The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir Edited by Thomas Aird: With A Memoir of the Author |
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THE TOMB OF DE BRUCE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir |  |
THE TOMB OF DE BRUCE.
Freedome makes man to have liking;
Freedome all solace to men gives:
He lives at ease that freely lives.
Barbour.
I
And liest thou, great Monarch, this pavement below?Thou who wert in war like a rock to the ocean,
Like a star in the battle-field's stormy commotion,
Like a barrier of steel to the bursts of the foe!
All lofty thy boast, grey Dunfermline, may be,
That the bones of King Robert, the hero whose story,
'Mid our history's night, is a day-track of glory,
Find an honour'd and holy asylum in thee:
“Immediately after the king's death, his heart was taken out, as he had himself directed. He was then buried with great state and solemnity under the pavement of the choir, in the Abbey Church of Dunfermline, and over his grave was raised a rich marble monument, which was made at Paris. Centuries passed on; the ancient church, with the marble monument, fell into ruins, and a more modern building was erected on the same site. This in our own days gave way to time, and, in clearing the foundations for a third church, the workmen laid open a tomb which proved to be that of Robert the Bruce. The lead coating in which the body was found enclosed was twisted round the head in the shape of a rude crown. A rich cloth of gold, but much decayed, was thrown over it, and, on examining the skeleton, it was found that the breast-bone had been sawn asunder to get at the heart.
“There remained, therefore, no doubt that, after the lapse of almost five hundred years, his countrymen were permitted, with a mixture of delight and awe, to behold the very bones of their great deliverer.”
—Tytler's Hist., vol. i. p. 421-2.
It is worthy of remark, that the greatest man which Scotland has produced since the hero of Bannockburn was present at the re-interment of these relics, and that Sir Walter Scott bent over the coffin of Robert the Bruce.
See an interesting Report of the discovery of the tomb and reinterment of the body of King Robert, by Sir Henry Jardine, in Transactions of the Antiquarian Society of Scotland, vol. ii. part ii. p. 435.
And here, till the world is eclips'd in decline,
Thy chosen ones, Scotland, shall kneel at this shrine.
II
On Luxury's hot-bed thou sprang'st not to man—From childhood Adversity's storms howl'd around thee;
And fain with his shackles had Tyranny bound thee,
When, lo! he beheld thee in Liberty's van!
'Twas wreck and 'twas ruin, 'twas discord and danger;
O'er her strongholds waved proudly the flag of the stranger;
Till thy sword, like the lightning, flashed courage abroad;
And the craven, that slept with his head on his hand,
Started up at thy war-shout, and belted his brand!
III
How long Treason's pitfalls 'twas thine to avoid,—Was the wild-fowl thy food, and thy beverage the fountain,
Was thy pillow the heath, and thy home on the mountain,
When that hope was cast down, which could not be destroy'd!
As the wayfarer longs for the dawning of morn,
So wearied thy soul for thy Country's awaking,
Unsheathing her terrible broadsword, and shaking
The fetters away, which in drowse she had worn:
At thy call she arous'd her to fight; and, in fear,
Invasion's fang'd bloodhounds were scatter'd like deer.
IV
The broadsword and battle-axe gleam'd at thy call;From the strath and the corrie, the cottage and palace,
Pour'd forth like a tide the avengers of Wallace,
To rescue their Scotland from rapine and thrall:
As the recreant brave, to their duty returning,
In the eye of King Robert saw liberty burning,
And raised his wild gathering-cry forth on the gale!
O, then was the hour for a patriot to feel,
As he buckled his cuirass, the edge of his steel!
V
When thou cam'st to the field all was ruin and woe;'Twas dastardly terror or jealous distrusting;
In the hall hung the target and burgonet rusting;
The brave were dispersed, and triumphant the foe:—
But from chaos thy sceptre call'd order and awe—
'Twas Security's homestead; all flourish'd that near'd thee;
The worthy upheld, and the turbulent fear'd thee,
For thy pillars of strength were Religion and Law:
The meanest in thee a Protector could find—
Thou wert feet to the cripple, and eyes to the blind.
VI
O, ne'er shall the fame of the patriot decay—De Bruce! in thy name still our country rejoices;
It thrills Scottish heart-strings, it swells Scottish voices,
As it did when the Bannock ran red from the fray.
Thine ashes in darkness and silence may lie;
But ne'er, mighty hero, while earth hath its motion,
While rises the day-star, or rolls forth the ocean,
Can thy deeds be eclipsed or their memory die:
They stand thy proud monument, sculptur'd sublime
By the chisel of Fame on the Tablet of Time.
| The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir | |