The life of Robert Bruce :: :: University of Virginia Library

The life of Robert Bruce

King of Scots. A poem, By John Harvey

Harvey, John (fl. 1702-1729)

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[dedication]

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To the Author.

THE LIFE OF Robert Bruce King of Scots.

BOOK I.

II.

BOOK II.

III.

BOOK III.

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123

BOOK III.

The King o'er Carrick now extends his Sway;
Submit the Chiftains, and the Boors obey;
Peaceful, and gently rules his native Land,
And ev'ry Subject feels the soft Command.
But doughty Douglas, now a dreadful Name,
Fir'd with an high uncommon Thirst of Fame;
Feels no Delight, nor tastes his lab'ring Breast
The lazy Charms of an inglorious Rest.
War's distant Scenes still in his Bosom roll,
And future Fields run Crimson in his Soul.
Whilst thus his Heart the glorious Impulse feels,
He meets his Prince, and thus his Thoughts reveals.

124

‘Now, gen'rous Sov'reign! you have gain'd your own,
‘Th'auspicious Prelude to your lineal Crown.
‘But Clifford, still possest of my Domains ,
‘His lawless Title to my Right maintains.
‘But here I vow by all th'immortal Pow'rs,
‘That tread yon Azure Vault, and blissful Bow'rs;
‘He either shall resign my rightful State,
‘Or one of us shall meet a sudden Fate.
‘Forth then, dread Sov'reign! give me Leave to go,
‘Pursue my Fortune, and attempt the Foe.
‘His Arms and mine shall in the Field be try'd,
‘And fix the Title to the conqu'ring Side.
‘Yon Chief may see your Subject bravely dy,
‘But ne'er shall Clifford see the Douglas fly.’
The Hero thus. But Bruce, whose cautious Mind
Events and Means in just Proportion joyn'd,

125

Oppos'd the Motion, and the Chiftain told
‘The Foe was num'rous, and the Leader bold.
‘I know thou dar'st, he said, but hast not Pow'r
‘To match yon Captain on the doubtful Shore.
‘Weigh well the Odds, and thy Resolves delay,
‘Till Heav'n shall open a securer Way;
‘Till we some farther our just Right regain,
‘Then may we try our Fortune on the Plain.’
Thus the wise Monarch. Douglas quick reply'd,
‘Did all the Pow'r of England guard his Side;
‘I'll meet th'Usurper in the Field of Death,
‘My Right reconquer, or resign my Breath.’
‘Go then, said Bruce, and bless'd him as he went,
‘May Heav'n, propitious, second thy Intent.’

Now Douglas speeds him to his native Land,
And only Two th'advent'rous Chief attend.
Thro' Hills and Dales, and rugged Rocks by Day
Painful he labours on his cautious Way.

126

By Night some Grove affords a mossy Bed,
And round him throws its hospitable Shade.
Secret, at last, thro' Paths untrod before,
Arrives the Hero on his native Shore.
'Twas Night, and now from the laborious Field
The Swain retiring, seeks his homely Bield.
Sol's fiery Chariot drench'd in Ocean lies,
And Stars began to spangle o'er the Skies;
When thro' the Gloom the Chief a Stead espy'd ,
And a soft Stream just murm'ring by its Side.
Then from within a Taper's twinkling Light,
Pointed his doubtful Passage thro' the Night.
Bold Douglas, cautious, view'd the Stead around,
And by the Barn the honest Farmer found;
Who mark'd (his Labours done) with curious Eyes
The Signs, and read the Symptoms of the Skies;

127

Adjusting, by the Stars, to Morrow's Toil,
To thresh the Grain, or vex the fallow Soil.
Because the Stars (as Swains, experienc'd, say)
Are certain Prophets of the future Day.
Douglas the Man approaching, softly calls,
Friend! may three Yeomen harbour in thy Walls
This Night? Nor longer we resolve to stay,
But with to Morrow's Sun renew our Way.
The Lab'rer, unabas'd, enquires their Name,
What their late Journey meant, and whence they came?
And, feign'dly, satisfy'd in those Requests,
Straight to his homely Parlour leads the Guests.
Now Douglas, seated in the Houshold-chair,
(The Rest promiscuous round the beamy Fire,)
View'd his new Host, nor view'd without Surprize,
And mark'd the sparkling Vigour of his Eyes.
A lively Bloom his manly Face o'erspread,
Tho' Sixty Winters had already shed
Their snowy Honours o'er his rev'rend Head.

128

Just were his Sentiments, his Looks serene,
And all the Man express'd a more than vulgar Mien.
Nor was the Loyal Boor unknown to Fame,
True to his Lord, and Dickson was his Name.
A jolly Rustick, and in Danger bold,
And long had serv'd the Douglas' Sire of Old.
The Board was loaded with a clean Repast,
And the kind Host invites each hungry Guest.
Great Douglas now conspicuous by the Light
The Farmer views, and wonders at the Sight.
His noble Mein, and his erected Face
Undaunted, sheds around a dreadful Grace.
His Brows, august, in sable Arches rise,
And glare, two living Fires, his piercing Eyes.
Huge Nervous Limbs compos'd the Hero's Frame,
His Looks were Terror, and his Soul was Flame!
The Lab'rer, curious, runs his Visage o'er,
And marks some Features not unknown before.

129

Intent he gaz'd, impell'd by fond Desire,
And in the Son began to trace the Sire.
By this the Guests had finish'd their Repast,
And Sleep invites each weary Swain to Rest.
Douglas alone still with the Farmer stay'd,
While to the Chief the Loyal Dickson said,
‘Pardon, my Lord, perhaps an erring Thought,
‘Nor blame the Man whose Zeal may be his Fault.
‘Superior I o'er all his menial Throng
‘Your Father serv'd, and think I saw you young.
‘I shar'd my Country's Troubles, nor has Fame
‘Ev'n blush'd to mention Thomas Dickson's Name.
‘I know by South'ron Pow'r my Master gone;
‘But hope I view the Father in the Son.’
He said, and Tears run trickling from his Eyes,
Whilst, half astonish'd, Douglas thus replyes.
‘Faithful old Man! How am I pleas'd to see
‘My Father's Friend and mine alive in thee?

130

‘My good old Father! dead in South'ron Chains!
‘And I excluded all his wide Domains;
‘While Clifford holds my Heritage by Might,
‘And reigns a lawless Tyrant o'er my Right!
‘Therefore I come (your ancient Master's Son)
‘To try some Method to regain my own.
‘And here I vow by ev'ry sacred Pow'r,
‘That never shall I quit this native Shore;
‘Till Clifford or resigns without Debate,
‘Or one of us in Battle meets his Fate.
‘Now (since the dubious Means distract my Choice
‘Prove your Affection in your best Advice.’

Thus spoke the Chief, and Dickson soon reply'd,
‘To Morrow's Light some Succours shall provide.
‘My Duty to your noble Sire I own,
‘Nor shall, ungrateful, e'er desert his Son.’
This said, to Bed the honest Farmer goes,
And leaves the Douglas to his late Repose.

131

Scarce had the Orient Dawn disclos'd the Day,
When Loyal Dickson speeds him on his Way.
Thro' Douglasdale his eager Steps he bends,
And secret warns his Master's ancient Friends.
Each Man in Private bids his Arms prepare,
And singly to his Farm by Night repair.
The loyal Swains to his Desire accord,
And one by one haste to attend their Lord.
Hardy in Arms full Forty Rustics came,
And swore Allegiance to brave Douglas' Name.
Round their young Chief the joyful Vassals stood,
Old Borderers! and long bred up to Blood.
Douglas, mean while, embraces all his Friends,
And, artful, their past Services commends.
Now down in Dickson's Barn the Council sat,
The largest Room, and fittest for Debate.
The Question's put—What shou'd be first essay'd?
The Douglas' Castle, all at once reply'd.

132

For if from Clifford we that Fortress gain,
We may with greater Ease the future Strife maintain.
There South'ron hoard their Stores, themselves secure,
And safe within the Walls defy our Pow'r.
Near to the Castle, on th'adjoyning Plain
Erected, stands Brigidia's ancient Fane .
Thither, next Sunday, South'ron bear their Palms,
There pay their Vows, and distribute their Alms.
Then, let us each his private Arms prepare,
And to the Temple one by one repair;
There all at once, unwary as they stand,
Boldly with Swords assail the South'ron Band.
Assents the Chief. Each homeward bends his Way,
And, unsuspected, waits th'appointed Day.
Appear'd the Day. The hardy Scots attend
At Church, and South'ron from the Fort descend.

133

Just as the Priest the sacred Rites began,
And all, promiscuous, crowding throng'd the Fane;
Dickson aloud, The noble Douglas, cry'd,
Th'appointed Signal to the Scottish Side.
The Bord'rers, at the Word, their Weapons bare ,
And, fierce, before the Quire commence the War.
The Priest and People with the Scene dismay'd,
From 'midst the Combatants confus'dly fled,
Straight to the Chancel's utmost sacred Mound,
And grasp'd th'inviolable Altar round.
Meanwhile the South'ron in their Arms appear,
Rang'd in the Quire, and bravely face the War.
But Douglas, whirling round his flaming Brand,
Like Thunder bursts upon the adverse Band.
In Heaps on Heaps the Foe to Ground he bore,
And Purple Streams stray'd o'er the hallowed Floor.

134

His Vassals almost interrupt the Fight,
And gaze, astonish'd, at their Leader's Might;
Till hardy Dickson Douglas names again,
Then all the Scots at once their Force unrein,
And strow the breathless Corses round the Fane.
Thence to th'adjoyning Castle march'd the Pow'r,
Warm as they were, and red, with recent Gore.
Void, and defenceless 'gainst a hostile Crowd,
With Gates disclos'd, at large the Fortress stood.
Entring, the Train a Cook and Porter met,
Poor Menials! doom'd to share their Master's Fate.
The Porter, negligent, deserv'd the Stroak,
But where the Trespass of the harmless Cook?
Ev'n now, had he prepar'd a sumptuous Feast ,
His hapless Labours doom'd—but just to taste.

135

His well-dress'd Victuals bloody Douglas gains,
Eats up his Hopes, and riots in his Pains.
The Repast done, they search the Castle o'er,
Seize Clothes, and Arms, and pillage all the Store;
Truss what they can, then fire the House around,
And the gay Fortress level with the Ground.
To Woods and Wilds, in secret, thro' the Land,
Repairs the Chiftain, and his loyal Band;
By Dickson yet disswaded to appear,
Till fresh Supplies shou'd reinforce their War.
Inform'd now Clifford speeds o'er Solway's Shore ,
And thro' the Dales, indignant, leads his Pow'r.
He came, he view'd his Fort in Ashes laid,
His Stores all rifled, and his Servants dead.

136

Bold Douglas, Author of the horrid Scene,
Vengeful he sought, but sought the Chief in vain;
Nor durst too far thro' Woods and Wilds pursue
So brave a Leader, and so bold a Crew.
Returning, soon his Artizans he calls,
Re-builds the Fort, and stronger rears the Walls.
Appoints the Guards, and re-instates the Land,
And to keen Thirswall deputes the Command.
This done, to Solway reconducts his Host,
And quickly lands on England's fruitful Coast.

In Carrick still the noble Monarch lay,
And o'er his own exerts his Clement Sway.
The Region whole a firm Obedience shows,
Asserts his Claim, and aids the Royal Cause.
Meantime great Pembroke from Edina's Tow'rs,
Assembles all around the South'ron Pow'rs.
Soon at the Summons rendezvous the Bands,
And hardy Omphraville the Troops commands.

137

By Pembroke order'd to conduct the Host
Against the Bruce, and Carrick's Rebel-coast;
Sudden, the Warlike Chief in Armour shines,
And straight to Air advance th'embattled Lines.
Nor wou'd sly Omphraville pursue too far,
Thro' Fenns and Fastnesses, the Royal War.
He knew his Force superior, but he knew
What the bold Monarch in the Field cou'd do;
So judg'd it Conduct to decline the Fight,
To act by Treachery, and gain by Slight.
A Boor in Carrick, not unskill'd in Arms,
And his two Sons manur'd adjoyning Farms,
Robust, in Enterprizes hardy found,
The Terror of the Neighbourhood around.
Upon the Sire the Bruce had oft rely'd,
And his firm Faith in frequent Danger try'd;
Firm unattempted—but too base to hold
Unstain'd, against th'infernal Tempter Gold.

