The Thane of Fife :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Thane of Fife

A Poem, in Six Cantos. By William Tennant

Tennant, William (1784-1848)

II.

III.

CANTO III.

IV.

CANTO IV.

CANTO V.

CANTO VI.

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CANTO III.

I

The sun, bright bounding on his wheels sublime
In flaming errand up th' ethereal height,
Had not yet ceas'd the hill of heaven to climb,
Crossing earth's longitudes with streams of light,
When Constantine, that all the morning time
Had weigh'd in thought his country's cares aright,
'Gan send his speedy messengers afar
Round through the Scottish land t' alarm it to the war.

II

Then flew his heralds, each on rapid steed,
From every gate of Kilry's city old,
And carried round th' astonish'd land with speed
The news to every Thane and Baron bold;
They bade them buckle on for day of need,
Their swords of eager steel and helms of gold,
And muster round him each his vassal band,
And guard the King with arms and vindicate his land.

III

For he, the noise and terror of the North,
King Hungar, with his proud sea-wafted host,
Abettors of the Pict, are issued forth,
And stalk with steps of murder on our coast;
Rouse ye, and prove your prowess and your worth,
Cheat the bold pirate of th' expected boast,
And push him back with slaughter and with shame,
Home to his native wave whence he presumptuous came.

IV

King Constantine, amid his household, waits
Thy coming in Sanct Androis' wall'd defence,
Protected by her walls and massy gates
Against the invader's bloody violence:
There sits he till his army congregates
The just completion of its power immense,
When, issuing forth to glory and the fray,
He from the fields of Fife shall chase the wolf away.

V

Thus they, fast posting round the land, proclaim'd
At once the levy and the news of war,
Arousing every Thane and Leader fam'd
In every shire and lordship near and far:
Meantime the King, with pious zeal inflam'd,
Turns to the blessed Saints his thoughtful care,
And bids convene his priests and ghostly men
To supplicate and kneel in Rule's most holy fane.

VI

They came, his priests of venerable mien,
All in their seemly garbs of worship drest,
Adrian the chief, of sinless soul serene,
With mitre and with silver crosier grac'd;
Kellach, in snowy vesture pure and clean,
His golden cross down dangling on his breast;
Monan and Fillin, in their cinctures fair,
With all their holy monks, the men of hymn and prayer.

VII

Outpour'd they to the day their multitude,
From every dark recess, and hall, and cell,
Crowding the street with mitre, cross, and hood,
In long procession to the clink of bell;
For every heart was now of mournful mood,
And gloom in every face was visible:
Such was the Danskers' dread; and so did fear
Eclipse their happy looks with shadows dark and drear.

VIII

The city, too, was shaken; she, through all
Her lanes and streets convuls'd with deep alarms,
Out-threw her num'rous thousands, great and small,
Gorging the ways with ever-swelling swarms;
Fathers with heavy looks funereal,
Mothers in tears with infants in their arms,
Children and tender virgins in dismay,
Join the religious train to worship and to pray.

IX

As march'd with solemn step the train along,
Their King and holy Adrian at its head,
Uprose to heaven the anthem and the song,
Far-sounding by ten thousand voices fed,
Now swelling up in heave of music strong,
Wherewith the city's spires all echoed,
Now dying down to solemn notes and low,
With tears and terror mix'd, and throbs of doubt and woe.

100

X

Till, when the chapel of St Rule they gain'd,
At last the reverential anthem ceas'd,
And through the boundless multitude there reign'd
Silence a while of people, King, and priest:
Upon the ground they knelt in faith unfeign'd,
And turning to th' adored shrine, where rest
Encas'd in gold, Saint Andrew's relics dear,
They supplicate aloud with fervency and fear.

XI

O thou (the Monarch's voice thus leads the prayer)
That sit'st in glory mid the choirs of heaven,
But to our land, bequeathment rich and rare,
Thy bones a token of thy love hast given,
Beneath whose patronage and guardian care
In works of war and peace our land has thriven,
Hear from thy place amid heaven's golden thrones,
Look down upon the shrine that holds thy honour'd bones.

