Bright gleams of armour flash through clouds of dust, | Anon I'll give you reason why you should not. Like stars through frost-mist-steeds neigh, and There's other work in hand
And arrows soon will whistle-the worst sound That waits on English war.-You must determine.
We are determined. We will spare proud Edward
Half of the ground that parts us.-Onward, Lords;
Saint Andrew strike for Scotland! We will lead
The middle ward ourselves, the Royal Standard
Display'd beside us; and beneath its shadow
Shall the young gallants, whom we knight this day,
Fight for their golden spurs.-Lennox, thou'rt wise,
And wilt obey command-lead thou the rear.
The rear-why I the rear? The van were fitter
For him who fought abreast with Robert Bruce.
SWINTON (apart.)
Discretion hath forsaken Lennox too!
The wisdom he was forty years in gathering
Has left him in an instant. 'Tis contagious
Even to witness frenzy.
The Regent hath determined well. The rear Suits him the best who counsell'd our retreat.
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
Doat 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 naught earthly-And I fear naught.
I'll know who this man is-
[Accosts SWINTON.
Sir Knight, I pray you, of your gentle courtesy,
To tell your honour'd name. I am ashamed,"
Being unknown in arms, to say that mine
Is Adam Gordon.
SWINTON (shows emotion, but instantly subdues it.) It is a name that soundeth in my ear
Like to a death-knell-ay, and like the call
Of the shrill trumpet to the mortal lists;
Yet 'tis a name which ne'er hath been dishonour'd,
And never will, I trust-most surely never
By such a youth as thou.
There's a mysterious courtesy in this,
And yet it yields no answer to my question.
I trust you hold the Gordon not unworthy
To know the name he asks?
Proud Northern Thane, the van were soon the rear, Worthy of all that openness and honour Were thy disorder'd followers planted there.
May show to friend or foe-but, for my name,
Vipont will show it you; and, if it sound
Harsh in your ear,* remember that it knells there
But at your own request. This day, at least,
Though seldom wont to keep it in concealment,
As there's no cause I should, you had not heard it.
The mystery is needful. Follow me.
[They retire behind the side Scene. SWINTON (looking after them.) 'Tis a brave youth. How blush'd his noble cheek, While youthful modesty, and the embarrassment Of curiosity, combined with wonder, And half suspicion of some slight intended, All mingled in the flush; but soon 'twill deepen Into revenge's glow. How slow is Vipont!— wait the issue, as I've seen spectators Suspend the motion even of the eyelids, When the slow gunner, with his lighted match, Approach'd the charg'd cannon, in the act To waken its dread slumbers.-Now 'tis out; He draws his sword, and rushes towards me, Who will nor seek nor shun him.
Enter GORDON, withheld by VIPONT.
Hold, for the sake of Heaven!-O, for the sake,
Of your dear country, hold!-Has Swinton slain
your father,
And must you, therefore, be yourself a parricide,
And stand recorded as the selfish traitor,
Who, in her hour of need, his country's cause
Deserts, that he may wreak a private wrong?-
Look to yon banner-that is Scotland's standard;
Look to the Regent-he is Scotland's general;
Look to the English-they are Scotland's foemen!
Bethink thee, then, thou art a son of Scotland,
And think on naught beside.t
At unawares before he saw your blade drawn.Stand still, and watch him close.*
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; The leaders, in their places, each prepared To charge, support, and rally, as the fortune 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.
We're fearfully o'ermatch'd in discipline; So even my inexperienced eye can judge. What succour save in Heaven?
These, then, are his,-the relics of his power;
Yet worth a host of ordinary men.—
And I must slay my country's sagest leader,
And crush by numbers that determined handful,
When most my country needs their practised aid.
Or men will say, "There goes degenerate Gordon;
His father's blood is on the Swinton's sword,
And his is in his scabbard !"
[Muses.
High blood and mettle, mix'd with early wisdom,
VIPONT (apart.)
Sparkle in this brave youth. If he survive
This evil omen'd day, I pawn my word,
Scotland has treasure left.-How close he eyes
That in the ruin which I now forebode,"
Each look and step of Swinton! Is it hate,
Or is it admiration, or are both
Commingled strangely in that steady gaze?
[SWINTON and MAXWELL return from the bot-
tom of the Stage.