138

Gold! Of each Virtue the undoubted Test,
Dissolves in Treason thro' the Villain's Breast.
As by Degrees, in distant India's Mines,
By Suns, and Central Steams, the Ore refines;
So in the Soul the Metal works by Time,
Exalts to Guilt, and ripens into Crime.
Sly Omphraville a secret Message sends
To the false Boor; the Boor the Chief attends.
The Treason in a Moment is decreed,
And Forty Pound the Price of Bruce's Head.
Back to his Farm returns the Felon-Boor,
Informs his Sons, and waits the treach'rous Hour.
He knew the Monarch us'd each op'ning Dawn,
To take the Air along a scroggy Lawn.
Thence o'er a Mountain to a distant Wood,
A Page attending on his Solitude.
Thither completely arm'd the Rogues repair,
With Swords, and Spears, and Implements of War.

139

Now, sudden, must the glorious Monarch bleed,
A Traitor-Friend the Author of the Deed!
Unseen, unaided by his faithful Bands,
Must fall a Victim to a Villain's Hands.
But Fate forbids! and Ariel from on high,
Swift as a Thought, shoots down the Nether-Sky.
Not half so quick, the Lightning's flashy glare
Bursts on the Night, and glances thro' the Air.
Fast by his Charge, unseen, the Guardian stands,
Warms his brave Heart, and fortifies his Hands.
And now the Monarch, thro' the gloomy Dawn,
Espies the Traitors stretching o'er the Lawn;
Feels in his Breast a jealous Impulse roll,
And secret Treason whisper'd to his Soul:
What Arms the Boy had brought in haste demands,
A Bow and single Arrow charg'd his Hands.
He snatch'd, and as he bent the twanging Eugh,
The trembling Child assum'd a livid Hue.

140

Then to the String he fits the feather'd Flane,
And bids the Page retire—for, Villains cross'd the Plain.
Approaching, now the Three were just at Hand,
When, loud, the Monarch bids the Rascals stand,
Nor dare the Lawn one further Step to tread,
Or Death attends the Order disobey'd.
The Rustic Sire continues to advance,
And fawns, and seems surpris'd at his Offence.
Enquires submissive—still approaching near,
The whizzing Death swift cleaves the yielding Air;
Thro' the left Orb of Light it pierc'd the Brain,
The Traitor, reeling, backward press'd the Plain.
The vengeful Son fir'd at the Father's Fall,
Furious advanc'd the Monarch to assail.
Charg'd in his Hand a large broad Fauchion shone;
The King unsheath'd his Sword, and met the Clown.
With manly Force, full aim'd, the shining Blade
Down to the Jaws divides the Villain's Head.

141

Ireful the Third, advancing to the War,
Against his Prince protends a Length of Spear.
The Monarch bending shuns the coming Foe,
And hews the Lance asunder at a Blow;
Then thro' his Bowels drove the reeking Brand,
Tumbles the Rebel-Carcase on the Strand.
Now roul the Traitors in the Gasps of Death,
And curse the Treason with their parting Breath.
Their Souls, with Horror fraught, forsake the Light,
Flit, conscious, to the Shades, and veil their Forms in Night.
The Scene completed, and the Felons dead,
His Vows to Heav'n the grateful Monarch paid.
Then, with his Page, returning to his own,
Relates th'Adventure of the distant Lawn.
The Chiftains hear the Tale with vast Surprize,
And blame their Monarch, while they thank the Skies.
Inform'd, sly Omphraville pursues his Way,
Straight to Lochmaben where the Warden lay.

142

Before that Chief runs o'er the recent Scene,
The Treason baffled, and the Traitors slain.
Pembroke himself admires the Monarch's Force,
Tho' vex'd, and puzzled in his future Course.

Bruce rests a while, but soon a warlike Host
From Gall'way's Shores advance to Carrick's Coast.
Two hundred Men in Battle broad array'd,
The late escap'd M'Dougal at their Head.
His Pow'r dispos'd in Hamlets thro' the Land,
Scarce Sixty Warriors on the King attend.
With these the Bruce by Night pursues his Way,
Where a great River wash'd a craggy Bay.
The Royal Watch had view'd the Foe afar,
And to their own declar'd the coming War.
The crafty King in Covert lodg'd his Band,
Himself alone adventur'd to the Strand;
Nor forward to engage in doubtful Fight,
He went, and view'd the Foe by Cynthia's friendly Light;

143

Full on the River's rocky Margin stood,
And saw the Van on Horseback take the Flood:
Then felt his Soul with sudden Ardour glow,
To match alone with all the coming Foe!
The Stream he saw in its deep Chanel glide,
And rising Rocks o'erhang the silent Side.
Careful he search'd the rugged Margin round,
And from the Bank but one strait Passage found;
Where one at once on Horseback, and no more,
Cou'd just but labour up the steepy Shore.
Fir'd by some Act Divine! the Monarch there
His Sword unsheaths, and, singly, waits the War!
Advance the Pow'r, and, joyn'd, the Current break,
The Chiftain first descries the steepy Track.
Cautious ascends, and as he culls his Way,
A Man in Arms espies upon the Bay.
He mounts, and near had gain'd the rugged Brow,
When daring Bruce discharg'd a deadly Blow.

144

Full on his Casque descends the forceful Stroke,
Backward the Chiftain tumbles from the Rock;
And checking, as he fell, th'untimely Rein,
Recoil'd the Steed on the succeeding Train;
Hurl'd headlong downward from the craggy Side,
Mix'd Men and Coursers flounder in the Tide.
Some in the Fall were bruis'd, and others slain,
Their Fellows gaz'd astonish'd, at the Scene.
Now fir'd with Rage all hasten to the Fray,
And with loud Shouts at once ascend the Bay.
But in the Pass see the bold Monarch stand,
And in the foremost Courser plunge his Brand.
Reels the gall'd Courser back upon the Crowd,
And Bruce's Fauchion drinks the Rider's Blood.
Successful, he pursues the lucky Blow,
And down the Steep, confounded, drives the Foe .

145

Awful he thunders on the falling War,
And Steeds and Riders tumble on the Shore.
Now mingled Heaps on Heaps, they choak the Bay,
The Pass encumber, and block up the Way.
Amaz'd, the Rear in wild Confusion stood,
Entangled in the Margin of the Flood.
Swift down the steepy Track the Monarch sped,
And dauntless trod the Ruins of the Dead.
Fierce on the River's Brink, by Cynthia's Light,
With dreadful Shouts commenc'd the doubtful Fight.
With awful Force he rush'd upon his Foes,
Marr'd and encumbred in the slimy Ooze.
Full Fifteen Warriors, by his single Hand,
Drench'd in their Blood, lay gasping on the Strand.

146

Crusht by his single Might, the dastard Pow'r
Retire, infamous, to the farther Shore;
Bear their Disgrace to Gall'ways distant Coast:
Returns the conqu'ring Monarch to his Host.

Still in the Dales the hardy Douglas lay,
And Thirswal still possest his native Sway.
Long had he seen the haughty South'ron Bands,
Reign uncontroul'd, and riot o'er his Lands.
At last the Chief his Friends to Council calls,
Where a small Wood near joyn'd the Castle-walls.
There they delib'rate to decoy the Train,
And draw the haughty Thirswal to the Plain.
Some Herds (the Country's spoils) at Random fed,
Hard by the Fort, along a shrubby Mead.
These Douglas Orders Ten to drive away,
In Ambush Forty in the Forest lay;
Himself their Head. Soon by the Ev'ning-Dawn ,
Speedful, they drive the Cattle from the Lawn.

147

The Watch espies the Theft, and sudden calls.
Thirswal and his in Arms descend the Walls;
Pursue the Robb'ry o'er the op'ning Glade,
And just had past the secret Ambuscade;
When Douglas rose, and all the private War
Rush'd to the Plain, and charg'd the South'ron Rear.
The blended Shouts behind the Van surprize,
And Thirswal wonders at the sudden Noise.
Bright in his Mail, the ireful Chief returns,
And, desp'rate, on the Field the Combat burns.
The Word was Clifford on the South'ron Side,
A Douglas—the bold Borderers reply'd.
From Plaits of polish'd Steel the streaming Gore,
In Purple Currents drench'd the braky Shore.
Full in the Front the hardy Thirswal stands,
His brave Example animates his Bands.

148

He sees bold Douglas thunder thro' the Fight,
And forward rushes to oppose his Might,
Against the Chief advanc'd his shining Spear;
The daring Douglas meets th'extended War;
Evites the Stroke, the Truncheon hews in Twain,
Glitters the steely Fragment on the Plain.
A slaunting Blow next aim'd; the trenching Blade
Fast by the Collar lopt the Warrior's Head.
By this, the Ten, that drove the Herd, appear,
And with fresh Vigour charge the South'ron Rear.
Thus, prest on ev'ry Side, the hostile Train
In mangled Heaps ly scatter'd o'er the Plain;
A few by Flight the neighb'ring Fortress gain.
To the pursuing War the Gates oppose,
And Bolts shut out the Fury of the Foes.

149

Douglas returns, and sudden bends his Way
To Carrick's Coast, where still the Monarch lay;
Since the late wond'rous Act the Loyal Bands
Increasing daily from the neighb'ring Lands.
Then all at once decamp the Royal War,
And to Glentrol's thick woody Shades repair.

And now from Carlile on the South'ron Coast,
Pembroke, and Vanes, and Clifford lead their Host.
Swift to Glentrol the Squadrons shape their Way,
And Fifteen hundred Shields reflect the Day.

Long had the Bruce's Stars, malignant, shed.
Their direful Influence o'er his Royal Head.
Long had he thro' a Maze of Dangers run,
His Toils, successive, circling with the Sun;
Thro' Woods, and Mountains, and deserted Shores,
Pursu'd by Faction, and by foreign Pow'rs;
Expos'd to Want, to Fears, and hostile Snares,
And all the Miseries of lawless Wars.

150

But now the Suff'rer feels the Stars relent,
Their Force exhausted, and their Poison spent.
Each Orb, benign, now shoots a milder Ray,
And dawning Glory rises on the Day.
The Heav'ns at last disclose th'immortal Scenes,
Conquests, and Laurels, and triumphant Plains!
Bounteous the Monarch's patient Toils reward,
And Victory sits brooding on his Sword.
Nor more he needs to weigh the dire Debate ,
Doom'd to the Palm, and Conqueror by Fate.
The Pow'rs, by Patience won, at last have shed
A Blaze of future Glories round his Head.

Approach'd the South'ron Troops, and quickly found
The Scots dispos'd along the higher Ground.
Just where a woody Mountain's rugged Brow,
Threat'ning, o'erhung a steepy Vale below.

151

The Spies advanc'd to view the Royal Force,
And found that Steep impassable to Horse.
Soon they return, and to the Leaders show
The Ground, and strait Encampment of the Foe.
Then Pembroke—‘Useless here our Cavalry,
‘And if we strive on Foot to force our Way;
‘The Scots advantag'd by the craggy Height,
‘Shou'd mock our Labour, and defeat our Might.
‘Long hath the Bruce in martial Arts been skill'd,
‘And long yon Legions harden'd to the Field.
‘Then let us, cautious, shun the plain Debate,
‘Act by Surprize, and conquer by Deceit.
‘Poorly array'd, a Woman first shall go,
‘And, unsuspected, shall decoy the Foe;
‘Slyly expose the Weakness of our Train,
‘And draw the Scots, incautious, to the Plain.
‘Meantime our Troops, unseen, from yonder Wood,
‘Shall secretly surround the hostile Crowd.’

152

The Chiefs approve. The Woman takes her Way,
A Staff supports her up the rugged Bay.
Straight to the King the Beggar-Traitress came,
And ask'd an Alms in good St. Andrew's Name;
So might that Saint still shield him from all Harms ,
And grant due Success to his righteous Arms.
Not far encamp'd, she told, on level Ground
Sir Aymer lay, below the craggy Mound.
But his raw Troops undisciplin'd appear,
Green to the Field, and Novices in War.
Wou'd he descend, soon might he rout the Foe,
Look them to Flight, and gain without a Blow.
Full on her Face the Monarch fix'd his Eye,
And gaz'd; suspicious, on the Beggar-Spy.

