| |
| IT was upon an April morn, | |
| While yet the frost lay hoar, | |
| We heard Lord James’s bugle-horn | |
| Sound by the rocky shore. | |
| |
| Then down we went, a hundred knights, | 5 |
| All in our dark array, | |
| And flung our armor in the ships | |
| That rode within the bay. | |
| |
| We spoke not as the shore grew less, | |
| But gazed in silence back, | 10 |
| Where the long billows swept away | |
| The foam behind our track. | |
| |
| And aye the purple hues decayed | |
| Upon the fading hill, | |
| And but one heart in all that ship | 15 |
| Was tranquil, cold, and still. | |
| |
| The good Lord Douglas paced the deck, | |
| And O, his face was wan! | |
| Unlike the flush it used to wear | |
| When in the battle-van.— | 20 |
| |
| “Come hither, come hither, my trusty knight, | |
| Sir Simon of the Lee; | |
| There is a freit lies near my soul | |
| I fain would tell to thee. | |
| |
| “Thou know’st the words King Robert spoke | 25 |
| Upon his dying day: | |
| How he bade take his noble heart | |
| And carry it far away; | |
| |
| “And lay it in the holy soil | |
| Where once the Saviour trod, | 30 |
| Since he might not bear the blessèd Cross, | |
| Nor strike one blow for God. | |
| |
| “Last night as in my bed I lay, | |
| I dreamed a dreary dream:— | |
| Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand | 35 |
| In the moonlight’s quivering beam. | |
| |
| “His robe was of the azure dye, | |
| Snow-white his scattered hairs, | |
| And even such a cross he bore | |
| As good Saint Andrew bears. | 40 |
| |
| “‘Why go ye forth, Lord James,’ he said, | |
| ‘With spear and belted brand? | |
| Why do you take its dearest pledge | |
| From this our Scottish land? | |
| |
| “‘The sultry breeze of Galilee | 45 |
| Creeps through its groves of palm, | |
| The olives on the Holy Mount | |
| Stand glittering in the calm. | |
| |
| “‘But ’t is not there that Scotland’s heart | |
| Shall rest, by God’s decree, | 50 |
| Till the great angel calls the dead | |
| To rise from earth and sea! | |
| |
| “‘Lord James of Douglas, mark my rede! | |
| That heart shall pass once more | |
| In fiery fight against the foe, | 55 |
| As it was wont of yore. | |
| |
| “‘And it shall pass beneath the Cross, | |
| And save King Robert’s vow; | |
| But other hands shall bear it back, | |
| Not, James of Douglas, thou!’ | 60 |
| |
| “Now, by thy knightly faith, I pray, | |
| Sir Simon of the Lee,— | |
| For truer friend had never man | |
| Than thou hast been to me,— | |
| |
| “If ne’er upon the Holy Land | 65 |
| ’T is mine in life to tread, | |
| Bear thou to Scotland’s kindly earth | |
| The relics of her dead.” | |
| |
| The tear was in Sir Simon’s eye | |
| As he wrung the warrior’s hand,— | 70 |
| “Betide me weal, betide me woe, | |
| I ’ll hold by thy command. | |
| |
| “But if in battle-front, Lord James, | |
| ’T is ours once more to ride, | |
| Nor force of man, nor craft of fiend, | 75 |
| Shall cleave me from thy side!” | |
| |
| And aye we sailed and aye we sailed | |
| Across the weary sea, | |
| Until one morn the coast of Spain | |
| Rose grimly on our lee. | 80 |
| |
| And as we rounded to the port, | |
| Beneath the watch-tower’s wall, | |
| We heard the clash of the atabals, | |
| And the trumpet’s wavering call. | |
| |
| “Why sounds yon Eastern music here | 85 |
| So wantonly and long, | |
| And whose the crowd of armèd men | |
| That round yon standard throng?” | |
| |
| “The Moors have come from Africa | |
| To spoil and waste and slay, | 90 |
| And King Alonzo of Castile | |
| Must fight with them to-day.” | |
| |
| “Now shame it were,” cried good Lord James, | |
| “Shall never be said of me | |
| That I and mine have turned aside | 95 |
| From the Cross in jeopardie! | |
| |
| “Have down, have down, my merry men all,— | |
| Have down unto the plain; | |
| We ’ll let the Scottish lion loose | |
| Within the fields of Spain!” | 100 |
| |
| “Now welcome to me, noble lord, | |
| Thou and thy stalwart power; | |
| Dear is the sight of a Christian knight, | |
| Who comes in such an hour! | |
| |
| “Is it for bond or faith you come, | 105 |
| Or yet for golden fee? | |
| Or bring ye France’s lilies here, | |
| Or the flower of Burgundie?” | |
| |
| “God greet thee well, thou valiant king, | |
| Thee and thy belted peers,— | 110 |
| Sir James of Douglas am I called. | |
| And these are Scottish spears. | |
| |
| “We do not fight for bond or plight, | |
| Nor yet for golden fee; | |
| But for the sake of our Blessèd Lord, | 115 |
| Who died upon the tree. | |
| |
| “We bring our great King Robert’s heart | |
| Across the weltering wave, | |
| To lay it in the holy soil | |
| Hard by the Saviour’s grave. | 120 |
| |
