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of mechanism which forms the egress portion of this apartment." This part has indeed a specious cast about it very repulsive to a straightforward speaker, who will prefer the terse meaning of the more open Saxon. Where eupheuism is required, however, it is the most fitted to express it-its very indefiniteness being then its greatest beauty. But try to make fun of our Saxon after the aforesaid fashion. It can't stand a joke of that sort―you cannot mock it so.

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This Saxon tongue seems to have within itself resources as remarkable as those of the Saxon race, with the predominating influence of which it is identified. Wherever it penetrates, it carries with it the most thorough civilising instrument of ancient or modern times; and as sure as truth and rational freedom must ultimately prevail over falsehood and unrestrained licence, so will the noblest literary offspring of the North triumph over the degenerate progenies of the South. "The treasures of our tongue," says Richardson, spread over continents, scattered among islands in the Northern and Southern Hemisphere, from the unformed occident to the strange shores of unknowing nations in the East.' The sun, indeed, now never sets upon the empire of Great Britain. Not one hour of the twenty-four in which the earth completes her diurnal revolution— not one round of the minute hand of the dial-is allowed to pass in which, on some portions of the surface of the globe, the air is not filled with accents that are ours.' They are heard in the ordinary transactions of life, or in the administration of law, or in the deliberations of the senate house or council chamber; in the offices of private devotion, or in the public observance of the rites and duties of a common faith." It goes

"With Shakspere's deep and wondrous verse,

And Milton's loftier mind

With Alfred's laws and Newton's lore,

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FRAGMENT OF A HEROIC POEM ON "THE BATTLE OF

BANNOCKBURN."

Episodes on the struggle between Randolph and Clifford, and the personal encounter between King Robert the Bruce and Sir Henry D'Bohun,* the day before the Battle. BY THE LATE JOHN STEPHEN, ESQ., ARCHITECT, GLASGOW.

EARLS Gloucester and Hereford lead there the haughty van,
A squadron of ten thousand strong, and each a chosen man;

A bow-shot from this frowning front a knight rides in advance,
Both man and horse full arm'd to point with half-couched glittering lance-
D'Bohun his name, his lineage drawn from Hereford's proud race-
A subtle, stalwart, dexterous knight-but scant of knightly grace.

This proper name, if we be correctly informed, is pronounced as a word of one syllable, as if it were written Boon; at all events the measure in the poem requires that it should be so pronounced.

Shouted the King, "Lord Clifford, take eight hundred chosen knights
With men at arms, and bravely bear succour to yonder heights!
The tried hearts pent in Stirling towers, like eaglets in a cage,
Far spy us from their battlements come to redeem our gage :
Behold, Saint George's banner float gay on yon topmost tower!
And hark! their trumpets joyful hail this long-expected hour.
To forward them the needful aid, our honour loud demands—
Then forth and cheer their longing hearts, and brace their fainting hands-
Take fiery Daynecourt and Vane, hardy of heart and hand,

With tough Lord Selby to your aid, to guide the knightly band.”
"I go, most potent King," replied Lord Clifford, stout as steel;
"Yet spare thy blame, my liege, if I a soldier's sadness feel.

I would, in sooth, some other chief led out this squadron bright;

Once in yon stronghold coop'd, I were wall'd in from fame and fightI am a hound cried back and leash'd, just when the stag's at bayWhen all his kindled mettle throbs to spring upon his prey.

I own a soldier's duty true is to obey command;

Yet yearns my soul once more to grip war's hot and bloody hand:
May not our noble dames in scorn say, Clifford safe afar

Sat arm'd on yon embattled rock, while burned beneath the war!"
"Brave Clifford!" spake Sir Umphraville, "the task to thee assigned
Is fang'd with danger's sharpest teeth, as thou perchance wilt find,—
I therefore proffer this advice-Steal down upon the plain
Under, and round Saint Ninian's kirk, wheel east, then north again ;
Thus sweeping by unseen, outflank the foeman's leftward wing,
Ascending thence to Stirling towers therein thy succours fling."
"Thy counsel, noble Umphraville! belike is shrewdly wise,
So will I, for my comrades' sake, speed forth as you devise."

The King of Scots had strictly charged Earl Moray to prevent
Arm'd succours reaching Stirling towers, and baulk the bold attempt.
Thus order'd, long he watch'd his left with eager eye and mind,
Till in an evil moment slack that charge he brief resigned;
But what escapes the falcon's gaze, poised in the vaulted sky?
And what escapes the piercing glance of Bruce's prescient eye?
He sees stout Clifford far below sweep swift athwart the plain:
The King beheld, then wrathful rode to Randolph right amain;
"Ah! thoughtless man! behold, the foe pass by thee through the plain-
A rose hath from thy chaplet dropt-I warn'd thee; but 'twas vain!"
Mounted the blood to Randolph's cheek, self-chiding lower'd his brow:----
My error, Sire, I shall redeem or perish yonder now!"

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Five hundred sturdy spearmen, bold, all resolute sprung forth-
Randolph's paternal vassals leal, from Strath Don in the north;
These gallant yeoman follow him, determined to dispute
The passage of eight hundred horse, full mail'd from head to foot.
-Fierce came the horsemen ramping on along the level plain,
Inflamed with scornful arrogance, deep hate, and stout disdain-
A sneering smile of piteous scorn, like what Goliath threw
On the comely Hebrew shepherd lad, as on unarm'd he drew-
Haught curl'd each valiant horseman's lip, and spoke in every glance,
When they beheld the spearmen bold with breathless haste advance.
With cool contempt they eyed their speed, loathing to look so low,
But yet at Clifford's voice they wheel swift round to face their foe.
Instant the Scottish Spearmen form a solid phalanx square,
Their trenchant spears projecting round, a serried rampant glare.
Though few the noble Randolph's words, each was a fiery dart,
That, urged with manly energy, thrill'd to the inner heart!