The storm is laid at length amongst these counsellors;
Thus shall it be, then, since we may no better:
And, since no Lord will yield one jot of way
To this high urgency, or give the vanguard
Up to another's guidance, we will abide them
Even on this bent; and as our troops are rank'd,
So shall they meet the foe. Chief, nor Thane,
Nor Noble, can complain of the precedence
Which chance has thus assign'd him.
That leaves to chance the marshalling of a battle!
Move him to speech, De Vipont.
Had I the thousand spears which once I led,
I had not thus been silent. But men's wisdom
Is rated by their means.
Of sixty lances, who seeks words of weight?
From the poor leader
GORDON (steps forward.)
Swinton, there's that of wisdom on thy brow,
And valour in thine eye, and that of peril
In this most urgent hour, that bids me say,-
Bids me, thy mortal foe, say,-Swinton, speak,
For King and Gountry's sake!
Nay, if that voice commands me, speak I will;
It sounds as if the dead lays charge on me.
(To LENNOX, with whom he has been consulting., 'Tis better than you think. This broad hill-side Rank above rank rising in seemly tiers; Affords fair compass for our power's display So that the rearward stands as fair and open
↑ ["Mad as the sea and wind, when both contond Which is th mightier."-Hamlet.]
As e'er stood mark before an English archer.
Who dares to say so ?-Who is't dare impeach Our rule of discipline?
A poor Knight of these Marches, good my Lord;
Alan of Swinton, who hath kept a house here,
He and his ancestry, since the old days
Of Malcolm, called the Maiden.
You have brought here, even to this pitched field, In which the royal Banner is display'd,
I think some sixty spears, Sir Knight of Swinton; Our musters name no more.
I brought each man I had; and Chief, or Earl,
Thane, Duke, or dignitary, brings no more:
And with them brought I what may here be useful-
An aged eye; which, what in England, Scotland,
Spain, France, and Flanders, hath seen fifty battles,
And ta'en some judgment of them; a stark hand too,
Which plays as with a straw with this same mace,-
Which if a young arm here can wield more lightly,
I never more will offer word of counsel.
Hear him, my Lord; it is the noble SwintonHe hath had high experience.
It ne'er will join, while their light archery
Can foil our spearmen and our barbed horse.
To hope Plantagenet would seek close combat
When he can conquer riskless, is to deem
Sagacious Edward simpler than a babe
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 venison,
And long in vain. Whoe'er remembers Bannock-
burn,-
And when shall Scotsman, till the last loud trumpet,
Forget that stirring word!-knows that great battle
Even thus was fought and won.
The wisest warrior 'twixt the Tweed and Solway, This is the shortest road to bandy blows; I do beseech you, hear him.
Ay, hear the Swinton-hear stout old Sir Alan; Maxwell and Johnstone both agree for once.
Where's your impatience now?
Late you were all for battle, would not hear
Ourself pronounce a word-and now you 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.
'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 counsell'd.-Bruce had bidden ye
Review your battle-order, marshall'd broadly
Here on the bare hill-side, and bidden you mark
Yon clouds of Southron archers, bearing down
To the green meadow-lands which stretch beneath-
The Bruce had warn'd you, not a shaft to-day
But shall find mark within a Scottish bosom,
If thus our field be order'd. The callow boys,
Who draw but four-foot bows, shall gall our front,
While on our mainward, and upon the rear,
The cloth-yard shafts shall fall like death's own
darts,
And, though blind men discharge them, find a mark.
Thus shall we die the death of slaughter'd deer,
Which, driven into the toils, are shot at ease
By boys and women, while they toss aloft
All idly and in vain their branchy horns,
As we shall shake our unavailing spears.
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This much at least,-
Darkling we shall not die: the peasant's shaft,
Loosen'd perchance without an aim or purpose,
Shall not drink up the life-blood we derive
From those famed ancestors, who made their breasts
This frontier's barrier for a thousand years.
We'll meet these Southron bravely hand to hand,
And eye to eye, and weapon against weapon;
Each man who falls shall see the foe who strikes
him.
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.
And this is all Your wisdom hath devised?
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,
foeman, the mortal antagonist of his father, to the no less warm and generous devotion of feeling which is inspired in it by the contemplation of that foeman's valour and virtues."-British Critic.]