101

XII

Look down upon thy people as they fall
Thus reverent and lowly at thy feet,
Hear, in thy love, their supplicating call,
And answer downwards from thy golden seat;
If e'er of old at solemn festival
Our sires have given thy name high honours meet,
If e'er to them thy love hath been display'd,
O visit now their sons with safety and with aid!

XIII

See how these ravagers, from Odin's hive
His warrior-worshippers out-pour'd abroad,
Fierce o'er thy shores, an host unbaptiz'd, drive
The hurricane of battle and of blood;
The banners proud, which to the winds they give,
Wave blasphemy against the Christian's God,
And Christian blood, spill'd out by wrongful sword,
Is the libation dire that glads their worshipp'd Lord.

102

XIV

O then, in pity to thy favour'd land,
Thus marr'd and tainted by a pagan crew,
Display the vigour of thy holy hand,
And smite their souls with mad confusion through,
That, homeward chas'd, a panic-stricken band
In wreck and shame their landing they may rue,
And warn their sons henceforth to shun the shore
That gave th' unbidden sires a chastisement so sore.

XV

So shall our sons, through many a future year,
To thy glad name increasing honours pay;
And round the land shall many a temple rear
To thee its dedicated turrets gay:
Then grant a sign, O Saint, and cause appear
Thy power and presence by some clear display,
That we, thy people, at that token given,
Still may rejoice in hope, and trust in thee and heaven!

103

XVI

Here ceas'd the prayer, and here was given a sign;
For in an instant from the sacred ground,
Whereon stood altar, fane, and golden shrine,
Issued a solemn and a fearful sound,
And all the temple by some power divine
Was shaken, and th' adjoining precincts round:
Monarch and people by that signal cheer'd,
Gave courage to their hearts that late so droop'd and fear'd.

XVII

Meanwhile, as they within the city pent
Solac'd their souls with pious service good,
The Cimbrian ruler in his haughty tent
Sits wrathful, meditating deeds of blood;
His scornful soul, on ravage still intent,
Calls up the vow he made upon the flood,
What time he in his ship nigh founder'd pray'd,
Bribing with promis'd blood his God to give him aid.

104

XVIII

He summons to his tent the gloomy priest
Of Odin, arm'd with murder-tainted knife:—
Fulbert! prepare the sacrifice and feast
Due to the God that sav'd from flood my life,
Twelve youths, all beauteous as the dawning east,
Cull'd from the bloomy boys of plunder'd Fife,
Twelve girls as fair, and of unspotted fame;
To mighty Odin those, and these to Odin's dame.

XIX

This charge receiv'd, the gloomy priest forth past,
Resolv'd and ruthless, on his bad emprise,
And took with him his warrior-troop that fast
Scour'd diverse, ranging for that sacrifice;
Towns, hamlets, farms, upland and coast they trac'd,
In cruel quest of victim and of prize,
From Carrail prowling upwards to the sea,
West to the crag that juts, Balcarras, o'er thy lea.

105

XX

They search'd, and found in upland or in coast
Twelve boys all bloomy as Narcissus' flower,
Twelve girls of snowy beauty, each the boast
Of dance in winter's hall or summer's bower;
They found; they seiz'd; their tender hands they cross'd
With cords of cruel bondage o'er and o'er;
They dragg'd them with rude violence unkind
On to the hated spot for that sad rite design'd:

XXI

E'en to thy walls, Sanct Androis, that thy King,
His lords, and all the citizens may view
Compell'd, affronted, pierc'd by sorrow's sting,
The priest, the murder, and the murd'rous crew,
Though anguish'd, impotent the while to bring
Life and relief to that fair weeping crew,—
There was design'd th' abominable spot;
Thither by forceful foe these tender victims brought.

106

XXII

There stood the heath'nish altars thrice-abhorr'd,
Built to receive that pure and guiltless blood,
Whilst round them, Cimbrian soldier, priest, and lord,
Gather'd in fearful preparation, stood;
Exulting barb'rously, with look and word
High-challenging, in proud and scornful mood,
The men of Scotland to descend and save
Their death-devoted youth from slaughter and the grave.

