 may be found in Burton's " History of Scotland." 
 
Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 157 
 
 How the Scots it was that vanquished, 
 
 Then add these words thereto : 
 " Behold the Muse of England 
 
 Hath bred ayont the Tweed : 
 The Lion Scots he mounted her, 
 
 These cubs be of his breed." 
 These shallst thou bear to Edward 
 
 Not much to change hast need 
 How 'tis not we, but the Southrons, flee 
 
 Tis a right simple rede." 
 Thus done may Friar Baston 
 
 Speed on his home-faring : 
 Nor missive nor those lion cubs 
 
 He gave unto his King. 
 Thus laughed the King of Scotland ! 
 
 Such vengeances he took, 
 Leaving to Kings of England 
 
 Halter and flames and hook. 
 Passeth the young High Stewart 
 
 With the King to the Western Isles ; 
 Not subtle is the grammarye 
 
 Those Islanders beguiles. 
 For strong their faith that never 
 
 They will fall to mortal hand, 
 Ere on his ship their conqueror 
 
 Come sailing o'er the land. 
 Therefore across the Tarbert 
 
 The Brus bids haul his boats, 
 Then Lord of the Isles unchallenged 
 
 In Jura's Sound he floats. 
 
158 Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 
 
 Now Walter the Stewart of Scotland, 
 
 Great Chief at twenty and one 
 Gat the Lordship of the Marches 
 
 When Bannockburn was won ; 
 And when the Royal Ladies 
 
 From England's prisons came, 
 'Twas the Stewart on the Border 
 
 That first did welcome them. 
 Most fair among the maidens, 
 
 Beheld of Thames or Tweed, 
 Is the Princess Marjory, child of Brus, 
 
 Rides the Stewart by her steed. 
 Hark ! Paisley bells are ringing, 
 
 Big with immortal news : 
 Tis the gallant young Stewart of Scotland 
 
 Weds the Princess Marjorie Brus. 
 Proud is the Stewart of Scotland 
 
 And proud is Brus the King, 
 As a rose his wife and daughter, 
 
 As a white rose in spring. 
 Ah ! bright as day of springtide, 
 
 But brief as day of June, 
 Their lives that gat our Stewart kings 
 
 Most fair must fade most soon. 
 But fiery was the planet 
 
 Reigned at the Stewart's birth, 
 And we shall see his pedigree 
 
 Declare in deeds his worth. 
 
 But how the King's great brother, 
 The Phoenix Edward Brus, 
 
Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 159 
 
 Hath the crown of Ireland on his head, 
 
 How sendeth blazing news 
 Unto his royal brother, 
 
 Praying for men and arms, 
 And how the King loved peril well, 
 
 How free of war's alarms 
 Now lay his bonny Scotland, 
 
 How the Douglas and the Stewart 
 He left for Regents in his place 
 
 And sailed away to leeward. 
 And again a war in Ireland 
 
 With England how they waged 
 I tell not now nor heedless how 
 
 This Phoenix rash engaged 
 Where'er the Southron tempted 
 
 Ay ! fought where'er he came : 
 The Phoenix hath consumed away 
 
 All save his glorious name. 
 
 But hark ! The bells are pealing, 
 
 For the Princess Marjory 
 Hath borne a bairn unto the Stewart, 
 
 Robert, the King to be. 
 But lo, what ails the pealing ? 
 
 The beUs peal not, but toll, 
 And weeping choirs in chorus sing 
 
 A dirge for her sweet soul. 
 Faring from Paisley Abbey 
 
 To the Castle of Renfrew, 
 Her palfrey slipped and fell with her : 
 
 She died not ere she knew 
 
160 Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 
 
 She had borne a King to Scotland, 
 
 Nor yet without the smile 
 That flickered round her paly lips 
 
 And lingered for a while ; 
 And round the Stewart's fingers 
 
 Her ivory fingers cling, 
 Whose life hath come full circle 
 
 Within her wedding ring. 
 
 Now to the King came missives 
 
 From the Twenty Second John, 
 The Pope that fled the Vatican 
 
 And dwelt at Avignon. 
 These bare a superscription 
 
 That much misliked the King : 
 " To Robert Brus that styles himself, 
 
 As he were Scotland's King." 
 Quoth Brus : " Among my barons 
 
 A many Bruses be, 
 And eke the name of Robert Brus 
 
 Is not alone for me." 
 Therefore take back these missives, 
 
 I will not break their seal, 
 That the secrets of some Robert Brus 
 
 Beneath their crest conceal. 
 Say I am King of Scotland 
 
 To the Twenty Second John. 
 That bears himself as Pope of Rome, 
 
 Dwelling at Avignon. 
 I rede ye master legate 
 
 Henceforth have better care, 
 
Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 161 
 
 How coming to a foreign land 
 
 Its King and folk ye dare. 
 Thereat the Cardinal legate 
 
 For pride puffs out his gills, 
 Draws forth a parchment from his pouch 
 
 And all his task fulfils ; 
 Ordering between the kingdoms 
 
 For two years' space a truce 
 Handeth the sealed bulls to the King, 
 
 Inscribed " To Robert Brus." 
 Thereat a sudden rumour, 
 
 Like to a stormy sea, 
 Causeth the legate turn about 
 
 And cease his homily. 
 Then to the King imploring 
 
 He asks of Robert Brus 
 Safe conduct back to England. 
 
 " Safe conduct I refuse, 
 But get ye gone, false legate, 
 
 That art bought with England's gold, 
 Know thou that cam'st to barter, 
 
 That Scotland ne'er was sold/' 
 Made answer to the legate 
 
 Robert the First the King 
 And ill befell that haughty priest 
 
 Upon his wayfaring. 
 Yet may we read the missive 
 
 Wherein the prelate mourned 
 His sufferings on his home-faring, 
 
 How " the Lord Robert " scorned 
 Amenities of intercourse 
 
 Well known at Avignon, 
 
1 62 Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 
 
 Perused no missive, brake no seal, 
 
 How hardly was he gone 
 Ten furlongs of his journey, 
 
 When lusty caitiffs sprung 
 From out the forest, stript him bare, 
 
 Naked and shivering flung 
 To cower upon the open road, 
 
 A scandal unto all ; 
 Right heavy on the impious Scot 
 
 The hand of heaven should fall. 
 Thus maketh end the prelate 
 
 With this will some agree 
 That rumour runs those caitiffs four 
 
 Had Brus's warranty. 
 Certes those self-same missives 
 
 Of the Twenty-Second John, 
 Those curses sealed, those interdicts, 
 
 Writ out at Avignon, 
 Were opened by King Robert 
 
 What time the legate's weed 
 Was such as Father Adam ware 
 
 Before the Serpent's rede. 
 The triple-tiered tiara, 
 
 The terror of Almayn, 
 The scourge of France, the Emperor's dread, 
 
 The King of Kings of Spain, 
 Hath found in one small country 
 
 A King his folk adores, 
 Harmless around whose lofty brows 
 
 The papal thunder roars. 
 No arrogance, no godlessness 
 
 Was Robert the King the Brus's, 
 
Robert Brus on the Field after the Battle 1 63 
 
 In Holy Kirk kneels he on knee, 
 
 No piety refuses, 
 But when the Holy Father 
 
 Draws Edward Second's car, 
 Oh ! then the Brus makes Popes to know 
 
 The stuff that Scotsmen are. 
 To-day when wand of knowledge 
 
 Turneth old powers to dross, 
 Mayhap it seemeth but a toy, 
 
 The Pope of Rome to cross. 
 Potent and rich was England, 
 
 Immense was Bannockburn, 
 'Twas more in thirteen hundred 
 
 The papal curse to spurn. 
 
Siege of Berwick 
 
 AH ! Berwick by the banks of Tweed, that 
 is the key to hold, 
 By whom would warrant Scotland's 
 
 peace or taste of England's gold ! 
 The English garrison is strong, but after Bannockburn 
 Full often toward its frowning towers the mind of Brus 
 
 shall turn. 
 
 The English garrison is strong, the governor full stern : 
 That dog at last will bite his hand whose heel too oft 
 
 doth spurn. 
 Thus came it that an Englishman who wed a Scottish 
 
 lass, 
 Rough-handled by the governor, unto the Scots did 
 
 pass. 
 
 Open before King Robert Brus his aching pride he laid 
 And for a balm to heal it, the garrison betrayed. 
 How Randolph and the Douglas achieved the escalade, 
 And springing o'er the barbican how made successful 
 
 raid, 
 I view and pass, and how the Brus came up in time to 
 
 save 
 
 His fiery lieutenants for the governor was brave, 
 And seeing they were but a few fell on them one by 
 
 one 
 I view and pass, and how the Brus when Berwick's 
 
 strength was won 
 
 164 
 
Siege of Berwick 165 
 
 Gave quarter unto all and here as ever, like the sun, 
 Shone upon all and burned but those that ventured to 
 
 defy 
 
 In open field, with arms displayed, his awful majesty, 
 Passing I view and here make pause, for here the Brus 
 
 took pause, 
 Leaning upon the battlement and gazing o'er the 
 
 laws. 
 Then turning toward the seaward side, thus to the 
 
 Stewart spake : 
 " More strong his heart that holdeth must be than his 
 
 doth take : 
 Say, hast thou heart to watch by day, ever at night to 
 
 wake, 
 Hast thou the lion's heart in thee, the cunning of the 
 
 snake ? " 
 " Sire," quoth the Stewart, " by God's will I have 
 
 for Scotland's sake." 
 ":A lad thou wast at Bannockburn, yet overtopped 
 
 thy peers, 
 And a moment on the field of war weighs as a score of 
 
 years. 
 Fain would I hold this fortalice, right fain spare 
 
 Berwick's town, 
 The key that openeth England, the pearl of Scotland's 
 
 crown, 
 Nor, as with other strengths I did, throw Berwick 
 
 hurtling down. 
 Say, art thou strong to hold the place, to hold it or to 
 
 die ? " 
 (The Brus clapped Stewart's shoulders.) 
 
 Quoth Stewart, " That am I." 
 
1 66 Siege of Berwick 
 
 Oh ! when he heard those gallant words, the Brus his 
 
 heart obeyed ; 
 He kissed the cheek his daughter kissed, then gave the 
 
 accolade, 
 
 As on his dear son's shoulder his royal hand he laid. 
 But ere he passed to England, with victuals for a year 
 And men-at-arms he filled the place and store of war- 
 like gear ; 
 Springalds and cranes, balistaries, he fixed upon the 
 
 wall, 
 
 Johannes Crab the Fleming appointed over all, 
 More cunning than all other in gins that break or 
 
 throw ; 
 Bowmen both of the long cloth-yard and of the steel 
 
 cross-bow 
 
 At every embrasure he set, with piles of pitch and tow. 
 Thus Brus munitioned Berwick, love added somewhat 
 
 more 
 
 An hundred gallant gentlemen, the Stewart's quarter- 
 ings bore. 
 This being thus and all forearmed, King Robert bade 
 
 farewell, 
 And like an eagle from the lift on northern England 
 
 fell: 
 Wark Castle, Harbottle he stormed, Scarborough and 
 
 Skipton burned, 
 And having vengeance wreaked on these, majestically 
 
 returned, 
 Driving their sheep before him, and eke the human 
 
 drove 
 Of those that once possessed the same for ransom, as 
 
 behove. 
 
Siege of Berwick 167 
 
 Now when Caernarvon's Edward had vainly craved a 
 
 truce, 
 
 He summoned all his levy and many dared refuse, 
 Yet as a Dragon on the land, by sea Leviathan 
 His coils he wound round Berwick town : Leviathan 
 
 began. 
 
 For on St Mary's Eve his fleet loomed in the estuary, 
 And all its masts and ropes and stands teemed as an 
 
 apple tree 
 With warriors, armed, that bridge and chain and 
 
 grappling-iron bare, 
 And sailing upward on the tide, right grim their faces 
 
 were. 
 But smiling stood the Lord High Stewart upon the 
 
 long low wall, 
 And when the Scots beheld his face came confidence 
 
 to all : 
 Those hacked they down with halbert and with Loch- 
 
 aber ax 
 That strove to fix their ladders ; for those that made 
 
 attacks 
 Perched, like to birds, atop the mast, within a hanging 
 
 boat, 
 And with a drawbridge ready on air that seemed to 
 
 float, 
 The archers as they sailed most nigh sped arrow and 
 
 sped bolt 
 And of their soaring courages those fowls began to 
 
 moult. 
 
 Then sword-in-hand the Stewart made landward a sortie 
 And drave them back within their trench, while those 
 
 toward the sea 
 
1 68 Siege of Berwick 
 
 Turned with the ebbing of the tide, save one that ran 
 
 aground : 
 Fired by the Scots in smoke and flames to heaven its 
 
 evil wound. 
 Thus happed it on St Mary's Eve, and Edward six days 
 
 waited, 
 
 Yet purposed he to come again with malice unabated. 
 Now since he might not drop from air, nor storm by 
 
 escalade, 
 He thought to burrow 'neath the walls with pick-ax, 
 
 hoe and spade. 
 For this he bade contrive with boards and hides a vast 
 
 machine, 
 Which in its monstrous belly hid full fourscore men, 
 
 I ween ; 
 
 And over this did scaffolds rise high as to overtop 
 The city's walls, and ladders and ropes withal to drop, 
 And men-at-arms and archers he stationed for to 
 
 shoot, 
 When those within the sow's belly should issue forth 
 
 to root. 
 To greet this grunting monster is now the Stewart's 
 
 care, 
 Who with Johannes Crab his craft doth pretty gear 
 
 prepare : 
 
 Balistaries and springalds and iron chains with hooks 
 To grip the sow, and fire-faggots and balls of blazing pitch 
 To hurl upon that monster when it shall come in reach. 
 This being done, his post to each upon the wall the 
 
 Stewart 
 Marks out and sees with his own eyes that all within's 
 
 assured. 
 
Siege of Berwick 169 
 
 Then with the warriors of his house, that are his 
 
 bodyguard, 
 Moving along the battlements, he keepeth watch and 
 
 ward. 
 The English trumpets sound at dawn, and resolute 
 
 they march, 
 And fill the fosse and ladders fix, though furious the 
 
 discharge 
 From mangonel and crossbow and not more nigh they 
 
 win. 
 But when the sun is high in heaven, above the dust and 
 
 din 
 
 King Edward gives the order and all is still, for now 
 Teeming with all her litter rolls on the monstrous sow. 
 Upon the battlements the Stewart and Crab together 
 
 stand, 
 And Crab waits till the Stewart shall beckon with his 
 
 hand. 
 
 He signs and the balistary a mighty rock outflings, 
 But high above that monstrous sow Icarian flight it 
 
 wings. 
 Again he signs, another rock hurled forth ploughs up 
 
 the ground 
 Before the sow and digs a pit full fourteen paces 
 
 round. 
 
 With Atlas in their brawny arms the foe drags on the sow 
 Almost unto the battlements : the Stewart orders : 
 
 " Now." 
 The third most monstrous rock of all flies forth and 
 
 flying booms, 
 Big with the weight of Scotland's hate, heavy with 
 
 Southron dooms. 
 
1 70 Siege of Berwick 
 
 Full in the very centre it crashes on the beast 
 Timber and hides, and limbs and lives, together mashed 
 
 like yeast ! 
 And as the few that 'scape their doom, from under 
 
 speed them out : 
 " Ha ! Ha ! The sow hath farrowed," our merry 
 
 Scotsmen shout ! 
 Crab hath cast forth his grappling hooks, hath dragged 
 
 the sow to wall, 
 Now pitch and faggots all ablaze upon her timbers 
 
 faU. 
 Thus burns that beast to ashes which rolled so stoutly 
 
 on, 
 The Behemoth of Berwick to meet Leviathan. 
 
 But as the Stewart sees her burn, comes flying news 
 
 most dire : 
 '' The English storm St Mary's port, they've set the 
 
 gate afire. 
 They hold the drawbridge, hundreds strong " but the 
 
 Stewart stays no more, 
 Apace he speeds, where duty leads, and stands the gate 
 
 before, 
 Which verily right soon shall fall, whose crannels belch 
 
 forth smoke, 
 While ram and pick and ax without, beat on its heart 
 
 of oak. 
 
 That desperate sickness asketh a desperate pharmacy, 
 The Stewart knows and open throws the gate for a 
 
 sortie. 
 With his kinsmen all around him, he bursts through 
 
 smoke and flame, 
 
Siege of Berwick 171 
 
 And by St Mary's Port they fight and put the foe to 
 
 shame, 
 
 While yet a hurtling missile from Crab's balistary 
 Amidships strikes another brig : her fellows put to 
 
 sea. 
 Thus foiled by sea and land at once, the English foe 
 
 draws off, 
 And the Stewart and the garrison their armour now 
 
 may doff, 
 And sooth to say no need have they to battle here 
 
 again, 
 For Randolph and the Douglas, with fifteen thousand 
 
 men, 
 Have won across the Border and at Mitton on the 
 
 Swale, 
 They hold a chapter makes the cheeks of England's 
 
 prelates pale. 
 Of thousands slain, three hundred priests. Which 
 
 when he knew : " My liege," 
 Quoth Lancaster, " your Grace may stay, but I must 
 
 quit the siege. 
 
 Behold the Scots at Mitton : let each man look to each." 
 So saying, with the army's third, leaps Lancaster to 
 
 horse, 
 And Edward, though he rage thereat, must follow 
 
 him perforce. 
 Thus came it that the Lord High Stewart, at Berwick- 
 
 upon-Tweed, 
 Adorned those youthful brows of his with amaranthine 
 
 deed. 
 
Chapter of Mitton 
 
 and 
 
 Events following Siege of Berwick 
 
 NOW while the gallant Stewart 
 Defies King Edward's might 
 From the battlements of Berwick, 
 Then saUies forth to fight, 
 No laggards are Douglas and Randolph ; 
 
 With fifteen thousand men 
 They pass o'er England's border, 
 
 They haste o'er field and fen ; 
 For a glittering prize awaits them 
 
 At York, the English Queen ; 
 But when they come without the town 
 
 No queen there is within. 
 But William the Archbishop 
 
 Arms monks of shaven crown, 
 Thinks of the Standard's Battle, 
 
 Of Thurstin his renown, 
 And with train-bands and levies 
 
 To aid his high emprize, 
 Goes forth to meet the foemen, 
 
 With valour not o'erwise. 
 At Mitton Scotland waited, 
 
 By the bickering river Swale, 
 As o'er the bridge the English passed, 
 
 But on the eastern gale 
 
 172 
 
Events following Siege of Berwick 173 
 
 Float heavy clouds of fume and reek : 
 
 The hayricks set afire ! 
 And while the English wonder, 
 
 The Scots wreak vengeance dire ; 
 For between them and the crossing 
 
 An iron band of Scots 
 Breaks like a wedge an oaken plank : 
 
 Ah, bitter are the lots 
 Of many a priest and prelate ! 
 
 Three hundred priests fall slain ! 
 By surplice white o'er armour dight 
 
 Short is the shrift they gain. 
 Four thousand men were slaughtered, 
 
 As fell September's brown, 
 Of twenty thousand English men 
 
 That ventured forth the town. 
 And this the jest the Scotsmen made 
 
 Of all these Churchmen's bale : 
 " Douglas hath holden Chapter 
 
 At Mitton by the Swale." 
 The Earls and Barons of Scotland, 
 
 (And the Stewart signed with these), 
 Writ a letter from Arbroath 
 
 And sent it over seas. 
 It bore for superscription : 
 
 " To His Holiness the Pope : " 
 And on the parchment were engrossed 
 
 Brave Scotsmen's will and hope. 
 Now after the preamble 
 
 They speak of Robert Brus, 
 Their lawful King was crowned at Scone, 
 
 Whom hommage none refuse. 
 