153

His Yeomen calls,—Out springs a nimble Band,
And sudden seize the Mendicant in Hand.
Afraid of Death, the trembling Traitress kneels,
Her Crime confesses, and the Truth reveals:
Informs the King the South'ron were at hand,
And Pembroke, Vanes, and Clifford led the Band.

The Monarch heard, and soon the War array'd,
And his broad Banner in the Field display'd.
Wedg'd in close Ranks the firm Battalions stood,
And now the Foe advances from the Wood.
A Bow already bent the Monarch drew,
Whiz'd the swift Arrow from the twanging Eugh.
Quite thro' the foremost's Gullet glanc'd the Flane,
The wounded Warrior, falling, bites the Plain.
Fierce on the Ranks the hardy Edward goes,
And Hay and Douglas pour upon their Foes.
With their bold Chiefs advanc'd th'inferior War,
And to the Ground the South'ron Vanguard bore.

154

Succeeding Lines disheartned with the Sight,
Back thro' the Wood precipitate their Flight.
The haughty Chiefs, asham'd at the Defeat,
Industrious haste to stop the foul Retreat:
Now threaten, now exhort the coward Train,
But still they threaten and exhort in vain.
The hardy Scots th'astonish'd Foe pursu'd,
And Heaps of Death lay scatter'd thro' the Wood.
The South'ron Rear beheld the routed Van,
And down the Rocks in wild Disorder ran.
The Gen'rals fled, confounded and asham'd,
And every Chief his fellow Leader blam'd.
'Twixt Vanes and Clifford high the Quarrel rose,
And Words began to terminate in Blows.
Divided Bands espouse their Chief's Debate,
And South'ron Lances South'ron Lances threat.
But Pembroke's interposing Pow'r prevails,
And quick the dang'rous civil Diff'rence quells.

155

Thus Bruce with twice Two hundred in his Train,
Drove Fifteen hundred South'ron from the Plain;
Nor longer now his royal Pow'r conceals,
In Woods, and invious Hills, and barren Vales;
No more can brook the tedious slow Debate,
Nor the dull Tenor of his lazy Fate:
But feels his Bosom with new Ardors glow,
To risque his future Fortunes at a Blow.
The Chiefs he calls, and all the loyal Bands,
Mounts at their Head, and to the Plain descends.
Thro' ev'ry honest Breast what Raptures ran,
Soon as the Monarch glitter'd in the Van?
With Tears of Joy the loyal Troops beheld
Their Prince undaunted take the open Field;
In Caves, and woody Coverts lurk no more,
On bleaky Mountains, and a barren Shore;
But to the Plains descend in bold Array,
The gilded Lions waving in the Day.

156

A thousand warlike Scots of ancient Race,
In steely Ranks around the Banner blaze;
Thro' Kyle, and Cunninghame direct their Way:
The loyal Regions own their Sov'reign's Sway.
To Bothwel where great Pembroke ruled his Host,
Soon spreads the News of Kyle's revolted Coast.
Incens'd, that Chief his Rendezvous ordains,
In Arms a Thousand glitter on the Plains.
To Coila's Shore advance th'embattled Lines,
And at their Head the hardy Moubray shines.
But Douglas' Spies Abroad had timely view'd
The swift Approaches of the hostile Crowd;
Then, sudden, to the royal Camp repair,
And to their Chief narrate the coming War.
'Twas Night, when Douglas call'd his proper Band,
And Sixty Spears gleam'd o'er the dusky Strand.
To Elderfoord he shapes his private Way,
Where a strait Pass 'twixt two Morasses lay.

157

Thither he saw the Foe must bend their Course,
And knew that Pass impervious to Horse;
A narrow, broken Track of rugged Ground!
With Fenns, and Briers, and Brambles hedg'd around.
There all the Night the Scots in Ambush lay.
And soon as Phœbus rose to gild the Day,
In Order rang'd, approach'd the South'ron War,
Their gilded Ensigns glitt'ring in the Air.
The Scots still lurk'd unseen, till all the Pow'r,
Their Steeds dismounting, throng'd the narrow Shore.
Then all at once the hardy Ambush rose,
And, shouting, fierce assail'd the incumber'd Foes;
With steely Lances gor'd th'astonish'd Van,
And Men and Coursers tumbled in the Fen.
So strait the Pass, so deep those Fens below,
So fierce th'Assault, and so amaz'd the Foe!
That Moubray ev'n with Tears beheld his Band
Without Resentment butcher'd on the Strand.

158

The muddy Ooze stood stagnated with Gore,
And mangled Steeds and Warriors choak'd the Shore.
The dire Disaster of the slaughter'd Van,
Back to the Rear in doubled Terrors ran.
Where Hopes or Fears direct their doubtful Way,
Diverse they fled, astonish'd at the Day.
The Chief deserted views the routed War,
The murder'd Vanguard, and the flying Rear.
Griev'd, and inflam'd at the disast'rous Sight,
Unreins his Steed, and rushes thro' the Fight.
Charg'd in his Hand a Lance he bore on high,
A steely Fauchion glitter'd at his Thigh.
Onward he drove, and as he scour'd the Strand
A Scottish Warrior seiz'd his shining Brand;
Grasp'd the strong Belt, and strove, but strove in vain
To stop the gallant Moubray on the Plain.
Furious he rush'd, and in the Warrior's Hand
The bursting Belt he left, and shining Brand.

159

Thus having 'scap'd the Danger of the Day,
First to Kilmarnock he directs his Way;
Thence thro' Kilwinning and the Largs he goes,
Till Inverkipt, at last, affords a late Repose.
A South'ron Garison that Fortress held,
To these the Chief narrates the hapless Field;
His Troops all helpless butcher'd in his Sight,
By Scottish Treachery and Douglas' Might.

In Bothwel still the Warden held his Seat.
Vex'd at the News of Moubray's foul Defeat,
Rage in his Breast and Grief, alternate, roll,
And sudden Thirst of Vengeance fires his Soul:
Soon to the Bruce a trusty Herauld sends.
The Herauld, careful, bears his Lord's Commands.
The Purport thus—Against a certain Date
If Bruce wou'd venture on the stern Debate;
His sly Attempts, and Stratagems refrain,
And nobly dare to risque the gen'rous Plain;

160

Then shou'd the Hero fix his future Fame,
Alive renown'd, or dead a glorious Name.
Arriv'd the Herauld, and his Charge reveal'd,
The dauntless King accepts the proffer'd Field.
'Twixt Gaston Heath, where lay the Royal Pow'r,
And Lowdown Hill, upon the mossy Shore;
There was the Ground determin'd; and the Day
Fix'd to the first approaching Tenth of May.
Returns the Messenger with speedy Care,
And to the Chief narrates th'accepted War;
The Time prefix'd, and the determin'd Ground:
And now to Arms the South'ron Trumpets sound.
To Bothwel, where the Rendezvous was made,
Conveen the Legions for the War array'd.
Three Thousand whole, adorn'd in martial Pride,
Bred to the Field, and oft in Battle try'd.
The Chief confided in these daring Bands,
Secure of Conquest from such valiant Hands.

161

Meantime the King, by Prudence ever rul'd,
Cautious in Warmth, and rationally bold;
Whose Courage no fermented Spirits fir'd,
No rising Tumult of the Blood inspir'd;
Where sudden Gusts of Passion, surious, roll,
And Rage, ungovern'd, supersedes the Soul!
But led by Schemes from due Reflection brought,
By solid Plans, and Consequence of Thought;
Each Circumstance with Circumstance still weighs
And all the Series of the Action sees;
Then Dauntless in the Field his Force unreins,
Combats from Reason, and by Reason gains.

Thus, on the Ninth, while Shades involv'd the Night,
Secret he went, and view'd the Field of Fight.
He found the beachy Plain lay stretch'd too wide,
But hemm'd with Marishes on either Side.
Fear'd lest the Foe shou'd, on that Length of Ground,
Outwing his Numbers, and his Troops surround.

162

Three Ramparts therefore from each bord'ring Fen,
Of Hurdles rear'd, he drew a-cross the Plain.
Nor did these Ramparts at the Centre close,
But op'ning Breaches so receiv'd the Foes,
As equal Force might equal Force oppose.
This done, back to his Host he bends his Way,
Prepares the War, and waits th'approaching Day.

Arose the Day, and Phœbus from the Deep
His blazing Carr drives up the Orient Steep.
From Bothwel's Plain approach the South'ron Lines,
And Pompous in the Van proud Pembroke shines.
The Van, on barbed Steeds, that Chief around,
Rode sheath'd in Mail, with clasping Silver bound.
Next these, with Lances arm'd, and bossy Shields,
Advanc'd the second Battle o'er the Fields.
Their gilded Banners high in Air display'd,
And Omphraville and Clifford at their Head.

163

The noble Bruce perceiv'd them from afar,
And at the second Rampart rang'd his War.
Seven hundred Scots in native Armour shone,
And Spears and Axes glitter'd in the Sun.
The gen'rous King full in the Centre stood,
And on his Right the fiery Edward rode.
The Left, to Battle rang'd in firm Array,
Were led by doughty Douglas to the Day.
Three hundred Waggoners, ignoble Crowd,
Upon the Hill, retir'd, at Distance stood.
Approach'd the Foe. The Monarch gives the Sign,
And rushing Pow'rs in furious Combat joyn.
From either Host promiscuous Shouts arise,
Ring thro' the Hills, and thicken up the Skies.
With Spears protended, and opposing Shields,
Together, dreadful, rush the adverse Fields.
Resounds the Crash of Lances thro' the Air,
And Roars, transfix'd with Wounds, the dying War.

164

The Lances broke, unsheath'd by eager Hands,
Thro' all the Ranks thick Flame the glitt'ring Brands.
The noble Pembroke animates his Train,
Inspires the Combat, and supports the Plain.
You have I chose, he said, to guard my Fame.
On you alone depends your Pembroke's Name.
Meantime the Bruce in ev'ry Rank appears,
Aids ev'ry Scene, and ev'ry Danger shares.
Each single Warrior by his Name he calls,
Commends his Worth, and ev'ry Blow extols.
Thro' all the Field he sheds a Father's Care.
Each Soldier's Bosom warms, and cheers the War.
'Tis yours, my Friends, he said, this Day to show
If I must rule ye, or yon soreign Foe.
Lodg'd in your Hands is all your Bruce's Fate,
By you he's wretched, or by you he's great.
In you your Country's latest Hope remains,
Her ancient Freedom, or her future Chains.

165

He spoke, and bursting on the hostile Bands,
Unquestion'd Death in ev'ry Blow descends.
Ev'n Edward wonders at his Brother's Might,
And onward rushes to support the Fight.
Clifford and Omphraville exert their Pow'r,
Thick burns the Combat round th'ensanguin'd Shore.
Here daring Douglas and the gallant Hay,
There subtile Boyd resistless urge their Way.
The Crimson Torrents roll along the Strand,
And Heaps of Warriors, dying, spurn the Sand.
The King the Vanguard broke, and all around
Widens the spreading Ruin o'er the Ground.
Next Edward ravages the bloody Coast,
And breaks, and drives, and scatters Clifford's Host.
The South'ron Rear beholds the Van defeat,
And spite of Threats and Promises retreat.
In vain great Pembroke, long in Battle skill'd,
Us'd all his Conduct to sustain the Field.

166

Vain were his Flatt'ries, his Reproaches vain,
The Grampian Legions thunder thro' the Plain.
As when some Storm, long hung in bellying Clouds,
Bursts from their hollow Womb and sweeps the Woods,
The roaring Tempest in its Rage descends,
This Way and that the cracking Forest bends;
Nor able to oppose its dreadful Course,
Yields to the Blast, and falls beneath its Force:
So yield, o'erpower'd at length, the hostile Lines,
And all the wav'ring Field at once inclines.
The Scots to Ground a Thousand Warriors bore,
Bold Troops! the Pride of all the South'ron Pow'r.
The rest amaz'd, and daunted at the Sight,
From the dire Field precipitate their Flight.
Homeward great Pembroke, from the Scottish Coast,
Retires, indignant, and resigns his Trust.
The Chiftains fled along, and all the Band,
Dispers'd, at once desert the hostile Land.

167

The Provinces to Bruce their Homage pay,
And all the West, obedient, owns his Sway.

The West reduc'd, with Banners broad display'd,
The Monarch to the North his Squadrons led.
His hardy Brother, and the gallant Hay,
Lennox and Boyd attend him on his Way.
Meantime bold Douglas with his trusty Friends,
Private, to Douglasdale his Passage bends;
Reduc'd his Fortress, and his native Lands,
And Etrick whole rescu'd from South'ron Hands.
Randolf, and Stuart, who had since Methwin's Plain,
Renounc'd their Faith, and serv'd the hostile Train;
Both Pris'ners of War the Douglas made,
And, after, to the King the Kindred-Captives led.
Meantime the King still northward march'd his Host,
But on the Mountains sicken'd as he past.
Of this inform'd, Buchania's Rebel-Thane
Near Inverury rendezvouz'd his Train.

168

Fix'd to Revenge, his treach'rous Uncle dead,
Full Fifteen hundred to the Field he led,
Brechin, Himself, and Moubray at their Head.
Of their Approach the Monarch quickly hears,
And, unrecover'd, for the Fight prepares.
Straight he commands a Troop to guard him round,
And bear him in a Litter to the Ground.
His Brother orders in the Van to ride,
And Hay, and Boyd, and Lennox by his Side.
These, secret, bids direct him in the Fray,
Check his fierce Heat, and guide him thro' the Day.
Pleas'd with his Orders Edward quickly shines
Before the Van, and onward leads the Lines.
In Arms Seven hundred hasten to the Plain,
The bold Array soon shook the Coward Thane;
Nor daring to endure the Warlike Sight,
The Rebel Squadrons meditate their Flight.

169

The King that Instant felt his Illness gone,
And, mounting, sudden in the Centre shone.
His Friends, astonish'd, rend with Shouts the Air,
Inglorious fled at once the Rebel War.
Cummin and Moubray haste, to shun their Death ,
To South'ron Shores, but there resign their Breath.
Brechin to his own Castle bends his flight,
And there besieg'd, soon owns the Bruce's Right.
The Monarch rode thro' all the Northern Land,
The North at once acknowledg'd his Command.
To Angus thence returning, rests a While,
Then Forfar's Fortress levels with the Soil.
To Tay advancing next, the Royal Pow'rs
With hardy Force assaulted Bertha's Tow'rs.
Their Ladders rear'd, the Monarch foremost scales,
And all the Legions sudden mount the Walls.

170

The Tow'rs demolish, and the Works around,
The scatter'd Ruins smoke along the Ground.
These all reduc'd, straight with a select Band,
Edward advanc'd to Gall'way's rugged Strand;
St. John, and Omphraville in Arms well skill'd,
Twice there defeat, and drove them from the Field;
Victorious over all the Region past,
And to his Brother's Sway reduc'd the Coast.
Douglas now Master of his native Land,
Straight to the Monarch reconducts his Band;
Makes Stuart, and Randolf in his Journey share,
And to the King presents the Rebel-Pair.
Soon Stuart, submissive, own'd his forc'd Offence,
And had his Crime giv'n to his Penitence.
But Randolf, obstinate, the King ordains
To stricter Durance, only free from Chains;
Till Friends, and his Repentance interpos'd,
Obtain'd his Pardon, and the Captive loos'd.

171

Brave Randolf! first amongst the Loyal Train,
Created Lord of Murray's fertile Plain.

The Royal Host, again led forth to War,
In Arms to Lorn (rebellious Clime) repair.
That Chief the Royal Cause had long distrest,
O'errun, and ruin'd half the Loyal West.
With Rage the Monarch feels his Bosom glow,
And, fraught with Vengeance, hastens to the Foe.
Appris'd, bold Lornconveens his trait'rous Pow'r,
Two thousand Targes glitter on the Shore.
Hard by the Sea, where a rough Mountain's Brow
Slop'd by Degrees, and touch'd a Stream below.
Deputed Leaders the fierce War array,
Himself embarqu'd beheld them from the Sea.
For Lorn now dreading hardy Bruce's Might,
Had man'd his Galleys to secure his Flight.
By Spies ascertain'd of the Rebels Post,
The wary Monarch soon divides his Host.

172

Douglas he orders with the Archer-Lines,
(And Gray and Fraser to that Leader joyns)
Unseen by any Foe, their Rout to keep,
And fetch a Compass round the rugged Steep;
Soon as they heard himself begin th'Attack,
Then, unawares, to charge the Rebels Back.
Douglas obeys. The Monarch takes his Way,
And, foremost, boldly mounts the craggy Bay.
Advance the Foe, and from the Mountain pour
Vast Heaps of tumbling Stones, a rocky Show'r.
In vain. The King still presses to the War:
By that stern Douglas thunders on the Rear.
The Vanguard in close Fight the Monarch joyn'd,
And the fierce Archers gall'd them from behind.
Th'environ'd Rebels desp'rate in the Fight,
Exert the utmost Rage of savage Might.
Vain Rage! behind in feather'd Tempests flew
The whizzing Flanes, and wide Destruction drew.

173

The hardy King the Ruin spreads before,
In Heaps the Dead and Dying crowd the Shore.
A few escap'd, but met the Fate they shun'd,
Amidst th'adjoyning Streams deep Eddies drown'd.
M'Dougal's self swift launching to the Main,
Plows to some distant Coast the wat'ry Reign.
Submits Argyle at last to Bruce's Sway,
And all the Tribes their due Obedience pay.

Now from the Heights descend the Loyal Pow'rs,
And spread their Conquests o'er the Champaign Shores.
Linlithgow Peil by Binny's Means they gain,
And the strong Bulwark level with the Plain.
To Perth the Monarch march'd, and Randolf rais'd
To Favour now, and high with Titles grac'd;
To the Wing'd Camp advanc'd by Fortha's Coast.
And near the Maiden-Fortress lodg'd his Host.

174

The Maiden-Fortress still the South'ron keep,
And Randolf boldly storms the rocky Steep.
In vain. Impregnable the Castle stands,
And mocks the Labours of the Loyal Bands.
Frances at last a secret Passage found,
And led the Chiftain up the craggy Mound.
First Frances mounts by Night, the Legions scale,
And drive the Watches headlong o'er the Wall.
Arose the Guards, and quick commence the War,
The hardy Scots their sudden Weapons bare;
Fierce on the Foe the hardy Randolf flew,
And at a Stroke the South'ron Captain slew.
The doughty Legions seconded their Head,
And all the the Guards along the Works lay dead.
Bold Randolf thus Edina's Fort possest,
And long fatigu'd, indulg'd his grateful Rest.
Meantime the Douglas on the Border Dales,
Roxburgh's strong Tow'rs by Craft nocturnal Scales.

175

Unseen the Warriors climb the sleepy Mound,
And all the Fortress scatter o'er the Ground.
All Teviotdale by Force the Chief o'erruns,
The Land reduc'd its rightful Sov'reign owns.
By this fierce Edward on th'Alectian Shore,
Had quickly rendezvouz'd his select War.
Into the Town his hardy Legions pours,
And soon in Ruins lays the ancient Tow'rs.
Without Delay from thence to Stirling's Coast,
Boldly advances the victorious Host.
Around the Walls dispos'd, the hardy Train,
Assault with Fury, but assault in vain.
That Seat the gallant Moubray boldly held ,
Wise at the Board, and daring in the Field.
Edward impatient of the tedious Hours,
And Moubray dreading his decaying Stores;

176

Both to a mutual Interview advance,
And artful Moubray thus propounds his Sense.
‘My Lord, you've prov'd and found the Fortress strong,
‘The Siege expensive, and the Labour long.
‘Cou'd you accept a Truce for certain Days,
‘Throughout which Time Hostilities may cease;
‘Then I, assisted by the South'ron Might,
‘Shall fairly meet your Troops in equal Fight.
‘But if I'm still unsuccour'd by these Pow'rs,
‘Then at the Day the Fortress shall be yours.’
Edward unseen in politic Designs,
Accepts the Terms, and the sly Treaty signs,
And from the leaguer'd Walls draws off the Scottish Lines.
To fair Augusta Moubray speeds his Way,
The haughty Seat of great Caernarvan's Sway .

177

There the bold Chief, before the South'ron States,
Propones the Treaty, and the Terms relates.
The King and Peers applaud the Leader's Sense,
Commend the Truce, and jest the Scottish Prince.

Meantime to Perth, where his wise Brother lay,
Good undesigning Edward shapes his Way:
Joyful, relates each various Action done,
The Treaty sign'd, and hardy Moubray gone.
The Monarch heard the Terms with vast Surprize,
And on his thoughtless Brother fix'd his Eyes.

Then thus. ‘Fond Man! which shall I first regret,
‘A Brother's Folly, or my Country's Fate?
‘Harass'd with Toil, with Dangers press'd before,
‘Hast thou not learn'd to know yon Monarch's Pow'r?
‘Yon Monarch! whom no neighb'ring States withstand,
‘Sole Heir of all his Father's large Command.
‘Whose Sway not Britain's Shores alone restrain,
‘Wide stretch his Conquests o'er the distant Main.

178

‘His Tyranny, not Cambria feels alone,
‘Or in his Bonds Hibernian Valleys groan.
‘Great Part of France, and Flanders owns his Claim,
‘And Europe trembles at his mighty Name.
‘Drawn from those Climes, what Swarms shall crowd our Shore?
‘How vast th'Assemblage! how array'd the Pow'r!
‘Their Numbers shall our outmost Thoughts beguile,
‘Extend o'er Shires, and darken half the Isle!
‘The Rebel-Scots besides, a potent Line ,
‘(In Arms already) shall their Standards joyn.
‘Then what are we, how small our native Lands?
‘How weak our Force, how thin our loyal Bands?
‘See our dispeopled Plains, our barren Soil,
‘To Faction long expos'd, and foreign Spoil.
‘Consider this, and view the Treaty made,
‘And all our Hopes in that one Treaty dead.

179

‘By cautious Steps we hop'd our Right to gain,
‘But, rashly, thou hast render'd Caution vain.
‘Disarm'd, and bound by Truce so long a Date
‘Secures the Tyrant, and completes our Fate.
‘Long have we vainly spent our tedious Hours,
‘'Midst hoary Mountains, and deserted Shores.
‘'Midst Cold, and Heat, and Hunger's pinching Pain,
‘Long have we toil'd, but long have toil'd in vain.
‘In anxious Thoughts have past the wakeful Night,
‘And, girt with Foes, consum'd the dang'rous Light.
‘By Suffring, partly we regain'd our Sway,
‘And, Fabius-like, we conquer'd by Delay.
‘In one rash Word now all our Labour's gone,
‘Our Hopes extinguish'd, and our selves undone.
‘Say, Brother! Whence shall we our Troops prepare,
‘Where is our Force to meet yon dreadful War?’
He spoke, disdainful—Edward fierce, replies,
‘By all the Pow'rs that tread yon spangled Skies;

180

‘Let Isles united with the distant Land,
‘And Europe pour her Millions on our Strand;
‘Resolv'd, I'll dauntless face the dread Array,
‘And meet the glorious Terrors of the Day.
‘I love the gen'rous Treaty, and in vain
‘Shou'd Crowns and Sceptres bribe me from the Plain.
‘Scotland may see me fall, but never yield,
‘Or fly, a Coward, from so brave a Field!’

The Monarch smil'd. His dauntless Soul he knew,
And what he dar'd to say, he dar'd to do.
The noble Warrior in his Arms he prest,
And all the Brother kindled in his Breast.
Then thus. ‘So may just Heav'n our Counsels aid,
‘As I shall sacred keep what thou hast said.
‘Haste then, bid all our Loyal Friends prepare
‘To joyn our Standard 'gainst the Day of War.
‘The Day! when each Pretension shall be try'd,
‘And Heav'n determine on the juster Side.’

181

Meanwhile Caernarvan mounts his Royal Seat,
The Peers around in splendid Order wait.
Thence to the Chiefs he issues his Commands,
To raise his Pow'rs, and muster all his Bands.
Near Berwick's Walls; on Twedda's fertile Plains,
The Royal Writ the Rendezvous ordains.
The Warlike Chiefs in sudden Armour shone,
And round dispatch'd the Mandate of the Throne.
Straight ring the South'ron Shores with loud Alarms,
And Drums and Trumpets, mingled, sound to Arms.
Sing, Muse, from various Climes th'assembled Throng,
And fit their Names, and Numbers to the Song.
Where Wye's smooth Stream, and Severn's fiercer Tide
Thro' Cambrian Dales in wild Meander's glide;
Where British Billows pent, indignant, roar,
And, furious, lash old Cornwal's chalky Shore;
Rose Thirty thousand, in strange Arms array'd,
And hardy Monmouth glitter'd at their Head.