XXIII

Confusion then, and shame and sore alarm
Th' assembled people on the wall possess'd,
Condemn'd to eye the soul-detested harm
In hopeless horror by loud wail confess'd;—
What clust'ring thoughts, in sad and troublous swarm,
O Thane! roll darkly in thy valiant breast,
When from the city's towers thine eyes behold
Thy land affronted so with act so base and bold?

107

XXIV

Now, laying on his sword his mighty hand,
Half out he drew the metal from its sheath,
Resolv'd to rush amid that murd'rous band
Alone, and balk the meditated death;
Now scabbards he again the burning brand,
And chides his soul, and keeps his ire beneath,
As he beholds the formidable foe,
Spread unassailable in ridges grim below.

XXV

At last he in perplexity of soul
Bethought him of his last and good resource,
Ev'n that fair pipe whose whistle can controul
Or fay or goblin to appear perforce,
Huge goblin, grim and burly, from the pole,
Fay, fleet and frisky, from Nile's mystic source:
To try its power, he pip'd so loud a twang,
Turret and wall replied, and all Balmungo rang.

108

XXVI

And, as he pip'd, he will'd that there should rise
The strongest spirit of Arabia's ground;
Up stands anon before his stounded eyes
The mightiest sprite within Arabia's bound,
Calv'd by old mother Earth to man's surprise,
A horrid moon-calf by the sun disown'd,
Dwarfish and iron-limb'd, of features fell,
Tail'd like the devil too, and sooty-grim as hell.

XXVII

With him at once uprose from wormy earth
His blood-bedabbled beard, prolix and long,
That from his chin, of hideous length and girth,
Like tail from ghastly comet streaming hung;
And with him too was born (stupendous birth!)
His weapon balanc'd on his shoulders strong,
An iron bar, of weight enough to load
Old Jason's three-deck'd ship when o'er to Thrace he row'd.

109

XXVIII

Some say 'twas Schaibar, he whose name is known
From Mecca south to Babelmandel's shores;
Some call him Arshenk, he who holds the throne
Of Jennistan, and rules the genie powers;
Whate'er his name and land, full soon was shown,
I weet, his puissance near Sanct Androis' towers;
For as he in an instant sprung to sight,
So in a trice he mov'd tremendous to the fight.

XXIX

And as he mov'd, his right hand swung about
His bar that round him circumvolv'd full fast,
Tormenting th' air with strokes of iron stout,
That the sky whistled as with stormy blast;
Each step he took made th' Abbey-wall throughout,
Heap'd as it was with press of people vast,
To shake, as formidably firm and slow,
Off from the wall he mov'd to meet his boastful foe.

110

XXX

Nor boast, nor threat, was now, nor show of war,
Amid these boastful Danskers, as they saw
That earth-whelp'd monster, with his massy bar,
Coming to thrash them down like oaten straw;
The sacrificer hung his knife through fear,
And speechless stood, and ghastly-white with awe;
Soldier, and leader, priest, and squire, and knight,
Trembled from head to foot at that soul-scaring sight.

XXXI

And Fulbert soon had fled with all his crew
Of soldiers, and of sacrificers base,
Had not a second wonder, sprung to view,
Delay'd their flying for a little space;
For from Valhalla, up in ether blue,
The son of Odin spied his men's disgrace,
And down he flies, and here his golden wain
Up to the Kinness-burn comes pealing o'er the plain.

111

XXXII

He comes, and in his wheels that flash and fly
The thunder rattles, and the lightning flares;
He comes, and in his hand he swings on high
The club, whose silver sheen the God declares;
Right on he drives, determin'd soon to try
That goblin's strength, who thus opposing dares
To interpose such quaint unearthly frame,
And spoil his father's feast and stop the bloody game.

XXXIII

And, who art thou, the goat-drawn Thor exclaims,
Tadpole, whom Earth has, in a fit of spleen,
Spew'd from her lumber-house of shapeless frames,
To poison day-light with vile form obscene?
Deem'st thou, that that thy beard with blood that flames,
And that thy tail, and that thy surly mien,
Have power the sons of Odin to appal?
Home to thy ditch, thou toad! lest mischief on thee fall.

112

XXXIV

So saying, forward goes he to the war,
Commov'd, and burning with insatiate ire;
Meanwhile the hero of the iron bar
Push'd up his frightful van, his beard of fire,
His rear, the snaky tail, came following far
Swinging behind its convolution dire;
He utter'd not a word; (in sooth his trade
Was pithy deeds not words, to maul and not upbraid).

XXXV

And with a frightful scowl, that well might scare
Hell from her fathomless foundations deep,
He nears his foe, still vibrating in air
His pond'rous bar with circulating sweep;
And to the head of Thor directing fair
That weapon with more upward motion steep,
He hit him on the jole so hard a stroke,
As if Heaven's thunder-stone had on him crashing broke.

113

XXXVI

Then with a scream and ghastly yelling cry,
As if a thousand devils screech'd and scream'd,
The writhing God, up-bick'ring to the sky,
Like to a silver arrow heav'nward gleam'd;
Of chariot, team, and goat, that late to th' eye
Some glorious thing of star-born beauty seem'd,
Nought now appear'd save a long trail of light
Like foam behind a ship left where he rush'd from sight.

XXXVII

Thus he, discomfited and hard bested,
Slunk off and in Valhalla lay conceal'd,
Leaving that haggard dwarf, Arabia's dread,
Th' acknowledg'd master of the foughten field;
Lowering a laugh Satanic, on he sped,
That genie with the bar that whizz'd and wheel'd,
His mission to consummate, and to chase
Down to their sea-ward camp the Danskers from the place.

114

XXXVIII

As tow'rd their troop his face he turn'd, anon
His very look so witch'd their souls with fear,
That down the land they scamper'd every one,
Scatter'd and scudding like a herd of deer;
None thought of sacrifice or victim; none
Look'd now behind him in his heavy cheer,
Lest he should feel that hugy bar robust,
Swung in his face at once to pound his skull to dust.

XXXIX

Thus they, heart-struck with trepidation, scour
Southward to huddle in their camp at ease,
Leaving their victims in that genie's power,
To do according as his mood may please;
He sweet'ning to a smile his face's lower,
Their interchained hands from bondage frees,
And gives his benediction kind, and sends
The youths away in joy to meet rejoicing friends.

115

XL

Whereat the folk that on the crowded wall,
Suspense and trembling, long had stood at gaze,
Set up a merry outcry one and all,
Huzzaing jubilant their champion's praise,
Full loudly, that the blue-roof'd heavenly hall
In corresponding peals the shout repays;
Meanwhile, amid that noise, their champion-sprite
Down in a moment sinks and vanishes from sight.

XLI

E'en in a moment dives he under-ground,
With all his equipage of genie-state,
Bar, beard, and tail, that not a trace is found,
To shew the people where he stood so late;
As on the surface of the salt profound
A mallard floating in his pride elate,
If chance a rapid ship come stemming by,
Down dips into the deeps t' elude the seaman's eye:

116

XLII

So disappear'd that dwarf beneath the clod,
Relieving sun-light of his haggish form,
And through earth's fissures to his deep abode
Creeps like a smoke, or like a slimy worm,
There in old Jennistan's green land and broad,
To nestle and encave his bulk deform,
Till Fate, or till the whistle of the Thane,
Evoke him from his rest to fight for men again.

XLIII

Meanwhile the people on the wall, in height
Of merriment triumphal, wide expand
Their gates t' admit to greetings of delight
That slaughter-threaten'd trembling victim-band,
Much questioning and wondering every wight,
Whence he, the genie of deed-doing hand,
And what his name, and whither he had gone,
And how he lower'd and laugh'd, yet spoke a word to none.

117

XLIV

Thus they in joy and marvel celebrate
Their children's rescue from such threaten'd harms;
Meantime, fast borne through all the Scottish state,
The royal summons and the war's alarms
Shook the wide realm with preparation great,
Of soldiery and strife, and vengeful arms,
Infuriating the land with fervid zeal,
To prick th' invader home with stabs of bloody steel.

