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To this suggestion the Regent scorn-
fully assents, but in the most sarcas-
tie manner excludes Swinton, while
"whose
he invites young Gordon,
high rank and numerous following
give him a seat, though yet un-
knighted." This invitation the lat-
ter modestly declines, but is singu-
larly struck with the majestic and
commanding appearance of the old
Knight, whose name he had not yet
learned-and thus speaks:-

Gordon (observing Swinton).
That helmetless old Knight, his giant
stature,

His awful accents of rebuke and wisdom,
He
Have caught my fancy strangely.

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There's other work in hand

Gordon. I will but ask his name.
There's in his presence

Something that works upon me like a
spell,

Or like the feeling made my childish ear
Dote upon tales of superstitious dread,
Attracting while they chill'd my heart
with fear.

Now, born the Gordon, I do feel right
well

I'm bound to fear nought earthly—and I fear nought.

1'll know who this man is

[Accosts Swinton. Sir Knight, I pray you, of your gentle

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Gordon follows De Vipont; but when he learns whom he had accosted, rushes back sword in hand, to encounter Swinton, and is, with extreme difficulty-partly by entreaty, and partly by force-withheld by the Templar, from the unequal, but not doubtful contest. Maxwell, in the meanwhile, enters from the Regent's

Halidon Hill; a Dramatic Sketch.

tent, and informs them that the de-
bate still continues

As wild, as if the very wind and sea
With every breeze and every billow
battled

For their precedence.

On this, Swinton, unmindful of the insult he had just received from the Regent, and in the trying hour of discord and danger, thinking only of his beloved country, exclaims:Most sure they are possess'd! Some evil spirit,

To mock their valour, robs them of dis

cretion.

Fie, fie, upon't!-0 that Dunfermline's
tomb

Could render up The Bruce! that Spain's
red shore

Could give us back the good Lord James

of Douglas!

Or the fierce Randolph, with his voice of
terror,

Were here to awe these brawlers to sub-
mission!

While Swinton is engaged in colloquy with Maxwell, Gordon steadily peruses him, and is awe-struck with his Herculean form, "stately port," and warrior aspect.

Gordon. I see the giant form which all
men speak of,

The stately port-but not the sullen eye,
Not the blood-thirsty look, that should
belong

To him that made me orphan. I shall need

To name my father twice, ere I can strike
At such grey hairs, and face of such com-
mand;

Yet my hand clenches on my falchion-hilt,
In token he shall die.

Vipont. Need I again remind you,

that the place

Permits not private quarrel ?

Gordon. I'm calm. I will not seeknay, I will shun it—

And yet methinks that such debate's the fashion.

You've heard how taunts, reproaches, and the lie,

The lie itself, hath flown from mouth to
'mouth;

As if a band of peasants were disputing
About a foot-ball match, rather than
Chiefs

Were ordering a battle. I am young,
And lack experience; tell me, brave De
Vipont,

Is such the fashion of your wars in Pa-
lestine ?

[July

Vipont. Such it at times hath been; and then the Cross

Hath sunk before the Crescent. Heaven's cause

Won us not victory where wisdom was not.

Behold yon English host come slowly on,
With equal front, rank marshall'd upon
rank,

As if one spirit ruled one moving body;
To charge, support, and rally, as the for-
The leaders, in their places, each prepar'd

tune

Of changeful battle needs :-then look on
ours,

Broken, disjointed, as the tumbling surges
Which the winds wake at random. Look

on both,

And dread the issue;-yet there might be succour.

reflections, however, he notices, as In the midst of his musings and fewness of Swinton's following, and, the Templar had formerly done, the while he is impressed with a sentiment of deep melancholy, as he witnesses the relics of a goodly band, mowed down by the sword of intesthe greater part of which had been tine broil, in the disastrous contests of their rival houses, the strong feelings of nature, kindled by the spirit of the times, burst forth with almost overmastering power.