182

Where Tame and Isis roll their royal Waves ,
And the mixt Current Princely Structures laves;
Where flows the Ouze, and Trent divides the Land ,
(Both lost in Humber's more capacious Strand)
Arose the mighty Trinobantian Host ,
And Fifty thousand cloud the darken'd Coast.
The moving Bands the neighb'ring Vales o'erspread,
By Arundel, and gallant Oxford led.

From Humber's Stream, whose tumbling Waves resound,
And deafen all th'adjoyning Coast around;
To where the Tweed in softer Windings flows,
Full Fifty thousand quiver'd Warriors rose.

183

A hardy Race, who (well experienc'd) knew
To fit the Shaft, and twang the bended Eugh.
Bred up to Danger, and inur'd to dare
In distant Fight, and aim the feather'd War.
These Bands their Country's highest Triumphs boast:
And Glocester, and Hartford led the Host.

Advance the factious Scots, a Rebel-Line,
And to the Foe their impious Levies joyn.
Five times Five thousand, by Experience skill'd
To mix in closer Combat on the Field;
Led by great Omphraville, well known to Fame;
And bold Corspatrick, a redoubted Name.

Next to the Scots approach th'Hibernian Pow'rs,
From hoary Mountains, and from fenny Shores;
Three times Ten thousand strong, a nervous Race,
Bred to wild Game, and nimble in the Chase.
Before these Troops, Fitz-Gerald's haughty Son,
The brave Oneil, and hardy Desmont shone.

184

From Gallia now, and Belgium's distant Coast,
In Arms assembled, moves the foreign Host.
Twice Twenty thousand whole, a Warlike Train,
In sixty Galleys plow the liquid Reign.
Nor does the Muse the Leaders Names rehearse,
Nor stand those Names so smooth in British Verse.
Albion's white Cliffs soon gain the foreign Sails,
And pour their Legions on Northumbrian Vales.

Now with the King from fair Augusta's Tow'rs,
Proceeds the Court to Berwick's crowded Shores.
The awful King! in Gold and Gems array'd,
The vast the wondrous Rendezvous survey'd;
His thick Battalions views extended far,
And glories in the lengthen'd Pomp of War.
The various Climes in various Armour shine,
And distant Nations wonder as they joyn.

185

Review'd, wide o'er the Fields encamp the Pow'rs,
Repairs the shining Court to Berwick's Tow'rs.

Near Stirling's Walls where Forth's large Billows play,
The noble Bruce with twice two Hundred lay;
From whence around his Royal Writ he sends,
To warn the Chiefs, and summon all his Friends.
Meantime he view'd the Ground, and mark'd a Plain,
Th'intended Muster of the Loyal Train.
Before that Plain, a League extended, lay
A Green-sward Marish, on a slaunting Bay.
The King, well seen in all Events of War,
The muddy Fen surveys with cautious Care.
His Troops he calls, and digs, a Spear-length deep,
The level Marish, from the sloping Steep:
Then Plants with sharpen'd Piles the Track around,
And close with Hurdles cov'ring o'er the Ground;
Untouch'd the Plain appear'd, and all the hollow sound.
Behind those Fens the King resolv'd to stand,
And there the haughty Foes first Charge attend.

186

The Scottish Peasants from the Champaign Shore,
Up to the Mountains led their Houshold Store;
The Plains of Herds and Victual dispossest,
And left the Country one abandon'd Waste.

Now rings th'Alarm along the Northern Coasts,
And rush to War the Caledonian Hosts.
From Skye, Pomona's Isles, and Caithness' Strand,
Three thousand Targets glitter o'er the Land.
The Skye, and Orkneys their own Chiftains Head,
And Caithness' Troops the gallant Sinclair led.
Strathnaver, Sutherland in Arms appear,
And the bold Rossians issue to the War.
The brave M'donalds and M'kenzies joyn,
Frasers, and Grants, and the Clanchattan Line.
That stretch, dispers'd, along th'Hebridian Shores .
Monroes, M'Cleans, M'kays, and all the Pow'rs,

187

These hardy Troops in Scythian Arms array'd,
Distinct in Tribes, their proper Chiefs obey'd.
Conveen the Bands on Rossia's spacious Bay,
And twice Three thousand Bucklers gild the Day.
From Murray's Shores advance a Thousand Spears,
And daring Randolf at their Head appears.

East on Tæzalia's Coast, there lies a Plain,
Blest with rich Pasture, and luxuriant Grain;
Much fam'd for Cattle, much for Woolly Store,
But for its hospitable People, more.
On its smooth Margin German Billows play,
And pour their finny Millions in each Bay.
This Region 'spite of the false Thane's Commands ,
Rais'd and maintain'd at its own Charges, sends
A Thousand Warriors to the Royal Aid,
By bold Philorth, and brave Pitsligo led.

188

And now in Arms the noble Gordon shines,
And Enzie's Squadrons to Strathbogy joyns.
Abria's keen Axes in the Centre glare,
And Badenoch gleams, horrid, in the Rear.

Next, hardy Forbes, and the gallant Mar,
On Don's fair Borders rendezvous the War.
Forbes! in Scotia's Annals long renown'd,
And oft old with Loyal Laurels crown'd.

Horestia's Plains a Thousand Warriors yield,
And Godlike Marshal leads them to the Field.
Thrice noble Chief! I feel my Spirits roll,
And all the Hero rushes to my Soul.
Where shall the Muse commence thy deathless Fame?
From what immortal Æra trace thy Name?
She saw thy Sire of old, on Barry's Shore,
When rapid Lochty groan'd with Cimbrian Gore.

189

She saw him 'midst surrounding Ruins stand,
When hardy Camus bit the bloody Strand.
When from the Field he bore the regal Spoils,
Proud Prize! the Badge of his triumphant Toils.
Oft wou'd the Muse have sung the Godlike Line,
But the bold Task still check'd the just Design.
Fond She set out, but felt the Theme too strong
Too high the Labour, and too vast the Song!
Nor needful—For, what Genius ever sings
Of Scotia's Heroes, and her ancient Kings;
Let their fam'd Deeds but once the Muse engage,
And still some Keith shall glitter in the Page.

Next, where the Esk a double Current pours,
And laves Æneia's ever Loyal Shores;
Two thousand Lances gleam along the Strand,
Strathmore, Southesk, and Airly led the Band.
Airly, renown'd for ancient Honours gain'd,
When Gilchrist conquer'd, and a William reign'd.

190

Kinnaird and Falconar their Legions call,
The brave Dundee, and ever faithful Maule.

Adjoyning near, a fruitful Region lies ,
The darling Care of more indulgent Skies;
Whose Sunny Mountains, and luxuriant Vales,
Are fann'd by friendly Zephyr's softer Gales;
Where the rich Year in vast Profusion reigns,
Riots in Groves, and revels on the Plains:
Thence came a Thousand in bright Mail array'd,
Glitter'd the mighty Arrol at their Head.
Full of his Sires, the Hero took the Field,
Display'd, the Yoke glar'd in his bloody Shield.
Proud Ensign! Glory of that dire Debate,
Where dauntless Hay revers'd the Scottish Fate;

191

When Loncarty beheld th'Albanian Pow'rs
Vanquish'd, and routed on her sanguine Shores;
'Twas then, great Hay oppos'd the shameful Flight,
Drove back the conquer'd, and renew'd the Fight;
Thro' Cimbrian Ranks, impetuous, forc'd his Way,
And thund'ring with his Yoke restor'd the Day.
By him thus (wond'rous!) rose the ruin'd State,
Conquer'd by Loss, and triumph'd by Defeat!

'Twere long in ancient Actions to engage,
And crowd with diff'rent Characters the Page;
Nor needful is the Task. Our Chiefs of old
Brave by Succession, and by Birthright bold;
In all their Father's various Virtues shone,
And ev'ry Sire descended in the Son.
Bred to the Field, and conscious of their Might,
They rang'd the Globe, and taught the World to fight.

From Fife's fair Coast Three thousand take the Plain,
Headed by Weemyss, and Crawford's ancient Thane.

192

The noble Weemyss! M'duff's immortal Son,
M'duff! th'Asserter of the Scottish Throne;
Whose Deeds let Birnane and Dunsinnan tell,
When Canmore battled, and the Villain fell.

By Athol, and by Perth array'd to War,
Three thousand Lances glitter in the Air.
See! glorious in his Sires, the great Montrose,
Amidst his conqu'ring Grahams to Battle goes.
His Mail bright Studds of Gold enamel'd gild,
Th'immortal Trophy of some ancient Field.
Three times Five hundred to the War proceed,
By Eglinton, and Nairn and Bothwel led.
Carrick and Kyle pour forth their hardy Train,
And Kennedy conducts them to the Plain.
Renfrew, and Bute, and Rothsay joyn their Aid,
Glitters the Godlike Stuart at their Head.

193

Advance in Arms the Argathelian Lines,
And in the Van the Loyal Campbel shines.
Some faithful Aids approach from Lothian's Coast,
And Seton's Loyal Off-spring leads the Host.
From Mercia's fertile Plains appear'd a Band,
Obedient to the gallant Hume's Command.
Confed'rate Dales, and Warlike Borders joyn,
Proud at their Head to see great Douglas shine.
Fierce Edward, last, leads from his native Shores,
Rang'd to the Field, the Gallovidian Pow'rs.

Thus from the distant North, and Solway's Sands,
At Bannock-Burn arriv'd the Loyal Bands.
The King with Joy beheld th'assembled Train,
Full Five and Thirty thousand, crowd the Plain.
The Chiefs embrac'd, and view'd the Squadrons round,
Assign'd their Stations, and mark'd out the Ground.
The Leaders to the Royal Tent repair,
And o'er the Fields encamp th'inferior War.

194

Now, in ten Battles rang'd, from Tweda's Vales,
The South'ron Pow'rs advance thro' Lothian Dales,
The wide extended Pomp the Region fills,
Glares o'er the Lawns, and gleams along the Hills.
Nations on Nations shade the crowded Strand,
From Shore to Shore, and cover half the Land.
Thick as the waving Grain the Valley Clouds,
Or Leaves in Spring that load the blooming Woods;
Lances and Shields emit their blended Rays,
And o'er the distant Plains confus'dly blaze.
Thro' Lothian swift advance the swarming Pow'rs,
And, sudden, crowd Bodotria's winding Shores.
Thence, quick, arriving at the various Fane,
Wide o'er the Fields encamp the num'rous Train.

Detach'd old Stirling's Fortress to secure,
Before the Host, Lord Clifford leads his Pow'r.

195

In Arms Eight hundred with that Leader ride,
Choice Bands! the mighty Edward's chiefest Pride.
Meantime bold Randolf, charg'd a Post to keep,
Close by the Temple, on a sloping Steep,
Thro' which, unheeded by the Scots, the Chief
March'd his swift Legions to the Town's Relief;
Foul Negligence! to expiate his Offence,
And soothe the just Displeasure of his Prince;
With eager Steps pursues th'escaped War,
Two hundred Lances shining in his Rear.
Soon as the South'ron Chief the Scots beheld
With Force inferior boldly take the Field;
Disdainful, in Array he rang'd his Band,
And in the Front himself and Howard stand.
Howard the brave! a Knight renown'd in Fame,
The Boast, the Glory of the South'ron Name.

196

Ambitious Chief! too eager in the Strife,
Too rashly bold, and Prodigal of Life;
Forward thou rushest upon certain Death,
And midst unnumbred Wounds resign'st thy Breath.
Thy native Troops with Tears beheld thee bleed,
And England yet laments her Hero dead.

Meanwhile the Combat, furious, burns around,
And Crimson Tides roll, slipp'ry, o'er the Ground.
Baulk'd in his first Design, and fir'd with Spite,
The haughty Clifford, vig'rous, urg'd the Fight.
His lengthen'd Ranks extended o'er the Ground,
And just began t'enclose the Scots around.
This Randolf saw, and with a Gen'rals Care,
Dispos'd into an Orb his thinner War.
Each Way objected, Spears and gleaming Shields,
Glitter, an iron Circle, round the Fields.
And now both Hosts in closer Combat joyn,
And thick'ning Deaths in redder Ruin shine.