XLV

Each shire, and every township of each shire,
Each earldom, seigniory, and island far,
Catching th' infection of the martial fire,
Rous'd up in clam'rous tumult for the war;
Baron and yeoman, with one fierce desire,
Up-stirr'd and burning for the broil, prepare
Th' accoutrements of Mars, his shirts of mail,
And all his gaudy gear, and swords that never fail.

118

XLVI

There was nor silence in the land nor rest,
But shouts and hurried rushings here and there,
And cries of arm, and fiery-footed haste,
And whet of sword, and furbishing of spear;
Hinds left their lands half plough'd, a seedless waste,
And rob their ploughs of coulter and of spear,
A boon to Mars, for now each household fire
Transforms the tools of peace to slaught'rous uses dire.

XLVII

And ev'n at starry midnight men were seen
Hewing the spear-staff from the new-fell'd tree;
And twanging bows were heard, and arrows keen
Were feather'd for the deaths about to be,
And steeds of mettle high, in armour sheen
Were deck'd and neigh'd for battle gallantly,
And foot and horsemen, under banners gay,
Muster'd tumultuously their strong and stern array.

119

XLVIII

Thus were the shires commov'd, from where the Cape
Of Wrath grinds down to foam th' Atlantic surge,
Down to the fishy stream whose waters shape
The Border-line, and play on England's verge;
So in their forces pour with rapid sweep,
Fleet o'er each intermediate space to urge,
Day after day, and band by band, their way,
Whither the King proclaims th' assemblage and th' array.

XLIX

O Muse, that with thy keen all-kenning eye
Explorest gods in sky, and men on earth,
Declare, for thou wert there as rush'd they by,
Who first, who last, came to the muster forth;
What troops, and what their arms and valour high,
And what the heroes, and their peerless worth;
For I am erring, blind, and nothing know,
Save what in vision thou, O Goddess, deign'st to show.

120

L

First, from the bounds of men-sustaining Fife,
(The first as nearest to the war and foe),
Assembled all her chieftains for the strife,
Girt with their vassalage in warlike show;
Crowding they come from all her coasts so rife
Of villagery, and fring'd with townships so,
Spearmen and bowmen in their several bands,
And troops of valiant horse that scour the grassy lands.

LI

Chief thine Macduff! for, promptly to thy call,
(Though absent thou thyself to tend thy Lord),
Sprung forth thy yeomanry and footmen all,
A thousand warriors waiting on thy word,
From the green fields that skirt thy palace wall
By Falkland, eastward to Saint Mary's ford,
Where Cupar in her valley sits as queen,
And sees her Eden roll his glassy wave serene.

121

LII

These by Sanct Androis' wall appear the first
To fence their Sovereign with unconquer'd arms;
And next them came the warlike people nurs'd
On fair Balcarras' sunward sloping farms,
Beneath their valiant Lord, whose soul athirst
For glory kindles at the war's alarms,
As to the sun, expanded broad and fair,
His gilded banner flaps its many stars in air.

LIII

And Leven from Balgonie's castle sends
His troops, for King and country guard to keep;
And Rothes, from his manor that extends
Wide round the lake of midland water deep,
(The lake whose liquid circuit well defends
Saint Servan in his holy isle asleep),
Collects his vassals for the martial field,
And, stately at their head, gripes fast the spear and shield.

122

LIV

Them follow'd speedy from the western bounds
The Lords and Barons there that held the sway,
Where proud Dunfermline o'er the southern grounds
Looks down exulting in her palace gay,
Where Resyth's towers, which Neptune's tide surrounds,
Shoot heav'nward and command St Marg'ret's bay,
East to the rock where Alexander died,
Thence to the cliff that props great Wemyss's castled pride.

LV

The nobles muster'd next whose fertile lands
Stretch to the eastern foreland by the coast;
Kellie, whose double griffin now expands
His wings of gold broad waving o'er his host;
Young Anstroyther, that in his potent hands
The pole-axe wields, the weapon of his boast;
Pitmillie, whose green dolphin swims in air;
Stravithie, and Grangemuir, and Airdrie, strong in war.

123

LVI

All these, and many more, Fife's prime and flower,
Came trooping up with banners wide display'd,
And loud request the battle's instant hour
To purge their soil of Danskers' wasteful tread,
Claiming the field alone, as if their power
Suffic'd to conquer, bare of other aid;
Yet did their King such furious fire restrain,
Till his full sum of force stood gather'd on the plain.

LVII

His sum of force soon gathers; from the west,
Where broad and high Clackmannan's tower ascends,
And where, on rocky ridge tremendous plac'd,
Huge Castle-Campbell o'er his dell impends,
Thence all along the valley o'er whose breast
Wide-sweeping Devon slowly westward wends,
Five hundred archers come with bows well strung,
Their rattling quivers stor'd with arrows sharp and long.

124

LVIII

And Stirling from her citadel, that heaves
Up to mid-heaven her tower'd and craggy mass,
Commanding all the vale where Forth's pure waves
Sea-ward in sinuous stripes of silver pass,
Her soldiers sends, in cuirass, helm, and greaves
Well-cas'd, and gleaming in refulgent brass,
Beneath their leaders rank'd in fair array,
Three thousand spearmen bold, all joyous for the fray.

LIX

And Lennox fair, the nursing soil of sheep,
Within whose bosom winding many a mile
Clear to the sun her freshet-waters sleep,
A silver pool emboss'd with many an isle,
Sends from her lowly dales and ridges steep
Her people nerv'd and fresh for every toil,
Shepherds and hinds that now disrobe the weeds
Of peace for Mars's garb and bloody harmful deeds.

125

LX

Then from the shire of valleys and of hills,
Across whose breadth from Dochart to the main
The Scottish Tiber, by her num'rous rills
Increas'd, sweeps eastward by St Madoe's fane,
Great Atholl, whose dread name that region fills,
Has congregated all his subject train,
Five thousand fearless warriors, horse and foot,
Skill'd or in fight or chase, in combat or pursuit.

LXI

Band after band, from mountain or from dale,
Morn, noon, and eve, they march with manly tread,
Their banners' fetter'd savage to the gale
At liberty disporting high o'erhead;
As down they rush through Eden's verdant vale
High-crested, in their gaudery array'd,
Fife's mountain-girdled hollow rung afar
With sound of rousing pipe and merry note of war.

126

LXII

From Angus next, with all his vassalage
Across the Taian firth in barges borne,
Comes Lyon, Thane of Glammis, whose youthful age
Shows promise glorious as a summer morn;
His joy was in the tangled woods to wage
War with the boar, and hold his tusks in scorn,
Or round th' extent of Grampian hill and heath
To hunt with hound and horn the roebuck to the death.

LXIII

But now full glad and willing to exchange
For loftier war the sports of hill and wood,
Down speeds he at his Monarch's call, t' avenge
The Cimbrians' crimes, and flesh his steel in blood;
His followers, tartan'd some in habit strange,
Show the rough marks of mountain hardihood,
Arm'd with the broad-sword of destructive sway;
And some with Lowland arms in Lowlanders' array.

127

LXIV

Behind them come, close following in their rear,
The people of the shire whose northern bound
Is wash'd by Dee's soft-stealing waters clear,
Whose eastern, by the floods that loud resound:
Seven hundred warriors arm'd with bow and spear,
In fight of men or chase of boar renown'd,
Are from Dunottar's castle-gates out-pour'd,
Beneath the threefold star of Arbothnoth their Lord

LXV

Come next the merry men whose fields expand
Their greenness up the long extent of Marr;
With those beyond the Don, where Buchan's land,
Mother of kine, her champaign spreads afar;
Thence on to Cullen's brook, whose luckless strand
(Long after in bold Helric's furious war)
Receiv'd the blood of Indulf, when the shaft
Sent from the Scandian bow that King of life bereft.

128

LXVI

With them the folk that drink the streamlet pure
That winds by Elgin's venerable fane,
And they who dwell beside the gloomy moor
Where Hecat's hags oft ride in hurricane,
And they whose rocky lands and hamlets poor
Banking the Nairn stretch downwards to the main;
All these in bands, each by its Thane controll'd,
Come rank'd beneath the flag of Buchan's Abthane bold.

