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139
THE HEART OF KING ROBERT BRUCE.
“When he found his end drew nigh, that great king summoned his barons and peers around him, and, singling out the good Lord James of Douglas, fondly entreated him, as his old friend and companion in arms, to cause his heart to be taken from his body, after death, and to transport it to Palestine, in redemption of a vow which he had made to go thither in person.”
Sir Walter Scott's History of Scotland.
King Robert bore with gasping breath
The strife of mortal pain,
And gathering round the couch of death,
His nobles mourned in vain.
Bathed were his brows in chilling dew
As thus he faintly cried,
“Red Comyn in his sins I slew
At the high altar's side.
The strife of mortal pain,
And gathering round the couch of death,
His nobles mourned in vain.
Bathed were his brows in chilling dew
As thus he faintly 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 that Holy Ground
Where my Redeemer died:
Lord James of Douglas, see! we part!
I die before my time,
I charge thee bear this pulseless heart
A pilgrim to that clime.”
In armed lists to ride,
A warrior to that Holy Ground
Where my Redeemer died:
Lord James of Douglas, see! we part!
I die before my time,
I charge thee bear this pulseless heart
A pilgrim to that clime.”
He ceased, for lo! 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
Dangers and perils wild,
Now kneeling at his sovereign's feet
Wept as a weaned child.
With fierce and fatal strife,
He came, who treads with icy foot
Upon the lamp of life.
140
Dangers and perils wild,
Now kneeling at his sovereign's feet
Wept as a weaned child.
Beneath Dunfirmline'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 went journeying on apace,
In Palestine to rest.
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 went journeying on apace,
In Palestine to rest.
While many a noble Scottish knight,
With sable shield and plume,
Rode as its guard in armour bright
To kiss their Saviour's tomb.
As on the scenery of Spain
They bent a traveller's eye,
Forth came in bold and glorious train,
Her flower of chivalry.
With sable shield and plume,
Rode as its guard in armour bright
To kiss their Saviour's tomb.
As on the scenery of Spain
They bent a traveller's eye,
Forth came in bold and glorious train,
Her flower of chivalry.
Led by Alphonso 'gainst the Moor,
They came in proud array,
And set their sorried phalanx sure
To bide the battle-fray.
“God save ye now, ye gallant band
Of Scottish warriors true,
Good service for the Holy Land
Ye on this field may do.”
They came in proud array,
And set their sorried phalanx sure
To bide the battle-fray.
“God save ye now, ye gallant band
Of Scottish warriors true,
Good service for the Holy Land
Ye on this field may do.”
So with the cavalry of Spain
In brother's grasp they closed,
And the grim Saracen in vain
Their blended might opposed,
But Douglas with his falcon-glance
O'erlooking crest and spear,
Saw brave St. Clair with broken lance,
That friend from childhood dear.
In brother's grasp they closed,
And the grim Saracen in vain
Their blended might opposed,
But Douglas with his falcon-glance
O'erlooking crest and spear,
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That friend from childhood dear.
He saw him by a thousand foes
Opprest and overborne,
And high the blast of rescue rose
From his good bugle-horn;
And reckless of the Moorish spears
In bristling ranks around
His monarch's heart oft steeped in tears
He from his neck unbound,
Opprest and overborne,
And high the blast of rescue rose
From his good bugle-horn;
And reckless of the Moorish spears
In bristling ranks around
His monarch's heart oft steeped in tears
He from his neck unbound,
And flung it toward the battle front,
And cried with panting breath,
“Pass first, my liege, as thou wert wont—
I follow thee to death.”
Stern Osmyn's sword was dire that day,
And keen the Moorish dart,
And there Earl Douglas bleeding lay
Beside the Bruce's heart.
And cried with panting breath,
“Pass first, my liege, as thou wert wont—
I follow thee to death.”
Stern Osmyn's sword was dire that day,
And keen the Moorish dart,
And there Earl Douglas bleeding lay
Beside the Bruce's heart.
Embalmed with Scotland's flowing tears,
That peerless champion fell,
And still the lyre to future years
His glorious deeds shall tell,
The “good Lord James” that honoured name
Each Scottish babe shall call,
And all who love the Bruce's fame
Shall mourn the Douglas' fall.
That peerless champion fell,
And still the lyre to future years
His glorious deeds shall tell,
The “good Lord James” that honoured name
Each Scottish babe shall call,
And all who love the Bruce's fame
Shall mourn the Douglas' fall.
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