174 Chapter of Mitton and 
 
 They speak of the King of England : 
 
 " We will fight with one accord, 
 While an hundred of us yet draw breath, 
 
 Ere we own an overlord. 
 We fight for liberty," they writ, 
 
 Which a good man loseth never, 
 So he be stout of heart and hand, 
 
 But he lose with life together. 
 Not for riches nor for glory 
 
 We fight, but for our home, 
 And lo, the jewel liberty 
 
 We dare proclaim at Rome. 
 This letter Adam de Gordon 
 
 And Edward Mabuisson 
 Bore to the Pope, where then he lay 
 
 At sylvan Avignon. 
 Pope John the Twenty Second 
 
 He conned it o'er and o'er, 
 Then writ to Edward of England 
 
 And prayed to stay the war. 
 But Edward of Caernarvon 
 
 Flushed red with feckless ire, 
 And Holyrood, Dryburgh, Melrose, 
 
 Plundered and set afire. 
 But the Brus had made a desert 
 
 Where the English army trod, 
 And when they homeward turned their steps, 
 
 Burning the shrines of God, 
 Randolph and Douglas waiting 
 
 Like eagles in the lift, 
 Swooped down upon the vaward 
 
 And gave it bloody shrift. 
 
Events following Siege of Berwick 175 
 
 With an hundred thousand soldiers 
 
 King Edward fared him forth : 
 Distemper and the Scotsmen's sword 
 
 Slew sixteen in the north. 
 At Biland Abbey Edward 
 
 Drew breath on Yorkshire soil, 
 His heart leaps in his bosom 
 
 When the walls of Norham foil 
 King Robert and the Stewart, 
 
 But scarce these news are known 
 When marching in battle order 
 
 Is King Robert's banner shewn. 
 With him the gallant Stewart 
 
 Displays his fesse cheeky, 
 That from the walls of Berwick 
 
 Had waved triumphantly. 
 Hardly hath Edward of England 
 
 The time to gain the hill, 
 When the men of Robert of Scotland 
 
 The plain beneath it fill. 
 With his back to the Abbey of Biland 
 
 King Edward thinks him sure, 
 For the sole narrow upward way 
 
 His men at arms secure. 
 But the gallant Sir James of Douglas, 
 
 And Randolph as volunteer, 
 With the pennons of knights around him, 
 
 Rides forth this way to clear. 
 But Cobham and Thomas Ughtred 
 
 Meet might with equal might, 
 And on the heads of Scotland's brave 
 
 Fall rocks from every height. 
 
176 Chapter of Mitton and 
 
 Right bloody raged the battle, 
 
 And the Brus as he scrys the fray 
 Bethinks him of the stratagem 
 
 That long since won the day, 
 When the Lord of Lorn above him 
 
 Rock-perched, seemed sound and safe 
 As now his brother of England ; 
 
 So presently he gave 
 To the men of Argyll orders 
 
 That they could well obey : 
 They shall climb the rocky hillside 
 
 Full half a mile away ; 
 Then creeping, as is their custom, 
 
 With their brethren of the Isles, 
 They shall fall upon King Edward, 
 
 That his lofty perch beguiles. 
 Thus did they, and seized the summit, 
 
 While Randolph and Douglas slew 
 All the English barred their passage ; 
 
 Again King Edward knew 
 All the bitterness of fleeing 
 
 Treasure and baggage lost 
 And the Privy Seal of England 
 
 A second time is tossed 
 Beneath the hooves of horses, 
 
 As they gallop on their way, 
 For the Lord High Stewart of Scotland 
 
 Is on his heels, perfay. 
 De Sully, the Fiench Grand Butler, 
 
 Earl Richmond of Brittany, 
 And many another less knight 
 
 Must crave Scots clemency. 
 
Events following Siege of Berwick 177 
 
 But for the King of England, 
 
 The Stewart and five hundred horse 
 Thunder across the valley 
 
 To seize him on his course. 
 But the gates of York are open 
 
 And the King hath sanctuary, 
 While the gallant High Stewart of Scotland 
 
 Waits that he yet may see, 
 Will the King not issue to battle, 
 
 Will he not come forth to save 
 His kingly honour tarnished ? 
 
 No trumpet answer gave. 
 Then friend to bold adventurers, 
 
 The silvery moon rose fair, 
 And as the Stewart rode to camp 
 
 She kissed his golden spur. 
 Yea, while the sword of Scotland 
 
 Is gripped in Brus's hand, 
 'Tis England sues for respite, 
 
 As he sweepeth bare the land. 
 Cattle and herds of captives, 
 
 And gold to win the truce 
 Must come from England's coffers 
 
 To the coffers of Scotland's Brus. 
 This truce was signed by Walter, 
 
 The gallant Lord High Stewart, 
 And as we turn its pages, 
 
 We think his life secured. 
 But his life was a war-bred blossom, 
 
 A white rose tinct with red, 
 And ere the truce had run its course 
 
 The Stewart's soul was fled. 
 
 M 
 
178 Chapter of Mitton 
 
 He died in his moated Castle, 
 
 His years were but thirty and three : 
 Those pearls upon his sepulchre 
 
 Are the tears of his own countree. 
 
Raid on England followed by Peace 
 and Marriage of David Brus 
 with the Princess Joanna 
 
 WHILE King Robert was in leaguer, 
 Was born his son and heir 
 By his second queen, Elizabeth, 
 And thus the Stewarts were 
 One step removed from the throne, 
 
 One step but only one, 
 For the son of the Lord High Stewart 
 
 Must follow the King's own son. 
 In the kirk at Cambuskenneth, 
 
 The clergy and barons both, 
 And the people of Scotland together, 
 
 To the Princes twain took oath. 
 First to David Brus, the King's son, 
 
 Then to Robert Stewart if he 
 Should die and leave no heir to reign, 
 
 They did swear fealty. 
 And in the realm of England 
 
 A mighty change there was, 
 King Edward lost both life and crown : 
 
 Rich was England for the loss ! 
 Edward the Third was youthful, 
 
 Scarce fourteen years had he, 
 When he began his mighty reign, 
 
 But England's regency, 
 
 179 
 
180 Raid on England 
 
 Writ letters unto Scotland, 
 
 Did kindle Brus's ire 
 That he the north of England 
 
 Consumed with sword and fire. 
 For they sent a courteous missive, 
 
 And craved again a truce 
 Of the nobles of Scotland only, 
 
 Nor spake of their King the Brus. 
 Thus the Douglas and the Randolph 
 
 Went forth to harry and burn, 
 And the might of mighty England 
 
 These mightier Scots can spurn. 
 For the English gat not to them 
 
 And many a night and day 
 Tracked them o'er marsh and forest, 
 
 Which the Scot knew better than they. 
 Then the herald of Edward of England 
 
 Craved that the Scot would deign 
 Come down from his rocky eerie, 
 
 Come meet him on the plain. 
 This answer made those chieftains : 
 
 " We will not now descend, 
 We have harried and burned your country 
 
 And where we will we wend. 
 But come ye up and fight us, 
 
 We fear ye not at all 
 Lo the Douglas payed ye a visit, 
 
 In your king's ear did he call, 
 As he cut the tent ropes royal, 
 
 Then scatliless galloped away ; 
 Come forth, ye nobles of England, 
 
 Avenge your king, we say." 
 