These, then, are his, the relics of his
power;

Yet worth an host of ordinary men.-
And I must slay my country's sagest

leader,

And crush by numbers that determin'd
handful,

When most my country needs their prac-
tis'd aid,
Or men will say,

Gordon;

"There goes degenerate

His father's blood is on the Swinton's
sword,

And his is in his scabbard !"

Our attention is now recalled to the
Council, where the Regent, to allay
the heats that had arisen, is forced
to have recourse to the desperate ex-
pedient of referring the places of the
respective contending Chiefs to the
arbitration of chance: on which Sir
Alan Swinton exclaims apart :-

O sage discipline,
That leaves to chance the marshalling of
a battle.

In this fearful exigency, when, as
too often happened before, the irre-

sistible valour of the Scots was neutralised by the madness and folly of their leaders, Gordon, moved by De Vipont, magnanimously steps forward, and calls upon the Swinton to "speak for king and country's sake:" to which appeal he replies,

Nay, if that voice command me, speak I will;

It sounds as if the dead laid charge on me.

Reckless of the taunts and sneers of the Regent, whose imbecility, folly, and deliration, are painted in strong colours, and who, as we have already seen, had indirectly, but pointedly, excluded Swinton from the Council of War in the tent; remembering, in the hour of his country's need, nothing personal to himself; and supported by Lennox, Maxwell, and Johnstone, whom the Regent might not openly oppose, he resolutely steps forward, and the following is what passes between Sir Alan and the proud, infatuated, but gallant Douglas:

Regent. Where's your impatience now? Late you were all for battle, would not hear

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Ourself pronounce a word—and now you Sagacious Edward simpler than a babe

gaze

On yon old warrior, in his antique armour,

As if he were arisen from the dead,
To bring us Bruce's counsel for the battle.
Swinton. "Tis a proud word to speak;
but he who fought

Long under Robert Bruce, may something guess,

Without communication with the dead, At what he would have counsel'd-Bruce had bidden ye

Review your battle-order, marshall'd broadly

Here on the bare hill-side, and bidden you mark

In battle-knowledge. Keep the hill, my

Lord,

With the main body, if it is your pleasure; But let a body of your chosen horse Make execution on yon waspish archers. I've done such work before, and love it well;

If 'tis your pleasure to give me the leading, The dames of Sherwood, Inglewood, and Weardale,

Shall sit in widowhood, and long for veni

son,

And long in vain. Whoe'er remembers Bannockburn,

And when shall Scotsman, till the last loud trumpet,

Yon clouds of Southern arches, bearing Forget that stirring word!-knows that down

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great battle

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The English host is numerous, brave, and loyal;

Their Monarch most accomplish'd in war's art,

Skill'd, resolute, and wary—

usages of chivalry, craves, and obtains, that honour from him, as at "the best knight and sagest leader." Incensed at the implied reflection on himself, the Regent re

once

Regent. And if your scheme secure viles him as a degenerate boy,"

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While our good blades are faithful to the hilts,

And our good hands to these good blades are faithful,

Blow shall meet blow, and none fall unavenged

We shall not bleed alone.

Regent. And this is all Your wisdom hath devised?

Swinton. Not all; for I would pray you, noble Lords, (If one, among the guilty guiltiest, might), For this one day to charm to ten hours rest The never-dying worm of deadly feud, That gnaws our vexed hearts-think no one foe

Save Edward and his host-days will remain,

Ay, days by far too many will remain, To avenge old feuds or struggles for pre

cedence ;

Let this one day be Scotland's. For my self,

If there is any here may claim from me (As well may chance) a debt of blood and hatred,

My life is his to-morrow unresisting,
So he to-day will let me do the best
That my old arm may achieve for the

dear country

That's mother to us both.

While Swinton is uttering these last emphatic words, Gordon betrays symptom of the most deep-felt emotion; but when commanded by the Regent to stand forth and receive knighthood, he resolutely declines the intended honour, unless from "another sword;" kneels to Sir Alan Swinton; and, agreeably to the

and reminds him that his father's blood was on Swinton's sword. To this Gordon indignantly answers Gordon (starting up.)

