The legendary consisting of original pieces, principally illustrative of American history, scenery, and manners |
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THE BRUCE'S HEART. |
 | THE BRUCE'S HEART. The legendary |  |
230
THE BRUCE'S HEART.
BY THE AUTHOR OF `MORAL PIECES.'
The couch of death King Robert prest;
His nobles ranged around,
With head declined, and troubled breast,
To list his latest sound.
His temples bathed in painful dew,
The fainting monarch cried,
`Red Comyn in his sins I slew,
At the high altar's side.
`For this, a vow my soul hath bound,
In armed lists to ride,
A warrior to the Holy Ground,
Where my Redeemer died.
Lord James of Douglas! near me stand,
Firm friend in all my care!
Bear thou this heart to that blest land,
A contrite pilgrim there.'
He paused—for on in close pursuit,
With fierce and fatal strife,
He came, who treads with icy foot
Upon the lamp of life.
The brave Earl Douglas, trained to meet
Perils and dangers wild,
Low kneeling at his sovereign's feet,
Wept like a weaned child.
His nobles ranged around,
With head declined, and troubled breast,
To list his latest sound.
His temples bathed in painful dew,
The fainting monarch cried,
`Red Comyn in his sins I slew,
At the high altar's side.
`For this, a vow my soul hath bound,
In armed lists to ride,
A warrior to the Holy Ground,
Where my Redeemer died.
Lord James of Douglas! near me stand,
Firm friend in all my care!
Bear thou this heart to that blest land,
A contrite pilgrim there.'
He paused—for on in close pursuit,
With fierce and fatal strife,
He came, who treads with icy foot
Upon the lamp of life.
The brave Earl Douglas, trained to meet
Perils and dangers wild,
Low kneeling at his sovereign's feet,
Wept like a weaned child.
231
Beneath Dunfermline's hallowed nave,
Enwrapt in cloth of gold,
The Bruce's relics found a grave,
Deep in their native mould;
But locked within its silver vase,
Next to Lord James's breast,
His heart was journeying on apace,
In Palestine to rest,
While many a noble Scottish knight,
With sable shield and plume,
Rode as its guard, in armor bright,
On to their Saviour's tomb.
Their war steeds pressed the soil of Spain.
And lightning fired their eye,
To mark, in bold and gorgeous train,
Her flower of chivalry.
Alphonso 'gainst the invading Moor
Drew forth his proud array,
And set the serried phalanx sure
To bide the battle fray.
`God save ye now, ye gallant band
Of Scottish nobles true!
Good service for the Holy Land
Ye on this field may do.'
Forth with the cavalry of Spain
They rode in close array,
And the grim Saracen in vain
Opposed their onward way.
But Douglas, with his falcon glance,
O'erlooking spear and crest,
Saw brave St Clair with broken lance,
By Moorish foes opprest.
Enwrapt in cloth of gold,
The Bruce's relics found a grave,
Deep in their native mould;
But locked within its silver vase,
Next to Lord James's breast,
His heart was journeying on apace,
In Palestine to rest,
While many a noble Scottish knight,
With sable shield and plume,
Rode as its guard, in armor bright,
On to their Saviour's tomb.
Their war steeds pressed the soil of Spain.
And lightning fired their eye,
To mark, in bold and gorgeous train,
Her flower of chivalry.
Alphonso 'gainst the invading Moor
Drew forth his proud array,
And set the serried phalanx sure
To bide the battle fray.
`God save ye now, ye gallant band
Of Scottish nobles true!
Good service for the Holy Land
Ye on this field may do.'
Forth with the cavalry of Spain
They rode in close array,
And the grim Saracen in vain
Opposed their onward way.
But Douglas, with his falcon glance,
O'erlooking spear and crest,
Saw brave St Clair with broken lance,
By Moorish foes opprest.
232
He saw him by a thousand foes
Oppressed and overborne,
And high the blast of rescue rose
From his good bugle horn;
And, reckless of the Moorish spears,
In serried ranks around,
His monarch's heart, oft steeped in tears,
He from his neck unbound,
And flung it to the battle front,
And cried with laboring breath,
`Pass first, my liege, as thou wert wont—
I 'll follow thee to death.'
Stern Osmyn's lance was dire that day,
And keen the Moorish dart,
And there Earl Douglas wounded lay,
Upon the Bruce's heart.
Embalmed in Scotland's holiest tears,
That peerless chieftain fell,
And still the lyre through future years
His glorious deeds shall swell.
`The good Lord James,' that honored name
Each lisping child shall call,
And all who love the Bruce's fame
Shall mourn the Douglas' fall.
Oppressed and overborne,
And high the blast of rescue rose
From his good bugle horn;
And, reckless of the Moorish spears,
In serried ranks around,
His monarch's heart, oft steeped in tears,
He from his neck unbound,
And flung it to the battle front,
And cried with laboring breath,
`Pass first, my liege, as thou wert wont—
I 'll follow thee to death.'
Stern Osmyn's lance was dire that day,
And keen the Moorish dart,
And there Earl Douglas wounded lay,
Upon the Bruce's heart.
Embalmed in Scotland's holiest tears,
That peerless chieftain fell,
And still the lyre through future years
His glorious deeds shall swell.
`The good Lord James,' that honored name
Each lisping child shall call,
And all who love the Bruce's fame
Shall mourn the Douglas' fall.
| THE BRUCE'S HEART. The legendary | |