Marriage of David Brus 181 
 
 Twas thus to the herald of England 
 
 Answered the lusty Scot, 
 And safely over the Border 
 
 His men and booty brought. 
 Then the young King of England 
 
 Burst forth in tearful woe, 
 When scathless across the Border 
 
 Flitted the eagle foe. 
 Vainly the nobles of England 
 
 Cursed Regent Mortimer, 
 And cried aloud for steady peace, 
 
 Since the Treasury was bare, 
 And bare of any captain 
 
 To match our doughty pair, 
 And bare of Robert Brus to King 
 
 The land and people were. 
 Thus as they fell lamenting 
 
 Burst Robert Brus again 
 Over the eastern Border, 
 
 And in his steel-clad train 
 Came every Scot in Scotland, 
 
 Fit to march with Scotland's crown, 
 And before the walls of Norham 
 
 The King of Scots sat down. 
 Douglas and Randolph of Moray, 
 
 They stand at the King's right hand, 
 As he orders the siege of Alnwick, 
 
 Bids harry Nothumberland. 
 Randolph and James of Douglas 
 
 Right glad of heart are they, 
 As their esquires fit their armour on, 
 
 Ere they fare them forth to fray. 
 
1 82 Raid on England 
 
 And through the Scotsmen's leaguer 
 
 The summoning clarion rings, 
 That to the banners of each chief 
 
 That chief's whole muster brings. 
 But lo, as the three together, 
 
 By the royal banner stand, 
 Comes a messenger a-gallop 
 
 With a missive in his hand ; 
 He throws him from his saddle, 
 
 Before the King kneels low, 
 And the missive of proud England 
 
 Sets Scotland's cheeks aglow. 
 Quoth the King to Douglas and Randolph, 
 
 To those mighty Captains twain : 
 " My lords, my lords, we must sheath our swords, 
 
 Else England pleads in vain. 
 For they proffer the child Johanna, 
 
 Princess of England, to wed 
 With my only son Prince David, 
 
 Was born in lawful bed. 
 What say ye, shall we take them, 
 
 The Princess and her peace ? 
 Or shall we on to London town 
 
 Gar crave it on their knees ? " 
 Ah ! then, four eyes of eagle 
 
 Flashed answer to the Brus : 
 " Sire, let us on to London town, 
 
 There shall ye better chuse." 
 Quoth the Brus : " My Lords, I thank ye, 
 
 I knew your warlike mind ; 
 The pen shall carve as much as swords, 
 
 Ere any peace be signed." 
 
Marriage of David Brus 183 
 
 Then the Brus bade write a letter, 
 
 Sealed and writ his name below, 
 And bade the messenger haste back 
 
 That they his will should know. 
 Now in this letter was enwrit 
 
 That ere the Scots would treat, 
 Or move an ell from English soil 
 
 Their enemy, to wit, 
 King Edward and his nobles, 
 
 And England's whole estate, 
 Must solemnly forswear, renounce 
 
 That legacy of hate, 
 Their claim to play the tyrant 
 
 As feudal overlord, 
 Which the first Edward lying made, 
 
 By Scotland is abhorred. 
 Now the most power in England 
 
 Lay with Regent Mortimer 
 Who knew the Brus and his Scotsmen, 
 
 What manner of men they were ; 
 He knew the Treasure empty, 
 
 The army worn away 
 In the long war which ever 
 
 Did on England's vitals prey. 
 He knew that if he yield not 
 
 This thing were soon to see : 
 The Lion Scots on London Tower 
 
 Triumphant, floating free. 
 'Twas thus young Edward of England 
 
 In the deed of renouncement spake : 
 " Whereas we kings of England 
 
 Unlawfully did make 
 
184 Raid on England 
 
 Claim to the feudal lordship 
 
 Of the Kingdom of Scotland, we 
 And our prelates, barons and commons 
 
 In Parliament agree 
 That the Kingdom of Scotland ever 
 
 To the Prince Magnificent, 
 To the Lord Robert, King of Scots, 
 
 Our ally and dear friend, 
 And to his heirs for ever 
 
 Entire and separate 
 By its marches from our England 
 
 Shall remain, and here is made 
 Renouncement of all treaties 
 
 For us and for our heirs, 
 Touching the thralldom of Scotland, 
 
 And Henry Percy swears, 
 Our cousin, by these present 
 
 Upon our kingly soul, 
 That we will faithful keep our oath, 
 
 And will perform the whole." 
 Thus by the mouth of Percy 
 
 The King of England sware, 
 And thus the firstlings of the peace 
 
 By England offered were. 
 Now when between the kingdoms 
 
 The peace was signed and sealed, 
 Thus to the people of both lands 
 
 Were the chief est parts revealed. 
 First then, the child Prince David 
 
 With the child Princess should wed, 
 Who if he die shall England choose 
 
 That Scots Prince in his stead, 
 
Marriage of David Brus 185 
 
 Who stands the nighest to the throne, 
 
 To wed this same Princess, 
 So be it that most Holy Church 
 
 Such royal union bless ; 
 Which failing, then shall England choose 
 
 From out her maids blood-royal 
 Another princess for the prince, 
 
 And thus for ever loyal 
 And good allies these states shall be, 
 
 Nor fall at variance ; 
 Yet always saving to the Scots 
 
 Their ancient friend of France. 
 But what most teased the English 
 
 And most rejoiced the Scot 
 Was the covenant, that Scotland's stone 
 
 Which the first Edward got 
 From Scone and set in Westminster 
 
 Should to the Scots return : 
 But when they seek to move the stone 
 
 The men of London spurn 
 Those that would bear the fatal stone 
 
 Forth from the Minster's fane, 
 And surging round Westminster walls 
 
 All hope to pass is vain. 
 Thus came it that the English keep 
 
 And treasure there to-day 
 Our fatal stone that long ago 
 
 King Edward bare away. 
 Now the Princess Johanna of England 
 
 With the Queen Dowager, 
 With the Chancellor of England 
 
 And the Earl of Mortimer, 
 
1 86 Raid on England 
 
 Fared forth in regal splendour, 
 
 As Princes do that wive, 
 And seven year old was David Prince, 
 
 And the Princess she was five. 
 But as she passed the Border 
 
 There the Douglas and Randolph stood, 
 Each kissed her hand, each led her rein, 
 
 And she was gay and good. 
 They came to Berwick-upon-Tweed 
 
 And there the wedding pealed 
 As the little bride and bridegroom 
 
 The new-made peace annealed. 
 From the baggage that came with her 
 
 They took the parchment scroll 
 Bearing their names that homage paid 
 
 From Edward's Ragman's Roll. 
 But soon they passed from Berwick, 
 
 To Edinburgh town, 
 Where King Robert rose to greet them, 
 
 Though with disease struck down. 
 He shews to them his lion, 
 
 A-pacing in his den, 
 And sadly fall his eyes on them : 
 