Shame be on him who speaks such shameful word!

Shame be on him whose tongue would sow dissension,

When most the time demands that native Scotsmen

Forget each private wrong!

The Regent continues to give vent to his sarcasms at the reconciliation of Gordon and Swinton, and treats, with the most contemptuous scorn, the proposal of the latter to charge at the head of the cavalry, and disperse the English archers-by far the most formidable part of their arrayas King Robert Bruce had done at Bannockburn. Foiled in his attempt, to carry into effect the only plan that could save the Scottish army, circumstanced as they were, from destruction, Swinton, with that generous devotion of which Scottish History furnishes many bright examples, resolved to smother his personal feelings, and to perform to his country the only service she would now accept at his hands, namely, to open the path to victory by his sword, or to die like a brave knight in the foremost ranks of the battle. At this critical moment, Gordon, who was standing close by, appears wrapt in asks him, profound thought, and De Vipont

Vipont (to Gordon.) What ails thee, noble youth? What means this pause?—

Thou dost not rue thy generosity?

Gordon. I have been hurried on by a strong impulse,

Like to a bark that scuds before the storm, Till driven upon some strange and distant coast,

Which never pilot dream'd of.-Have I not forgiven?

And am I not still fatherless?

Swinton. Gordon, no ;

For while we live, I am a father to thee.
Gordon. Thou, Swinton ?-no!-that

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To this appeal Gordon exclaims,
"my hand and heart!-and freely
now, to fight!" They accordingly
gird themselves up for the combat;
and just as Swinton was preparing
to turn to advantage the post in the
rear-which had in scorn been as
signed to his and Gordon's vassals
by descending the hill obliquely, he
feels the want of a skilful and trusty
guide. Hardly had the knight ex-
pressed his wish, when up starts
from a thicket, where he had been
concealed, Hab Hattely, a border
moss-trooper, whose neck Sir Alan
had for some time "destined to the
dodder'd oak" before his castle, for
the besetting sin of the age-cattle-
stealing. The brigand (as the fa-
shionable phrase goes,) promptly of-
fers his services to conduct this gallant
handful to the destined point; and
we need hardly say that they are
cheerfully accepted. Swinton imme-
diately puts himself under the guid-
ance of honest Hab, and gives the
following orders:

Aye, let all follow-but in silence follow,
Scare not the hare that's couchant on her

form

The second Act opens with a scene in front of the position of the English main body, and King Edward, attended by Baliol, soon enters. The colloquy, of course, turns on the approaching battle, and opinions, highly characteristic of the different English Nobles, are respectively given on the condition and leaders of the Scottish Host. Among other circumstances, the King states incidentally, that at Weardale he had escaped almost by a miracle from the deathdealing iron mace of Swinton, who at midnight had burst into his tent, and would have slain him on the spot, but for the timely and unexpected gallantry of his chaplain, who, snatching a weapon, exposed himself to inevitable death to afford his royal master time to escape. Anon, however, the combat commences, and, as had been foreseen and foretold by Swinton, a shower of arrows from the English long-bows deals unrevenged death along the Scottish line. The men fall like stricken deer, their hot valour serving only to goad them to impatience and frenzy ; and the whole army is thrown into irretrievable confusion, although the main body of the English had never been engaged.

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The scene now changes to that part of the field where Gordon and Swinton, having skirted the side of the hill, and descended into the meadow, were engaged in a desperate struggle with overwhelming numbers. So powerful was the impression they had made on the English line, however, that, had the jealousy and infatuation of the Regent suffered him to send them timely succour, Plantagenet might have sustained a reverse as complete as that at Bannockburn, and been compelled to turn his bridle southward somewhat sooner than he had reckoned on. Fortunately for Edward, some evil spirit seemed to have taken possession of Douglas, who remained on the hill, a quiet spectator of the self-immolation of these heroic men, whose chivalrous valour gave him the only chance of victory.

In this trying moment, when even the firmest resolution might have given way, and the stoutest heart failed, Swinton, ever equal to himself and the emergency in which fate

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