197

Nor knows the ardent Warrior to retire,
Fix'd where he stands to conquer or expire.
No blended Shouts of War's tremendous Voice,
Ring thro' the Hills, or rattle in the Skies,
The busied Field hears no tumultuous Breath,
But clashing Armour, and the Groan of Death.
Glorious each Chief, and grim with Dust and Blood,
Amidst the War with rival Fury rode.
Alongst the Strand the wid'ning Havock spread,
And round them roll'd in Heaps the mangled Dead.
But English Bow-men, long in Battle skill'd,
With feather'd Deaths sore gall'd the Scottish Field.
This Douglas viewing from the Camp afar,
Thus to the King prefers a Soldier's Pray'r.
‘Sov'reign! he said, may Heav'n direct the Day,
‘And may to Morrow's Sun secure thy Sway.
‘As I with Pity view yon dreadful Scene,
‘And Randolf sweating on th'unequal Plain.

198

‘Opprest with Numbers, and o'erwhelm'd with Foes,
‘Behold your Hero fainting in your Cause.
‘Soon shall he fall 'midst yon superior Host,
‘And Scotia in her second Hope be lost.
‘Forbid it Fate!—and thou, our gen'rous Prince,
‘Forgive a Nevoy's undesign'd Offence;
‘O'erlook the Fault, and let me haste to share
‘Yon bloody Field, and turn the Scale of War.
‘So may kind Heav'n confirm thy Right Divine,
‘And fix the Sceptre, ever, in thy Line.’

He said—The Monarch thus himself exprest,
(The gen'ral Scene engrossing, whole, his Breast)
‘No Aid from us this Day shall skreen his Crime,
‘My slighted Words, and his neglected Time.
‘Let him, unsuccour'd, 'midst yon furious Crowd,
‘Feel his past Folly, and repent in Blood.’

199

He spoke, and thro' the Camp pursu'd his Way,
To view the Troops, and predispose the Day.
Still on the Spot the hardy Douglas stay'd,
Fix'd to his Purpose, and resolv'd to aid:
When now the Foe, with Pleasure, he beheld,
Loose in their Ranks, and reeling in the Field:
Randolf and his, with unresisted Might,
Bearing down Crowds, and bursting thro' the Fight.
Then stopt th'intended Aid—lest Aid had stain'd,
The Glory by such Blood and Labour gain'd.
And now Lord Clifford's Troops desert the War,
And Randolf thunders on the flying Rear.
Back to their Host retreats the routed Train,
And twice two Hundred breathless press the Plain.
Randolf returns, the Monarch graspt his Hand,
And to their Rest ordain'd the weary Band.

200

By this the Night unusual Darkness spreads,
And Heav'n and Earth involves in thickest Shades.
No Beams from Cynthia's Silver Orb appear,
No lesser Taper twinkles in the Sphere;
But Nature sunk in sable Horrors lay
Profound, and pregnant with the future Day.
Yet watchful Bruce exerts a Father's Care,
And thro' the silent Gloom explores the War.
Views all the Lines, now part in Slumbers lost,
Part talking, wakeful, of the adverse Host.
In deep Attention, still he march'd along,
And mark'd the whole Behaviour of the Throng.
In ev'ry Word, in ev'ry Gesture skill'd:
And as he went dispos'd th'approaching Field.
Near to th'Entrenchments stood an ancient Fane,
The pious Structure of some former Reign.

201

Where Midnight Vows employ the rev'rend Sires,
And twinkle in their Lamps the drowsy Fires,
Thither his private Oraisons to pay,
Devout, the Monarch treads his silent Way.
The Priests receive him with Paternal Care;
But soon to Heav'n as he prefers his Pray'r,
Dreadful, thro' all the Skies loud Thunders roll,
And the thick Lightning gleams from Pole to Pole.
The Fathers, hasting to the Porch, espy,
Two flaming Armies Combat in the Sky.
The Legions seem'd to blaze in red Attire,
And all the visionary War on Fire.
Then sudden, in a Trail of flashy Light,
Downward bright Ariel shoots along the Night;
Straight to the King appears within the Shrine,
Celestial Glories round his Temples shine.
His flowing Robe in Azure Volumes roll'd,
Bright Sapphires blazing on Ætherial Gold,

202

(Pure radiant Gold of Heav'n, without Allay)
Around the Fane diffus'd a Flood of Day!
The gen'rous Monarch at the Sight amaz'd,
On the bright Form with awful Rev'rence gaz'd;
When Ariel thus. ‘From Regions distant far,
‘Beyond the Convex of yon arched Sphere;
‘Where blissful Minds dissolv'd in Raptures ly,
‘Or float on azure Pinions thro' the Sky;
‘Or on the Trine's immortal Glories gaze,
‘Bask in the Beams, and live upon the Blaze:
‘Down from those happy Seats, to thee I come,
‘To soothe thy Cares—Not to unfold thy Doom.
‘That secret lies beyond the Realms of Light,
‘Far in the Womb of Fate, and wrapt in Night.
‘To Heights of future Scenes in vain we soar,
‘The sole, fix'd Priv'lege of eternal Pow'r!
‘No more I know, but that to Morrow's Ray
‘Is doom'd to finish this contended Sway.

203

‘Thee I beheld, with anxious Cares opprest,
‘Alone to Heav'n resign thy pious Breast.
‘Go then, and boldly meet the stern Debate,
‘Be still thy self, and leave th'Event to Fate.
‘With pious Courage fraught, thy Fortune try,
‘A Fortune not unfavour'd by the Sky.’
This said, the Seraph swiftly wings his Way,
Mounts thro' the Spheres, and gains upon the Day.
Full of the wond'rous Scene, the Monarch trod
Back to the Camp his solitary Road;
Alone unto the Royal Tent repairs,
And a short Slumber overshades his Cares.

From Ocean now uprais'd, the God of Day,
Mournful and slow pursues his airy Way.
The fiery Car the Steeds, reluctant, roll,
Recoil, and scarce oppose the whirling Pole.
Condense the Vapours, not to feed the Blaze,
Or add fresh Fuel to decaying Rays;

204

But that the Beams might point Oblique, nor gild,
Direct, the Horrors of so dire a Field.

Now from Falkirk, by Fortha's winding Coast,
In dreadful Order moves the South'ron Host.
Men, Arms, and Steeds the Mountains shade afar,
And Valleys groan beneath the Load of War.
Unfurl'd in Air the golden Banners play,
And Clarions, Drums, and Trumpets rouse the Day.
Adjoyning Hills the loud Alarm rebound,
And Rocks and Forests multiply the Sound.
Great in the Van, and awful as a God,
In Gems and Gold the mighty Edward rode.
Round him, all sheath'd in Mail, a dreadful Line,
Three thousand Warriors on barb'd Coursers shine.
Bold Gloster, and Bohun a martial Knight,
Oxford, and Kent, and Hertford guard the Right.
The Left obeys sly Omphraville's Commands,
Joyn'd by Corspatrick's and by Clifford's Bands.

205

The Troops from Belgium, and from Gallia's Coast,
Make up the Centre of the martial Host.
Monmouth, Oneil, and Desmont next appear,
And with united Squadrons guard the Rear.
The quiver'd Bands around the Flanks dispos'd,
On either Side the moving Battles clos'd.
In pompous Order thus the num'rous Train,
Forward advances to the destin'd Plain.

Thro' Bruce's Host next ring the loud Alarms,
And Caledonian Trumpets sound to Arms.
All o'er the Camp the ready Squadrons stand,
And wait, impatient, for their Chief's Command.
Forth from his Tent advancing to the Lines,
The daring Monarch in bright Armour shines.
A cheerful Vigour sparkles in his Eyes,
And o'er his Face the martial Terrors rise.
Blaz'd his strong Corslet on his ample Breast,
And nodded on his Helm a bloody Crest.

206

Fast by his Thigh bright shone his flaming Brand,
An Ax of Steel gleam'd in his better Hand.
The Legions joyful, on their Monarch stare,
And wonder at the Godlike Form of War.
The Grampian Chiefs, array'd in Warlike State,
With cheerful Pomp upon their Monarch wait.
And now to Battle arms each loyal Band,
And thick'ning Squadrons form along the Strand.
Glare in the Van the bold Tæzalian Lines,
And at their Head the noble Randolf shines.
Rang'd on the Right the Southern Legions stood,
And on their Front the fiery Edward rode.
With him experienc'd Boyd divides the Sway,
Sent by the King to guide him thro' the Day.
Before the West upon the Left appears,
Young Stuart, and Douglas joyns his Border-Spears.
The other Chiefs their proper Stations held,
But These the gen'ral Leaders of the Field.

207

Instructed last the Rear in Order stood,
And at their Head the King, unusual, rode.
But whilst he views around th'embattled War,
The gen'rous Keith supplies his Master's Care.

And now both Hosts a Mile divided sat,
A short and anxious Interval of Fate;
When great Caernarvan waves his awful Hand,
And list'ning Thousands round their Monarch stand.
Then thus. ‘Behold, my Friends, our mighty Pow'rs,
‘From British Climes conveen'd, and foreign Shores;
‘Our Sire's immortal Laurels to maintain,
‘And fix our Conquests o'er the Grampian Reign:
‘Ev'n here your selves before have often fought,
‘And frequent Ruin on the Rebels brought.
‘This Day have we a mightier Force array'd,
‘Than e'er, at once, our Sire's Commands obey'd.
‘You then who still with him victorious shone,
‘Still conquer, nor degen'rate with the Son.

208

‘Behold how thin appear yon dastard Bands,
‘Scarce half sufficient for our Soldiers Hands.
‘Ev'n Thousands here shall find no Foe to slay,
‘But idly share the Triumphs of the Day.
‘Go then, my Friends, attack the puny Plain,
‘And drive yon Handful, scatter'd, to the Main.
‘Assert your own, assert your Monarch's Name,
‘Let Death, or Fetters crush yon Rebel's Claim.’
He spoke—With mingled Shouts resounds the Air,
And all the eager Troops require the War.

Now the bold Bruce before the Centre stands,
And thus accosts his Caledonian Bands.

‘Fellows in Arms! long did our Sires oppose
‘The haughty Insults of ambitious Foes.
‘Long hath our Country struggled with her Fate,
‘With Pictish Fraud, and Saxons savage Hate.
‘These too supported by Ausonian Pow'rs!
‘How did the mighty Ruin spread her Shores?

209

‘What Seas of Blood, what Mountains of the Slain,
‘Choak'd ev'ry Vale, and strow'd each purple Plain?
‘Thus fell our Sires; or, drove by Sword and Flame,
‘Fled far; and Scotia scarce remain'd a Name.
‘Yet Heav'n, relenting Heav'n beheld her Fate,
‘And arm'd the great Restorer of the State!
‘From frozen Climes, and Scythia's distant Strand,
‘The Godlike Man collects the scatter'd Band .
‘He came, he conquer'd, and her Right restor'd,
‘Doom'd to the Sway, and Albion's fated Lord.
‘Pictish and Saxon Spoils his Triumphs grace,
‘These banish'd, those a quite extinguish'd Race.
‘Next from the North, where Baltic Billows rave,
‘And Cimbrian Rocks the foamy Tempests lave;
‘Against our Sires advance the swarming Train,
‘Our hardy Sires, undaunted, take the Plain.

210

‘Let wond'ring Loncarty record the Day,
‘And to great Kenneth joyn the greater Hay.
‘Let Malcolm next, and Keith's superior Rage,
‘And Barry's Field run Purple in the Page!
‘When Lochty's Current, choak'd with Tides of Blood,
‘Groan'd to the Ocean in a Crimson Flood.
‘For Scotia's Right thus stood the Scots of Old,
‘Thus glare your Fathers in recording Gold.
‘Such were their Acts, and such their loyal Flame,
‘Such Glories blaze around each deathless Name!
‘And now, my Friends, this Day, methinks, I see
‘Those noble Patriots in their Progeny.
‘This Day! the last of all our long Debate,
‘The fix'd, important Period of our Fate.
‘How does yon King in Gold and Jewels glare?
‘What Pride of Armies! and what Pomp of War!
‘Behold yon vast Array, yon swarming Host,
‘How the extended Legions cloud the Coast!