 They look he smiles again. 
 He tells them tales of fairy, 
 
 A child on either knee, 
 And the little Princess will dare caress 
 
 His bearded majesty. 
 Ah ! how his kind heart yearned then 
 
 For the Stewart of olden years, 
 And the sorrows of a grandfather 
 
 Were in his father's tears. 
 
Marriage of David Brus 187 
 
 " Do thou guard well Prince David/' 
 
 To the boy Stewart he said 
 With his great hand a little hand 
 
 In a least hand he laid. 
 (How oft, how oft our Scotland's throne 
 
 Do age and skill forsake ! 
 The crown upon a wee bairn's head 
 
 Makes many an head to ache.) 
 But whiles they yet were with him, 
 
 Laughter and mirth they knew, 
 Nor guessed how soon that kindly smile 
 
 Would vanish from their view. 
 Then, for he felt his ills increase, 
 
 And tranquil would abide, 
 The good King Robert fared him forth 
 
 To Cardross upon Clyde. 
 There stands his four-square Castle 
 
 And his nobles there resort, 
 And there the good King Robert keeps 
 
 His kingly, simple court, 
 And there largesse on all that ail, 
 
 On all that want bestows ; 
 The while they thank they wonder yet : 
 
 " So great, but kens our woes." 
 For his pleasure oft King Robert seeks 
 
 The marsh where bitterns dwell, 
 And with his peregrine on wrist 
 
 He knows the moment well, 
 To cast the jesses off, and lo ! 
 
 Falcon and quarry soar 
 In aery circles, till they seem 
 
 Two dots and nothing more. 
 
Raid on England 
 
 Then sudden is the quarry strook : 
 
 Down, down they flash amain, 
 Falling as falls a feathery star, 
 
 The slayer and the slain. 
 Such are his pleasures while he may, 
 
 Soon from his oaken bed 
 He marks the owl-soft wings of death 
 
 Hovering above his head. 
 
Portrait of Robert Brus 
 
 NOW what more shall be told of the King ? 
 Round his banner our memories cling : 
 We have witnessed his might both in 
 council and fight : 
 Of his figure and face I would sing. 
 
 His body was tall and well-made, 
 Round his neck the close ringlets they played, 
 And his mightiness grew as he battled or slew 
 The red deer in his green forest glade. 
 
 Was he swarthy, or ruddy and fair ? 
 
 No word nor no image declare : 
 
 This only we know that his forehead was low 
 
 And his cheekbones were lofty and bare. 
 
 His manner was gentle and kind, 
 Frank and cheerful his royal great mind, 
 And the battle once o'er there was nobody more 
 To the faults of his enemy blind. 
 
 Yet King Robert of Scots could be stern, 
 And his look like the lightning could burn, 
 As when from his face fled the priest in disgrace, 
 Or the sun rose upon Bannockburn. 
 
 In the prowess of chivalry few 
 
 Were the equals King Robert e'er knew : 
 
 189 
 
1 90 Portrait of Robert Brus 
 
 E'en the English declared that of knights he was 
 
 third : 
 Quoth the Scots : " We'd fain see the first two." 
 
 With the glamour of ancient romance 
 
 Would the Brus oft his hearers entrance ; 
 
 As he told they'd exclaim of some paladin's fame : 
 
 " We ken one has done equal perchance." 
 
 Like King Richard of England he might 
 Have been nought but a brave errant knight, 
 But the love of his land ever went hand-in-hand 
 With the longing for liberty's light. 
 
 Ah how oft hath the genius of war 
 
 Had more curses than blessings in store ! 
 
 But with Robert the Brus this had only one use : 
 
 All she'd lost to his land to restore. 
 
The last Counsel of Robert Brus 
 to his People 
 
 SOON ere the end of the end calls the King his 
 people together ; 
 Great men and little they come, thronging 
 the palace of Brus. 
 " Let them come, let them come/* cries the King, and 
 
 they strive for a sight of the helmet 
 Crowned with the Bannockburn crown, enter and 
 
 stand where they chuse. 
 For the Brus knowing well that his days and his doings 
 
 on earth are numbered, 
 
 Wills yet once to appear, king of a warrior race. 
 Wearing his armour of proof towers the Brus a colossus 
 
 above them ; 
 Nighest his grandsire's throne, Robert the Stewart 
 
 hath place. 
 Douglas and Randolph arrayed in the pictured habit 
 
 of nobles, 
 Nighest the Stewart they stand, sorrowful visaged 
 
 indeed. 
 None weareth armour save Brus, as he speaketh his last 
 
 benediction, 
 
 Taking farewell of his folk giveth an ultimate rede. 
 Pallid his countenance seems and his voice cometh 
 
 forth from his bosom 
 Even as an oracle should, spoken in Delphi of old. 
 
 191 
 
192 The last Counsel of Robert Brus 
 
 " Lo I have made ye free, yet no man knoweth the 
 
 future, 
 All men must yield unto death, though they be 
 
 never so bold. 
 Here be my captains twain, here my daughter's son, 
 
 the High Stewart, 
 Two that be ready to lead, three when a beard 
 
 shall be grown. 
 Yet though they stand thus firm, none knoweth the hap 
 
 of the morrow ; 
 Douglas and Randolph shall die, for the folk is 
 
 immortal alone. 
 Therefore my people to'ye, to ye and my nobles I speak 
 
 it : 
 Grave ye my words in your hearts, hand to 
 
 posterity down. 
 Wars ye shall yet have a many, but allies three ever 
 
 with ye, 
 
 Allies posted of God, guarding the free Scots crown : 
 The mountain, the marsh and the forest ; with them 
 
 shall ye ever take refuge, 
 Driving your herds to the glen, wasting the 
 
 country with fire. 
 
 See ye gang ever afoot, let your arms be the ax of battle, 
 Ay and the spear and the bow, these shall achieve 
 
 your desire. 
 Let your watchmen give ever alarm, let them howl 
 
 as the wolf of Ben Nevis, 
 Harass the f oeman by day, hunt him in dreams o* 
 
 the night, 
 
 Famine and terror let lead 'gainst thefoemenof Scotland 
 battalions, 
 
to his People 193 
 
 Ere the Scots warrior come forth, joyous and hale 
 
 in his might.'* 
 Thus was the counsel of Brus who, leaning his hand on 
 
 the shoulder, 
 Offered of Robert the Stewart, once more looked 
 
 forth on his folk. 
 Then with an arm upraised, called down on them 
 
 blessing of Heaven, 
 Then passed forth from the hall, wearing their love 
 
 for a cloak. 
 
 N 
 
Last Request of the Brus 
 to the Douglas 
 
 NOW when the Brus had all things well 
 ordained 
 So far as mind of mortal could achieve, 
 He called Sir James the Douglas and to 
 him 
 
 Unveiled his inward vow and heart's desire. 
 And thus he spake : " Sir James, thou knowest well 
 How that I have full long and strenuous striven 
 To hold this realm of Scotland and her rights, 
 That now I hold by grace of God on high. 
 Know thou that once when close by foes beset 
 I vowed a solemn vow, and deep I grieve 
 That I may not fulfil it ere I die. 
 Hearken, O dearest friend, unto the vow. 
 Thus was it : once my wars and labours done 
 I vowed to pass unto the Holy Land 
 And there unto the utmost of my power 
 To battle with the enemies of God. 
 Lo ! I have laboured hardly all my years, 
 And now with grievous malady stricken down 
 Have nought to do but die. 
 
 Now seeing this body 
 
 May not accomplish what this heart desires, 
 I have resolved, this heart of me shall fare 
 Forth from this body ; journeying overseas 
 
 194 
 
Last Request of the Brus to the Douglas 1 95 
 
 It shall wage war upon the Infidel. 
 
 And for I know not any knight than thee 
 
 More hardy nor more fit for high emprize, 
 
 I do hereby entreat thee, tried and true, 
 
 My friend most dear, that for the love of me 
 
 Thou wilt assume this voyage and acquit 
 
 The debt I owe my Saviour, for I hold 
 
 So lofty knowledge of thy nobleness 
 
 That whatsoever thou shallst undertake 
 
 That am I well persuaded thou wilt do. 
 
 Thus shall I die in peace, if thou wilt vow. 
 
 These be my wishes : first, when I am dead, 
 
 Thou shalt pluck out my heart and let embalm ; 
 
 Then of my treasure shallst thou take so much 
 
 As will suffice thee for thy journeying, 
 
 Thee and thy company, and thou shallst bear 
 
 My heart and lay in Holy Sepulchre, 
 
 Since this poor body may not thither pass. 
 
 And I command thee, use such royal state 
 
 And maintenance upon your voyaging 
 
 That unto whatsoever lands ye come 
 
 All men may know thou bearest overseas 
 
 The heart of Robert Brus, the King of Scots." 
 
 Thus spake he, and all they that heard did weep. 
 
 But when Sir James made answer, wet for tears 
 
 Came forth his words, and all with memories fraught 
 
 Of peril shared, of brotherhood in arms, 
 
 Hand within hand through all their stormy years, 
 
 " Most noble and most gentle King and friend, 
 
 A thousand times I thank thee and again 
 
 A thousand times, for this last great behest 
 
 Thou layest on me, that I keep and bear 
 
1 96 Last Request of the Brus to the Douglas 
 
 Thy heart, the treasure, to the Holy Land. 
 
 Most faithful to the utmost of my powers 
 
 I will obey thee, though not worthy I 
 
 An enterprize so lofty, arduous." 
 
 " Ah ! gentle knight/' made answer then the King, 
 
 " My heart's thanks hast thou, if thou dost my will, 
 
 Vowing upon the word of loyal knight, 
 
 That thou wilt duly compass and achieve." 
 
 " Now hear me swear," quoth Douglas, " on the faith 
 
 I owe to God, to knighthood and to thee." 
 
 " Now praise to God," quoth Brus, " for I shall die 
 
 At peace and quiet, seeing the knight of all 
 
 Most valiant in my kingdom hath made vow 
 
 To wreak that for me, which I may not wreak." 
 
 Thus spake the Brus, and clasped the Douglas hand, 
 
 And those that by the couch were gathered round 
 
 Withdrew them whiles those ancient champions 
 
 Held commune of the things beyond the grave. 
 
 And after these full soon the king was sped : 
 
 But to the heart of hearts thus it befell. 
 
The Douglas and the 
 Heart of Brus 
 
 WHEN the Brus was at rest in Dunferm- 
 line, 
 Not at rest, not at rest was his Heart, 
 But in casket of gold and in ermine 
 Enwrapped till the Douglas depart, 
 It lay on the white marble altar, 
 
 Where Scotland shed tear upon tear, 
 For the heart of the lover shall falter 
 When parting is near. 
 
 To the caravel moored at the jetty, 
 
 All crimson in dais and sail, 
 Where the Right Lion Scots ever ready 
 
 Rides free on the wings of the gale, 
 Comes the Douglas, the waves are a-roaring 
 
 To welcome the Heart of the King, 
 Wild sea-birds are shrieking and soaring, 
 
 Crowds kneel in the ling. 
 
 The spray flies in tears on their faces 
 
 And mingles with tears of their eyes, 
 
 As he carries the Heart to the dais, 
 
 Where at rest 'mid the tempest it lies, 
 
 197 
 
198 The Douglas and the Heart of Brus 
 
 Then more loud than the furious north-wester : 
 Quoth the Douglas, " My Lords, by St Bride, 
 
 We shall ken if our ships' o' the best ere 
 We come o'er the tide." 
 
 Then the Douglas bids straightway slip cable ; 
 
 With a plunge like a war-horse set free 
 From the stalls of the Earth-Shaker's 1 stable 
 
 She marries the sea ; 
 While the Douglas and St Clair and Logan 
 
 Hold fast by the rail with a hand, 
 And the boom of the surf drowns the slogan, 
 
 They sound on the land. 
 
 Then obedient to the King's order 
 
 The Douglas casts anchor at Sluys, 
 Where he welcometh all men aboard her 
 
 In the name of the Heart of the Brus. 
 All the vessels they drink of are golden, 
 
 Their platters are all of red gold, 
 Vair, samite and satin unfolden, 
 
 Soft fold upon fold, 
 
 From the chests of the vessel that bore them, 
 
 On couch and on dai's they fling, 
 And the arms on the canopy o'er them 
 
 Are the arms of the King. 
 For in all things the Douglas was loyal 
 
 And remembered the words that he spake, 
 How the voyage of the Heart should be royal 
 
 And grand for his sake. 
 