LXVII

Nor stay the men who dwell beside the hill
Of Cromarty, in each contiguous vale,
Those by the Dornoch flood, and near the rill
Sent by Ben Duan down on Berrydale,
Thence to the bay where east winds blowing chill
With rainy gust the Sinclairs' towers assail,
Up to the farthest foreland round whose shore,
Incens'd by every wind, th' incessant surges roar:

129

LXVIII

All these obey'd their Chief, an honour'd name,
Dungald, their aged Thane, whose gentle sway
Held half the North subjected, and whose fame
Was known in Norway's every creek and bay;
For in his youth he held it jovial game,
Hoisting his sails upon the liquid way,
The Scandian cruisers to their homes to chase,
And even within their hives t' avenge th' excursive race.

LXIX

Twice thirty years, his people's shepherd, he
Had rul'd in love upon the Caithness shore,
And though his looks now white and silver'd be,
Firm yet his heart to meet the battle's roar;
So, at his King's command, he to the sea
Intrusts his galleys and his men once more,
And from the bay of Rice has set his sail
To meet his gladden'd King with aids that never fail.

130

LXX

Meantime, while these sail round to meet the war,
The South is up and musters all her force;
First Lothian's land, up-rous'd by young Dunbar,
Assembles all her infantry and horse,
From where the Tyne, through corn-fields green and fair,
Hurries from Fala to the sea his course;
From where the double veins of Esk rill down
Their silv'ry whirling waves by castle and by town;

LXXI

From where Dunedin on her throne of rule
Sits queen, and sways her sceptre o'er the land,
And where Linlithgow, seated by her pool,
Yet glories in the good King Loth's command,
March out the splendid warriors in their full
Equipment, trooping bright in many a band,
A thousand horsemen riding gallantly,
And twice five thousand foot, all boon and full of glee:

131

LXXII

All these, assembled on the Lothian shore,
Came wafted o'er in galleys to Kinghorn,
Thence eastward troop'd, (their gallant Thane afore
High mounted, with his banner bright as morn),
Making the land, with arms of polish'd ore,
And bannerets aloft in ether borne,
To gleam and glitter with reflected fire
As up the legions march rejoicing through the shire.

LXXIII

Close follow on their steps the men who bide
Around the valley where the Douglas stream
Devolves from mossy hills his dusky tide
Fast by the Castle of that haughty name,
And those who dwell where many-falling Clyde
Sweeps down by Bothwell's towers of massy frame,
And by the green where Glasgow's daughters lave
On summer days their robes within the crystal wave:

132

LXXIV

All these were headed by their gallant lord,
Great Douglas, on whose fearless breast is seen
Achaius' honour'd order by its cord
Dependent in its princely pride of green;
And overhead his banner with its word,
And blazonry of stars and golden sheen,
Gives, writhing to the playful April wind,
Its salamander green with flames of fire entwin'd.

LXXV

Next after them, but distant many a mile,
Across the Island's breadth come speeding fast
Adust with march's sinew-stretching toil,
The men whose shores confront the western blast;
Ev'n they of Carrick land and rainy Kyle,
Whose sky by sea-born clouds is oft o'ercast,
And Cunninghame, and of the shire where flow
The Cart's divided brooks through humid lands and low.

133

LXXVI

And with them march, in battailous display,
The skilful handlers of the bow, that won
Upon the southward shores where Galloway
Spreads her bare bosom to the mid-day sun;
All these acknowledging the lordly sway
Of Roland, Uthred's fiery-minded son,
Came rushing through the land to beard the Dane,
Twelve thousand warriors bold, a troop of mighty men.

LXXVII

Next them the troopers each on fervent steed,
That dwell within the warm and flowery dales,
Where Annan, and where Esk, and Liddel, lead
Their streams, down tripping through the sunny vales;
And where the stronger and more swelling Tweed,
Emergent from his midland mountain, trails
Voluminous and broad his waters down,
To meet the briny sea by bulwark'd Berwick town.

134

LXXVIII

All these convok'd by trumpet's shrill alarm,
Blown from the summits of the hills around,
Met numerous from hamlet, hall, and farm,
Beneath the banner of Balcluch renown'd,
On silver-bitted charger, fiery-warm
For war, and pawing gallantly the ground,
All in the horseman's showy armour dight,
Cuirass, and plumy helm, and falchion broad and bright.

LXXIX

Thus clad, thus mounted, from the courts they pour
Of Scot, beneath his crescents and his star,
Three thousand troopers, ripe for hottest hour
Of onset, and well exercis'd in war:
So northward through the Lothian lands they scour,
Impetuous, scorning hinderance or bar,
And by the bridge of Stirling wheeling round,
Plunge into Fife's fair shire by its most western bound.

135

LXXX

Last mov'd the tartan'd heroes that reside
Within the broad hill-countries of the west;
For Cullen's sons (himself, his King beside
Remain'd, to help with counsel as seem'd best),
Pass'd through Argyle, from where the Atlantic tide
Assaults Kintyre with surges ne'er at rest,
North to the mountain-chair of granite proud,
Whereon Ben Nevis sits commanding either flood.

LXXXI

They pass'd, and passing rous'd each rough domain,
Cowal and Lorn, and Knapdale, and Kantyre;
Whilst Bancho, Lochaber's black-plumed Thane,
Dress'd his hill-tops in signal-flames of fire,
Calling his bonneted and brawny men
To gather round him now for battle dire;
And Badenoch was in a bustle all;
And Ness's land was up, and Ross, at Ferquhard's call.

136

LXXXII

All these, o'er whom their several Thanes preside,
Serv'd Cullen, Thane of mountainous Argyle,
Whose sons, in absence of their father, guide
The gather'd clans o'er hill and through defile;
And down they march in all their plaided pride
Of mountain garb, across the joyous isle,
Giving their tartans to the wind, that aye
Amid their sturdy limbs rejoice to dance and play.

LXXXIII

All they, with all the various bands from all
Their coasts, with banners spread, and trumpet's blast,
To meet their King beside Sanct Androis' wall
Congratulant, in sounding tumult past,
Exciting from the soil to Heaven's high hall
Fife's dust by many a thousand feet up-cast,
And with the gleam and gairishness of war
Emblazing half her soil that swarms with life afar.

137

LXXXIV

And nearer as they drew their gath'ring place,
The more they melt into one heaving mass,
Till in the city, and the ample space
That girds her walls with sward of lusty grass,
Troop after troop, as they arrive apace,
Bristled and black with steel, and bright with brass,
Conglobing all into one boundless swarm,
From dusty march they rest, and toil of travel warm.

LXXXV

Nor did the mansions of the town suffice
To harbour that o'erswelling multitude;
But by the walls, and by the space that lies
Spread circumjacent out in many a rood,
Ten thousands canvass canopies uprise,
A sudden city, huge of amplitude,
That in a moment to the sky upthrows,
Innumerable, its roofs in long and ridgy rows.

138

LXXXVI

As when the rheumy and raw-breathing south
Effuses o'er the frosty winter sky
His clouds, that white and round, in endless growth,
Fed from the dense horizon, upward fly,
With scatter'd specks of various shapes uncouth,
Fleck'ring the hollow heaven's immensity;
So thick around the walls, and Witch's hill,
These white spire-topped tents the grassy circuit fill.

LXXXVII

And such the number and loud-noising swarm
Of men within the city and around,
As when on summer days serene and warm,
The hived bees, desiring change of ground,
Migrate from garden or from sunny farm,
To river's edge with flowery riches crown'd,
There settling, with their heaps and humming toil,
The many-huddling bank envelop and embroil.

139

LXXXVIII

So num'rous, and with toil so loud and vast,
That mighty host, all scatter'd and disjoin'd,
Heav'd round Sanct Androis' turrets far and fast,
Its fluctuations like the sea with wind,
As horsemen, horse, and foot, tumultuous past,
Mingling in loudest confluence, till they find
Fit harbourage in city, or in tent:
There settling they repose, with heat of march o'erspent.

END OF THE THIRD CANTO.