211

‘This Hour! this instant Hour of Fate demands
‘Your Fathers Souls, and all your Fathers Hands.
‘We know the Deeds of ev'ry doughty Sire,
‘Nor shall we doubt their hardy Offspring's Fire.
‘Methinks I see great Graham undaunted go,
‘'Gainst Rome's proud Eagles, and the Saxon Foe.
‘Here are his Sons, behold the manly Race,
‘See how the Father threatens in their Face.
‘Methinks I see the Douglas' Sire of Old,
‘Red from his Toils, and resting on the Mold;
‘When the just Prince enquir'd the Hero's Name,
‘And Sholto Dow glas pointed him to Fame.
‘Already mention'd, needless I run o'er,
‘The Trophies by our Sires obtain'd before.

212

‘This glorious Day shall ev'n eclipse their Rage,
‘And Bannock-burn roll redder in the Page;
‘A new, a nobler Æra shall unfold,
‘And Scotia's Sons shall stand in brighter Gold.
‘Pardon, my Friends, that I the Field delay,
‘And stop with Words the Laurels of the Day;
‘That I retard the Freedom of the State,
‘Your Glory, and my own propitious Fate.
‘Go on, brave Scots, and let each Hero's Fire
‘Prove his bold Lineage, and assert his Sire.
‘Scotia this Day demands her ancient Right,
‘'Tis Scotia arms her daring Sons to fight.
‘The Pride, the Hate, the Tyranny you know,
‘And all the Rage of yon relentless Foe:
‘Think then, your Wives, and helpless Infants stand,
‘And Weep for Safety at each Warrior's Hand.
‘Dear Pledges! Let their Images remain
‘Fix'd in your Souls, and bear you thro' the Plain.

213

‘Let those soft Ties of Life, your better Part,
‘String ev'ry Nerve, and steel each Hero's Heart;
‘Thro' ev'ry Scene of Action point your Way,
‘And Heav'n, propitious, shall conduct the Day.’
He spoke—And Tears, indignant, swell'd their Eyes,
And furious Shouts to Battle tore the Skies.

But pious Bruce, in View of all the Host,
Prone on the Earth his suppliant Body cast;
His Hand apply'd unto his spotless Breast,
And thus the Father of the Skies addrest.

‘Immortal Pow'r! Whose sacred Voice, supreme,
‘Spoke to Existence this stupendous Frame;
‘Who sway'st the Nations with thy dreadful Nod;
‘And Crowns, and trembling Thrones confess the God!
‘If e'er with Lips unfeign'd my Vows I pay'd,
‘If e'er my Soul a pure Oblation made;
‘Regard my Suff'rings past, attend my Woes,
‘And judge, O judge this Day thy Suppliant's Cause.

214

‘If I, unrighteous, fall before yon Foe,
‘From thee, submissive, I receive the Blow.
‘But if my Right th'Almighty's Aid can claim,
‘Aid thou, and teach me to adore thy Name,’
The pious Monarch thus. And all the Bands,
With humble Hearts, and with uplifted Hands,
Devout, address the Sov'reign Pow'r on high,
Confess their Guilt, and deprecate the Sky.

This done, advancing from the South'ron Train,
A Knight in shining Armour cross'd the Plain .
His haughty Mien, and his gigantic Size
At once attracted ev'ry Warrior's Eyes.
The hardy Champion forth, disdainful, rode,
And in his Rest a Lance, enormous, stood.
Approaching, he defies each Scottish Knight,
And dares the Bravest out to single Fight.

215

Soon as the King the Giant-Foe beheld
Alone defy his Legions on the Field;
The Steed he reins, and rushes o'er the Strand,
An Ax well temper'd charg'd his better Hand:
Dauntless he rode to meet the Champion's Force,
And the proud Knight begins his furious Course;
Full at the Monarch aims his Length of Spear,
Th'eluded Weapon spends its Strength in Air.
The Courser bore him on, but as he past,
(Just where the Plume stood nodding on his Crest)
A forceful Blow the Monarch aims with Skill,
Thro' Helm and Brain down rush'd the shining Steel.
Prone fell the Champion on the gory Strand,
And the stern Visage threatned on the Sand.
This saw both Hosts, and from th'important Sight,
Each takes the Omen of the future Fight.
Returns the King, his Worth each Bosom fires,
And ev'ry Leader to his Post retires.

216

And now both Armies for the Fight prepare,
And shriller Clangors animate the War.
Drums, Trumpets, Clarions blend their warlike Noise,
Ring up the Air, and eccho thro' the Skies.
Woods, Vales, and Mountains the Alarm rebound,
And Heav'n and Earth appear'd involv'd in Sound.

Say, Sacred Nine! the dreadful Scene relate,
And paint the Wonders of the Day of Fate!
Approach the Foe, Ten thousand Gloster heads,
Ten thousand more the hardy Hertford leads.
Full on the Scottish Right they shape their Way,
Where Edward's Legions lin'd the hollow Bay;
The hollow Bay thick set with Piles before,
And with factitious Turff dissembled o'er.
Arm'd on rich Steeds the South'ron thither bound,
And plunge at once into the faithless Ground.
Five thousand whole lay wallowing in the Shore,
And sharpen'd Spikes Five thousand Coursers gore.

217

Edward to War his Infantry commands;
Rush the fierce Foot amidst th'entangled Bands.
Their fiery Leader thunders at their Head,
And fast around the wid'ning Slaughter spread.
Warriors and Steeds lay in one Ruin mix'd,
By Craft ingulph'd, and secret Piles transfix'd.
The rest, affrighted, from the fatal Coast,
Confus'dly flying, joyn'd the distant Host.

Again in Air the South'ron Banners play,
And Fifty thousand issue to the Day.
The hardy Monmouth heads his Cambrian Force,
And Oxford joyns his Trinobantian Horse.
To meet those Battles dauntless Edward goes,
But looks for Aid against such Odds of Foes.
Nor long expects.—Before his hardy Lines,
Soon at his Side the noble Randolf shines.
In quick Battalia form'd each adverse Train,
With double Rage commenc'd the second Plain.

218

Together fast the Burst of Battle goes,
And to the Skies the Shouts, tremendous, rose.
As when loud Winds the foamy Surges sweep,
And from its Caverns tear the bellowing Deep;
Or, as fierce Flames their crackling Torrents pour
Thro' Mountain-Forests, and the Shades devour;
Just with such Rage the Hosts together bound,
Just so the Clamours thro' the Heav'ns resound.
Soon as the Crush of Spears obscures the Air,
At once unsheath'd the gleamy Fauchions glare.
From clashing Arms the blended Sparkles blaze,
And blushing Torrents form a crimson Maze.
Here haughty Monmouth thunders in his Might;
There hardy Oxford animates the Fight,
In vain. See where fierce Edward swims in Gore,
And Randolf's mighty Arm lays waste the Shore.
See where the spreading Ruins of the Slain,
Thicken, and grow, and widen o'er the Plain!

219

Incline the South'ron Ranks; nor longer dare
Oppose the Fury of the Grampian War.
Monmouth and Oxford see their Troops give way,
And, pierc'd with Wounds, themselves forsake the Day.
Retreat the Legions to the gen'ral Host,
And Twenty thousand, lifeless, strow the Coast.
The Scots soon rally, and their Standards joyn,
And the form'd Troops again in Order shine.

Doubly repuls'd, now all the South'ron War,
Fir'd with Resentment, for the Field prepare.
In Gold array'd, and blazing Diamonds bright,
The mighty King rode foremost to the Fight.
Three thousand Knights in Mail, severely gay,
Rich on barb'd Steeds conduct him to the Day.
The long extended Legions fill the Train,
And crowding Nations thicken to the Plain.
Aloft, unfurl'd, the gilded Standards fly,
And all the Pomp of Battle strikes the Sky.

220

Where Edward's Legions and brave Randolf's stood,
Rally'd, and reeking still with recent Blood;
Array'd, the banded Squadrons proudly fare,
In all the dire Magnificence of War.
Unequal Match! But ere th'Attack begun,
Amidst the Chiefs the doughty Douglas shone.
Three thousand Bord'rers his Command obey,
Fresh to the Field, and ardent for the Day.
Him gallant Stuart in burnish'd Armour joyns,
And to the Onset leads his Western Lines.
Heroic Youth! nor had five Lustres shed
Their circling Seasons o'er his blooming Head.

The Charge begins. The Hosts together bound,
And Steeds and Warriors tumble on the Ground.
The crashing Spears in Clouds of Splinters rise,
Fierce thund'ring Hosts, deep Groans and mingled Cries
Ring round the Forests; ecchoing Rocks reply,
And all the War redoubles in the Sky.

221

The Monarch's steely Guards, amidst the Fight,
On Edward's Legions pour their awful Might;
Edward as furious meets the Iron-Train,
And Heads and Helmets ring against the Plain.
Hibernian Foot, and Gallia's warlike Horse
Toward the noble Randolf bend their Course.
The noble Randolf 'gainst those Squadrons rode,
And foreign Gore soon swell'd the neighb'ring Flood.
What Wonders were by dreadful Douglas wrought?
And ev'n young Stuart, not undistinguish'd, fought.
But Omphraville, in Arts of War long skill'd,
Draws forth the South'ron Bowmen to the Field.
Rang'd to th'Attack, full Fifty thousand came,
That drink the Tine, and Humber's tumbling Stream.
From twanging Eughs the whizzing Tempests fly,
And Clouds of feather'd Fates obscure the Sky.

By this Hyperion on his radiant Car,
Flam'd in the Zenith of the middle Sphere.

222

And now th'unerring Balances on high,
Fram'd of pure Gold, depended from the Sky;
The Work of Art divine, to weigh the Fates
Of Rival Monarchs, and contending States;
Impartial Heav'n's Decrees ordain'd to prove,
And fix th'Eternal Equity above.
Bright in the azure Vault the Balance shone,
And British Fates in either Side are thrown.
Sinking more pond'rous, Scotia's Lots prevail,
High mounts in Air, o'erpois'd, the South'ron Scale.

Meanwhile the King, nor yet engag'd, beheld
The bold Encounters on the various Field;
Joyful had view'd his glorious Leaders fight
In all the Terrors of their Fathers Might;

223

But now at last perceives the quiver'd Pow'r,
By crafty Omphraville well known before,
Rang'd on the hostile Flanks, in Order glare,
And gall with distant Wounds the Scottish War.
To Arms he calls, and Tribe by Tribe draws forth,
Array'd to Battle, the intrepid North.
Himself before the Squadrons takes the Plain,
And Hay and Keith and Gordon fill the Train.
His Troops M'kenzie to M'donald joyns,
And all the War in Scythian Armour shines.
The Dales around Hebridian Axes gild,
And bossy Bucklers glimmer o'er the Field.
Detatch'd before, the noble Marschal rode,
To quell the Fury of the Archer-Crowd.
Two thousand Spears obey the Chief's Commands,
Fiercely they rush amidst the quiver'd Bands.
The bold Detachment dealt destruction round,
Bows, Shafts and Warriors mingling on the Ground.

224

Nor able to sustain their awful Might,
Back to the Rear the Archers wing their Flight.

By this the King, Majestically great,
Shines in the Centre of the Day of Fate!
Stern Terrors rising brood upon his Brows,
And in his Looks the God of Battles glows.
Quick round the Field his piercing Eye-balls glare,
At once directed thro' each Scene of War.
Then as the Thunder, bursting from on high,
Drives thro' the gather'd Rack, and sweeps the Sky;
While Clouds, dissolv'd in mighty Torrents, pour
The sounding Ruin round the delug'd Shore;
So rush'd the Monarch 'midst the thickest Fight,
And flam'd in all the Wonders of his Might.
Gods! How his Rage the wid'ning Havock spread?
How thick around him rose the growing Dead!
What Tides of rolling Gore from Ranks o'erthrown,
Unite, and swell, and deeper float the Lawn.