 1 Neptune. 
 
The Douglas and the Heart of Brus 1 99 
 
 Then the herald, as Brus had ordained it, 
 
 Went with banner and trumpet ashore 
 And parading the town he proclaimed it, 
 
 Reechoing o'er and o'er ; 
 That all gallant knights whatsoever, 
 
 Whom the wisdom of Douglas should chuse, 
 Might make this adventure together 
 
 With heart of the Brus. 
 
 To the banner of Scotland there rallied 
 
 Three knights that came forth of Almayn ; 
 Out to sea from the harbour they sallied 
 
 And set them for Spain ; 
 Past Cornwall and Brittany sailing, 
 
 The Pillars of Hercules past, 
 Till the skill of their Captain unfailing 
 
 Finds Seville at last. 
 
 Here the King of the Spains sends them greeting 
 
 And gifts both of jewels and gold, 
 But the Douglas replies they are seeking 
 
 What may not be given nor sold ; 
 But lo ere they part they are willing 
 
 To combat the Infidel there, 
 Thus the wish of the monarch fulfilling, 
 
 Whose Heart 'tis they bear. 
 
 Then greatly Alfonso rejoiceth, 
 
 Thus aided the Moor to o'er whelm, 
 
 And the rumour of Douglas he noiseth 
 
 Through the length and the breadth of the 
 realm, 
 
200 The Douglas and the Heart of Brus 
 
 So that knights come to greet him full many, 
 And hugely they honour the Heart, 
 
 And of fame such as Douglas, not any 
 But longs for a part. 
 
 The Moor cometh forth in his splendour, 
 
 Quoth Alfonso to Douglas, " Be thine 
 To lead forth the vaward, I render 
 
 To Douglas the place that is mine/' 
 And he gave him the flower of his knighthood, 
 
 And the Scots rallied all round their chief, 
 Save the St Clair that more to the right stood, 
 
 Should bring him relief. 
 
 As the clarion soundeth the onslaught, 
 
 From its chain doth the Douglas make loose 
 The casket with lions thereon wrought, 
 
 That holdeth the Heart of the Brus. 
 " O Heart," quoth the Douglas, " that ever 
 
 Wast wont with the foremost to fight, 
 Lo I cast thee before me and ever 
 
 Shall win thee aright." 
 
 Then he casts it and crying his war-cry : 
 
 A Douglas ! A Douglas ! he dives 
 Through the Moors where he sees it afar lie : 
 
 He mows like a reaper their lives. 
 He wins it again, but the St Clair ! 
 
 Behold how the Moors round him press ! 
 Dig the spurs deep, O Douglas, and win there, 
 
 To aid his distress ! 
 
The Douglas and the Heart ot Brus 201 
 
 To the Douglas come Scots of his battle, 
 
 Have spied him and forward they spur, 
 And their passage voids many a saddle, 
 
 And soon they are by the St Clair ; 
 But no prowess of lance can avail them, 
 
 Where the odds are as fifty for one : 
 Cries the Douglas, " Our lives let us sell them 
 
 Right dearly each one." 
 
 Thus they meet with their death, for they ask it, 
 
 Yea, the best of all deaths they have died, 
 And the Heart of the Brus, in the casket 
 
 Lies close at the Douglas* side. 
 St Andrew of Scotland watched o'er it, 
 
 O'er the body of Douglas St Bride ; 
 Good Sir William of Keith 'twas that bore it 
 
 Again o'er the tide 
 
 With the Heart of the Brus and they laid them, 
 
 The Heart of the King at Melrose, 
 As the good Earl of Moray he bade them, 
 
 But the bones of the Douglas repose 
 In the Kirk of St Bride 'neath the marble, 
 
 Where yet ye shall view an ye please 
 Of marvels the mightiest marvel : 
 
 The Douglas at peace. 
 
 Thus King Robert gat not all his craving, 
 Though better he'd deem had been done 
 
 Than if nothing of perilous braving 
 
 To the Sepulchre Douglas had won ; 
 
202 The Douglas and the Heart of Brus 
 
 And I doubt not, if ever hereafter 
 
 Be granted to hearts that are true, 
 
 In Elysian fields to foregather, 
 That the Brus give his due 
 
 To the friend that so loyally carried 
 
 The Heart of his friend that was King, 
 And will joy that in Seville he tarried 
 
 The Heart in mid-battle to fling. 
 As ye turn this last leaf of our story, 
 
 Give ye praise to the Brus that secured 
 To our Scotland the summit of glory, 
 
 The crown to the Stewart. 
 
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 JOHN OF DAMASCUS 
 
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 " Mr Ainslie, in this third edition of his suggestive poem, has 
 given to the world in swift spontaneous verse the mature expres- 
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 weave so many fresh arguments in the woof of the old material 
 as to produce the effect of a work almost wholly new. Not only 
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 this ; they go far both to enlighten the student and charm the 
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 "The verse runs on like a brook, so that its rippling almost 
 makes one shut the ears to its subtlety of depth of suggestion. 
 Delicate in texture, it is often packed with significance ... a 
 writer with a true lyric gift and genuine poetic insight." Glasgow 
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 " Nearly every poem has a thought that was worth expressing, 
 and the expression is musical and distinguished." T.P.'s Weekly. 
 
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 AESTHETIC 
 
 BY BENEDETTO CROCE 
 
 Being a close translation of his complete Theory of 
 ^Esthetic and General Linguistic 
 
 BY DOUGLAS AINSLIE, B.A. Oxon. 
 
 From the Italian of the enlarged third edition of 1909, 
 
 Together with a brief History of the course of speculation 
 upon this high theme, from the days of the Greek 
 philosophers to our own, taken from the Second 
 Section of the same work. 
 
 What is art? The problem is here solved for the first time. 
 This book may truthfully be said to give the first true and com- 
 plete explanation of the art fact, and therefore to be of first-rate 
 importance to all lovers of art in any of its manifestations, whether 
 in Music, in Literature, or in the Fine Arts. 
 
 The clarity, sanity, and precision of the Latin genius here unite 
 with the most profound knowledge of German philosophy and 
 with colossal general erudition, to give to the world for the first 
 time the explanation of the only remaining one among human 
 activities which has hitherto defied analysis. 
 
 With the eyes of Benedetto Croce, we are able to see ^Esthetic 
 in its right place, independent of, yet adjacent to, Ethic and 
 Economic. 
 
 The argument is so lucid, that the educated reader will find 
 himself able to follow it as easily as when floating upon a deep, 
 clear river, on a calm day, he sees each shell and pebble in its 
 depths. 
 
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