I [MS." For this one day to chase our country's curse From your vex'd bosoms, and think no one enemy Put those in yonder army-days enow,
To avenge old feuds or struggles for precedence;
Let this one day be Scotland's.-For myself,
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.
[GORDON shows much emotion during this and the preceding speech of SWINTON.
Why, God ha' mercy! This is of a piece. I do thirst for't. Since none will list to mine. Let young and old e'en follow their own counsel,
But, pardon me-'tis from another sword.
You task me justly, and I crave his pardon,
[Bows to the REGENT.
His and these noble Lords'; and pray them all
Bear witness to my words.-Ye noble presence,
Here I remit unto the Knight of Swinton
All bitter memory of my father's slaughter,
All thoughts of malice, hatred, and revenge:
By no base fear or composition moved,
But by the thought, that in our country's battle
All hearts should be as one.
I do forgive him
As freely as I pray to be forgiven,
And once more kneel to him to sue for knighthood.
SWINTON (affected, and drawing his sword.)
Alas! brave youth, 'tis I should kneel to you,
And, tendering thee the hilt of the fell sword
That made thee fatherless, bid thee use the point
After thine own discretion. For thy boon-
Trumpets be ready-In the Holiest name,
And in Our Lady's and Saint Andrew's name,
[Touching his shoulder with his sword.
1 dub thee Knight!-Arise, Sir Adam Gordon!
Each hound must do so that would head the deer'Tis mongrel curs that snatch at mate or master.
Too much of this.-Sirs, to the Royal Standard!
I bid you, in the name of good King David.
Sound trumpets-sound for Scotland and King
[The REGENT and the rest go off, and the Scene closes. Manent GORDON, SWINTON, and VIPONT, with REYNALD and followers. LENNOX follows the REGENT; but returns, and addresses SWINTON.
O, were my western horsemen but come up,
I would take part with you!
Then change the phrase, and say, that while we live,
Gordon shall be my son. If thou art fatherless,
Am I not childless too? Bethink thee, Gordon,
Our death-feud was not like the household fire,
Which the poor peasant hides among its embers,
To smoulder on, and wait a time for waking.
Ours was the conflagration of the forest,
Which, in its fury, spares not sprout nor stem,
Hoar oak, nor sapling-not to be extinguish'd,
Till Heaven, in mercy, sends down all her waters;
But, once subdued, its flame is quench'd for ever;
And spring shall hide the tract of devastation,*
With foliage and with flowers.-Give me thy hand.
Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan.
Let all who love the Gordon follow me!
Ay, let all follow-but in silence follow.
Scare not the hare that's couchant on her form-
The cushat from her nest--brush'not, if possible,
The dewdrop from the spray-
Let no one whisper, until I ery, "Havoc !"
On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful Scotsman!
Then shout as loud's ye will.-On, on, brave Hob;
[Exeunt.
A rising Ground immediately in front of the Position of the English Main Body. PERCY, CHANDOS, RIBAUMONT, and other English and Norman Nobles, are grouped on the Stage.
The Scots still keep the hill-the sun grows high. Would that the charge would sound.
I will uphold it just. Our good King Edward
Will presently come to this battle-field,
And speak to you of the last tilting match,
Or of some feat he did a twenty years since;
But not a word of the day's work before him.
Even as the artist, sir, whose name offends you,
Sits prosing o'er his can, until the trap fall,
Announcing that the vermin are secured,
And then 'tis up, and on them.
Chandos, you give your tongue too bold a license.
Percy, I am a necessary evil.
King Edward would not want me, if he could,
And could not, if he would. I know my value.
My heavy hand excuses my light tongue.
So men wear weighty swords in their defence,
Although they may offend the tender shin,
When the steel-boot is doff'd.
My Lord of Chandos, This is but idle speech on brink of battle, When Christian men should think upon their sins; For as the tree falls, so the trunk must lie, Be it for good or evil. Lord, bethink thee, Thou hast withheld from our most reverend house, The tithes of Everingham and Settleton;, Wilt thou make satisfaction to the Church Before her thunders strike thee? I do warn thee In most paternal sort.
I thank you, Father, filially.
Though but a truant son of Holy Church,
I would not choose to undergo her censures,
When Scottish blades are waving at my throat.
I'll make fair composition.
No composition; I'll have all, or none.
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