225

The Lawn! that, late, fresh crown'd with Verdure lay,
Now Groans with Death, and waves a Purple Sea.
The distant War, astonish'd, stopt its Course,
And, wond'ring, view'd his more than mortal Force.
The hardy North's undaunted Sons engage,
And second thro' the Field their Monarch's Rage.
The foreign Troops, amaz'd, for Flight prepare,
And ev'n the great Caernarvan dreads the War.
But Omphraville collects the stagg'ring Lines,
And at their Head once more that Leader shines.
Bold Giles the Argentine renown'd in Fame,
And long in foreign Fields a dreadful Name;
Recalls the Belgian, and the Gallic Horse,
And joyns to Omphraville the rally'd Force.
The Scottish Battles, distant, on the Field,
Th'assembled Foe's fresh Rendezvous beheld;
From diff'rent Quarters their whole Troops combine,
And all at once the Monarch's Standard joyn.

226

The Monarch takes the Van, and all the Pow'r
Upon the Foe with dreadful Fury bore;
On them the hardy Foe as furious bound,
Deep groan'd beneath the Shock the trembling Ground.
The mighty Clash of Arms resounds in Air,
And Mountains eccho to the Din of War.
How did the Bruce, in all his dread Array,
Renew the former Wonders of the Day!
His Rage thro' ev'ry Scene of Battle ran,
Flam'd on the Flanks, or lighten'd in the Van.
Gods! How fierce Edward urg'd the stern Debate,
From his bold Hand what Warriors met their Fate!
In vain the Gallic Chief oppos'd his Pow'r,
Breathless by him extended on the Shore.
This Belgium saw, and Gaul's astonish'd Horse,
And fled, disorder'd, from his dreadful Force.
Bold Douglas, Randolf, Stuart, exert their Might,
Thunder thro' Death, and drive the scatter'd Fight.

227

Their Rage no more sustains the hostile Band,
All disarray'd, and reeling on the Strand.
And now the Sun had shot a fainter Ray,
His Car declining to the Western Sea;
When from the Heights descend the Scottish Swains:
The Foe beheld, afresh, the cover'd Plains.
They gaze some Time, astonish'd at the Sight,
Then all at once precipitate their Flight.
His Armies routed, and his Honour lost,
The great Caernarvan leaves the bloody Coast.
To where loud Billows beat Dumbartan Shores,
He flies; and Douglas drives the scatter'd Pow'rs.
By Sea at last he gains his native Sway;
Dead in the Chase Three thousand Victims lay.
Of hostile Corpses (dreadful to relate)
Full Fifty thousand gorg'd the Field of Fate.
Four hundred Spurs of Gold, Equestrian Spoils!
Part grace, and Part reward the Grampian Toils.

228

There Typont fell, and Glocester the brave
From Bruce's gen'rous Bounty found a Grave.
There the bold Argentine's fam'd Laurels fade, ,
Mix'd with the Ruins of the vulgar Dead.
The Argentine, who never knew to yield,
And scorn'd to fly, inglorious, from the Field:
In distant Climes for martial Toils renown'd,
And thrice his Head with Pagan Triumphs crown'd.
Four thousand Scottish Warriors yield their Breath,
Loyal in Life and glorious in their Death.
There Wepont fell, and Ross, renown'd of Old,
But still, in Scotia's Annals, live in Gold.
While thrice the Sun his course Diurnal rolls,
And, Shades, successive, thrice involve the Poles;
Still Bannock-burn choak'd with a Tide of Gore,
Groan'd in deep Murmurs to its ghastly Shore.

229

Edward escap'd; bold Douglas leads his Host
Back to victorious Bruce by Fortha's Coast.
Conjoyn'd, to Sterling march'd the laurel'd War,
And Spoils of Nations load each groaning Car.
Vast Troops of captive Foes the Pomp adorn'd,
And haughty Chiefs in hostile Fetters mourn'd.
Chiefs who, eftsoons by gen'rous Bruce dismist,
Restor'd his Royal Consort to his Breast.
Moubray the Fort surrenders, loyal grown,
And henceforth faithful to the Scottish Crown.

Now, glorious Bruce (all Opposition quell'd,
Each Faction crush'd, and ev'ry Foe repell'd)
Throughout the Provinces proclaims his Sway,
At once the willing Provinces obey.
From far Pomona's Coast to Solway's Shore,
Each Subject, loyal, owns his Sov'reign Pow'r.
His Friends rewarded, and his Host dismist,
With Bounty loaded, and with Freedom blest;

230

Each Office he invests with due Command,
Dispenses Laws, and constitutes the Land.
No more dare foreign Foes his Right invade,
No more dares Faction lift its Rebel-head.
No more the Grampian Swain in Battle bleeds,
But to the Sword the peaceful Rake succeeds.
The lab'ring Hind, free from oppressive Toil,
Turns the rich Furrows of his native Soil;
In Freedom, Peace and Plenty wastes the Day,
And all th'Indulgence of a righteous Sway.
No longer Caledonia now deplores,
Her ruin'd Cities, and her desart Shores;
Her Cities, round, their ancient Splendor gain,
And golden Harvests wave on ev'ry Plain.
At home rever'd, abroad diffus'd by Fame,
Thro' distant Climes resounds the Brussian Name.

Thus far the Muse, in unambitious Strains,
Hath sung the Monarch sweating on the Plains.

231

Immers'd in Ills, with Perils long beset,
(Glorious in Patience, and resign'dly great!)
Till by Degrees he gain'd upon his Foes,
Grew in Distress, and on his Dangers rose;
Triumphant 'midst the Spoils of Nations shone:
And now unrival'd, mounts his native Throne;
Where regal Ore, and Gems his Brows infold,
And everlasting Laurels shade the Gold.

While circling Spheres their endless Rounds shall run
And feel the genial Influence of the Sun;
While Earth shall daily on her Axle roll,
And the slow Wain attend the freezing Pole;
While Monthly Moons their Revolutions keep,
By Turns shall raise, and sink by Turns the Deep;
While Fortha, spacious, rolls her winding Waves,
And Tay's rich Stream Æneian Borders laves;
Still dear to Albion be her Bruce's Fame,
Sacred his Merit, and rever'd his Name.

232

So may just Heav'n maintain her ancient Crown,
And Banquho's Race for ever fill her Throne.
May both, ye Gods! one final Period know,
That cease to rule, and Fortha cease to flow.

Lord Clifford had got the Grant of Douglas his Lands from Edward I.

A Stead is a Scotch Word for a Country Farm or Cottage.

Brigida, or Brigitta, A holy Woman, to whom this Church was consecrated. She was the Institutor of an Order of Nuns in the Time of Pope Urban V. A. D. 1264.

from the Latin Fanum, a Temple or Church.

It was common in those Days to have a certain Word whereby to animate the Men when they began the Battle, or at any Time when they slacken'd, or began to weary, and intermit. This Word was commonly the Name of the King, or the Captain who led them at that Time, perhaps their Country, or the Cause for which they fought.

My Readers will please pardon the Levity of this Passage, I happen'd to be in a little Gaiety of Humour, and cou'd not get by it. If it gives Offence to the Criticks, as an Indecorum in a serious Performance, they may apply themselves to sacred or profane Antiquity, and they'll perhaps find the Character and Office of a Cook not so despicable as is commonly imagin'd, else I had hardly meddled with this poor Fellow at all.

Solway-Firth divideth England and Scotland on the West Border. It hath its Denomination from an ancient People call'd Selgovi, who, in Ptolomey's Time, dwelt near it, and were a Tribe of the Brigantes.

I consider'd this Action in all the Lights I possibly could, before I adventur'd to narrate it. It has indeed an Air of Improbability in it at first Sight, and savours somewhat of Romance. But if we look into the Character of the Person who manag'd it, a Man of the utmost Courage and Conduct, joyn'd to an extraordinary Strength of Body, advantag'd on this Occasion by the Circumstances of the Time (it being Night) and likewise by the Narrowness and Steepness of the Place; all these put together, did in my Judgment, salve the Probability, and induc'd me to the Narration. But I have the Reader to his own Opinion.

I wou'd not have our Critics mistake this Expression for an Impropriety. If they question it, they may (amongst others) consult Dr. Sewel's Translation of that Passage in Ovid, Traherent cum sera crepuscula noctem. The Dr. is reckon'd Classic.

Trenching, an old Word for Cutting. Hence Retrench, to take off, impair, or diminish.

I hope this Passage won't be excepted against, upon Account of the King's future Circumspection; because his Ignorance of such a Determination, made him still to go on to act with his usual Caution.

I design'd to have put this short Address in the Wife's own Language, as I have begun it in those two Lines; but am so afraid of the Cavils of little Wits, and the Effects they may have on ordinary Readers to my Prejudice, that all I dare do, is to show I thought it most natural it shou'd have been so.

This was one Sir John Moubray, not that Person we mention'd before, and who held Stirling Castle, as we shall hear by and by, whose Name was Sir Philip Moubray, a Man far Superior to the other.

The Castra Alata, or Wing'd Camp, an old Appellation of the City of Edinburgh.

The Castle of Edinburgh, a Passage was discover'd to it up the Rock by one William Frances.

This was the brave Sir Philip Moubray, at this Time in the English Interest, but after the Battle of Bannockburn, he became Loyal to King Robert.

Edward II. of England, was always call'd Edward of Caernarvan, a Place in Wales, where he was born.

Wales.

Ireland.

The whole Race of the Cumings, and their Allies.

The River Thames, upon which London is situated, the greatest in England. It has its Name from Thame, which rises in Buckingham Shire; and Isis, which rises in the Borders of Glocester, near the Confines of Wiltshire. They have their Confluence at Dorcester, and from thence running in one united Stream, fall into the German Ocean, 30 Miles below London.

The River Trent is reckon'd to divide England into two equal Parts, North and South. It rises in Stafford Shire, passeth through Derby Shire, Leicester Shire, &c. and below Burtoun in Lincoln Shire, falleth into the Humber.

Trinobantes were the People of Essex, Middlesex, and all about London.

The Name the modern English give to London.

The Hebrides are a vast Cluster of Islands, lying on the North-west and West of Scotland, scatter'd up and down the Deucaledonian Sea.

The Countries of Mar, Buchan, and all about Aberdeen; Buchan is only meant here.

Cunning Earl of Buchan.

The Country of Lochaber.

The Shire of Mearus.

The Reader will please observe here once for all, that we don't by any Means pretend, these Gentlemen were all nobilitated either before or at this Time. We only give them the Titles of their Posterity, in Order to make the Narration the clearer, and their Names more obvious to the present Age.

The Carse of Gowry.

The Story of M'beath's Usurpation, in the Time of Malcom Canmere, and likeways the Prophecy concerning Birnane-wood's coming to Dunsinnan-Castle, is so common, I need not insist on it.

Falkirk.

Sir William Howard, the noble Ancestor of the Duke of Norfolk.

Randolf had been commanded by the King, to guard a Pass near the Church, by which the Enemy behov'd to march to the Relief of Stirling; but having neglected it, he was oblig'd to follow and attack them on the Plain, with Numbers much inferior to theirs.

This was the more remarkable, upon Account of the Season of the Year, it being on the 20th of June, when in these Climates there is little or no Darkness at all.

Fergus II. who restor'd the Monarchy of Scotland, after it had been almost utterly extinguished by the Picts, Saxons and Romans.

This is said by some to have happen'd in the Reign of Soluathius King of Scots, Anno Dom. 787. to wit, that in an Engagement betwixt the Scots and Picts, aided by the Saxons, the Scots were in a manner intirely routed; but the extraordinary Bravery of this Dow glas turn'd the Fortune of the Day, and procur'd the Victory to the Scots. The King enquiring who he was whom he had seen behave so gallantly, a Gentleman pointed him out, as he rested himself on the Ground, and said, Sholto Dow glas, see the Black-grey Man. The King loaded him with Honours, and his Family hath ever since bore that Name.

This is said to be Sir Henry Boeme, or Bohun, of the Family of Warwick.

This Piece of Machinery (if we may call it so) the Reader will find made Use of both by Homer and Virgil; nor is it any Invention of theirs, or, indeed, owing to the Pagan Theology. We have several Authorities for it in sacred Writ, particularly that of Daniel, in the Account he gives of Belshazzar's Feast, Chap. 5. v. 27.

Sir Giles the Argentine, who commanded a part of the foreign Auxiliaries, was a brave Man, and had done signal Services abroad against the Saracens. He was call'd the Argentine, from Argentina a City of Alsatia in Germany, now Strasburg.