| “True pilgrims we, by land or sea, | |
| Where danger bars the way; | |
| And therefore are we here, Lord King, | |
| To ride with thee this day!” | |
| |
| The King has bent his stately head, | 125 |
| And the tears were in his eyne,— | |
| “God’s blessing on thee, noble knight, | |
| For this brave thought of thine! | |
| |
| “I know thy name full well, Lord James; | |
| And honored may I be, | 130 |
| That those who fought beside the Bruce | |
| Should fight this day for me! | |
| |
| “Take thou the leading of the van, | |
| And charge the Moors amain; | |
| There is not such a lance as thine | 135 |
| In all the host of Spain!” | |
| |
| The Douglas turnèd towards us then, | |
| O, but his glance was high!— | |
| “There is not one of all my men | |
| But is as bold as I. | 140 |
| |
| “There is not one of all my knights | |
| But bears as true a spear,— | |
| Then onward, Scottish gentlemen, | |
| And think King Robert ’s here!” | |
| |
| The trumpets blew, the cross-bolts flew, | 145 |
| The arrows flashed like flame, | |
| As spur in side and spur in rest, | |
| Against the foe we came. | |
| |
| And many a bearded Saracen | |
| Went down, both horse and man; | 150 |
| For through their ranks we rode like corn, | |
| So furiously we ran! | |
| |
| But in behind our path they closed, | |
| Though fain to let us through, | |
| For they were forty thousand men, | 155 |
| And we were wondrous few. | |
| |
| We might not see a lance’s length, | |
| So dense was their array, | |
| But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade | |
| Still held them hard at bay. | 160 |
| |
| “Make in! make in!” Lord Douglas cried— | |
| “Make in, my brethren dear! | |
| Sir William of St. Clair is down; | |
| We may not leave him here!” | |
| |
| But thicker, thicker grew the swarm, | 165 |
| And sharper shot the rain, | |
| And the horses reared amid the press, | |
| But they would not charge again. | |
| |
| “Now Jesu help thee,” said Lord James, | |
| “Thou kind and true St. Clair! | 170 |
| An’ if I may not bring thee off, | |
| I ’ll die beside thee there!” | |
| |
| Then in his stirrups up he stood, | |
| So lion-like and bold, | |
| And held the precious heart aloft, | 175 |
| All in its case of gold. | |
| |
| He flung it from him, far ahead, | |
| And never spake he more, | |
| But—“Pass thou first, thou dauntless heart, | |
| As thou were wont of yore!” | 180 |
| |
| The roar of fire rose fiercer yet, | |
| And heavier still the stour, | |
| Till the spears of Spain came shivering in, | |
| And swept away the Moor. | |
| |
| “Now praised be God, the day is won! | 185 |
| They fly, o’er flood and fell,— | |
| Why dost thou draw the rein so hard, | |
| Good knight, that fought so well?” | |
| |
| “O, ride ye on, Lord King!” he said, | |
| “And leave the dead to me, | 190 |
| For I must keep the dreariest watch | |
| That ever I shall dree! | |
| |
| “There lies, above his master’s heart, | |
| The Douglas, stark and grim; | |
| And woe is me I should be here, | 195 |
| Not side by side with him! | |
| |
| “The world grows cold, my arm is old, | |
| And thin my lyart hair, | |
| And all that I loved best on earth | |
| Is stretched before me there. | 200 |
| |
| “O Bothwell banks, that bloom so bright | |
| Beneath the sun of May! | |
| The heaviest cloud that ever blew | |
| Is bound for you this day. | |
| |
| “And Scotland! thou mayst veil thy head | 205 |
| In sorrow and in pain, | |
| The sorest stroke upon thy brow | |
| Hath fallen this day in Spain! | |
| |
| “We ’ll bear them back unto our ship, | |
| We ’ll bear them o’er the sea, | 210 |
| And lay them in the hallowed earth | |
| Within our own countrie. | |
| |
| “And be thou strong of heart, Lord King, | |
| For this I tell thee sure, | |
| The sod that drank the Douglas’ blood | 215 |
| Shall never bear the Moor!” | |
| |
| The King he lighted from his horse, | |
| He flung his brand away, | |
| And took the Douglas by the hand, | |
| So stately as he lay. | 220 |
| |
| “God give thee rest, thou valiant soul! | |
| That fought so well for Spain; | |
| I ’d rather half my land were gone, | |
| So thou wert here again!” | |
| |
| We bore the good Lord James away, | 225 |
| And the priceless heart we bore, | |
| And heavily we steered our ship | |
| Towards the Scottish shore. | |
| |
| No welcome greeted our return, | |
| Nor clang of martial tread, | 230 |
| But all were dumb and hushed as death | |
| Before the mighty dead. | |
| |
| We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk, | |
| The heart in fair Melrose; | |
| And woful men were we that day,— | 235 |
| God grant their souls repose! | |
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