"Ha! gallant Randolph, is it thou," cried Clifford, jeering loud,
"That leads this worthy company, this wondrous valiant crowd?
Say, hast thou ought to ask of me that here thou speed'st so fast?
Pray, spare the wind of these poor men, or soon they breathe their last!
Sure knights and men-at-arms are scarce around Rebellion's throne
Or is it coursers that ye lack to place the knights upon ?
Say, hast thou come to crave the peace of our offended lord,
And thus escape the biting scourge of his avenging sword?
Wearied of bondage sure thou art in yonder lean array,
Where hunger is thy guerdon meet, hard blows, and slender pay!
But soft-a second Methven's near-seck'st thou a friend in me?
Am I to play d'Gordon's part, and Counsel plead for thee?
Come, faithful Randolph, say with speed what does thee hither bring?
Lo! we are bound for Stirling Tower-doth that offend thy king?"
'Thy tongue is sharper than thy sword, brave Clifford, I surmise-
'Thy bark is abler than thy bite,' as saith the proverb wise;

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My Counsel, therefore, thou shalt be, and sure a lucky one!"
Retorted Randolph quickly thus, and so proceeded on-

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Approach then hither, that thy fee I straight may pay in steel,

As gold in this brave land is scarce since Longshanks robb'd our weal.
Right happy art thou in thy guess that steeds with us are rare,
Thus, wroth are we to see thy grooms like knights sit mounted there,
While true-born knights and gentlemen, like us, do tread the earth,
So, with your leave, we'll right that wrong, and prove their churlish birth!
Yea, we shall prove us gallant hounds, and these but frighten'd hares,
Mean skulking by with supple feet to win their couching lairs!
'Tis this sly fetch, brave wily lord, our King sends to chastise,
And naked strip these peasants' hides of knighthood's stolen disguise!"
"Randolph, avaunt! thy mockery spare; anon shall my keen sword
The insolence scrape from off thy tongue, thou false and saucy lord!"
Stung to the quick, so Clifford cried, and forthwith gave command,
With spur in flank, and spear in rest, to charge the Scottish band.
With gall'd hearts panting savagely, for vengeance all athirst,
An avalanche of steeds and knights on the Scots' phalanx burst.
Like the ancient rocks whose mighty feet rest where the earthquakes sleep,
Whose hoary brows the sun first gilds when rising from the deep,
So firmly stood the Randolph band amid the shivering crash,
When that fierce tide of lances broke on them with vengeful dash.
In forefront of the charging host, embreathing fiery rage,
Spurs the impetuous Daynecourt, o'erboiling to engage.
He singles out the Randolph brave-rushes with spear in rest,
Shouting aloud, "Audacious Scot, here, gorge this iron jest!"
But reckons all without his host that valiant knight, I fear,
For sudden plunged his noble steed, deep stabb'd by Randolph's spear,
And forward, headlong flung, the knight rolls helpless in the strife;
Brave Randolph rears his curtal axe, and offers "death or life!"
"My life I scorn, thine axe defy, thou braggart snarling Scot!"
Then with a wrench his dagger strikes right at the Randolph's throat;
But Randolph's strong steel gorget true defies the madden'd blow,
And ere again his arm can rise, his head in death lies low.

-Now silent stood the Scottish King with his high Captains near
On Coxet height, eyeing the fight, with mingled hope and fear:
They saw the charge-the whirlwind shock upswung with muffled swell;
Spear-shafts and clouds of dust rose high;-while on their ears faint fell
The battle's din, where blows are rife, laid on with sledge-like knell.
But now, behold, they see the foe roll backward from the Scots;

Right glad, I trow, they hail that sight-for each his saint invokes;
Yet soon, alas! that gladness pass'd-for lo, the knights divide
In squadrons four, prepared to charge Randolph on every side:
They have but time to mark the Scots still stand unflinching there
Intrench'd behind their bulwarks sharp-one stern unbroken square.
A squadron faces each link'd front-and hark! a trumpet note
Peals shrill-now, simultaneously, all charge with fury hot;-
Flutters each gallant gazer's heart-each eye is keenly strain'd-
Again the shock, the shout, the cry, for vengeance fierce maintain'd.
These mighty battering-rams of steel, instinct with deadliest rage,
Recoil from these Chalybean walls-and yet again engage:
Still, stand the Scots impregnable within their bristly tower,
Fast dealing death in sternest mood on each assailing power;
Grim mounds of men and horses stretch the phalanx all around
Slaughter'd or gasping out their life on the red slimy ground.
But all in vain can spearmen light stand long such whelming force;
They soon must fall, crush'd prone beneath yon steel-sheath'd heavy horse.
This Douglas felt, and earnestly addressed the King, and spake:
"My liege, I fain would Randolph help, and to him succours take;
Though stout their hearts, they cannot stand-the foe seem three to one,-
Though they on lions' marrow fed, death there they scarce can shun:
Environ'd thus with chosen knights the flower of chivalry;

As in a mortar maul'd they stand between each company."

A moment paused the noble King before he silence broke;

He eyed the fight-the issue weigh'd-then calm and firm he spoke :-
“No, Douglas, from thy trustful post thither thou shalt not go;
Let Randolph there, as best he may, cope with his weighty foe.
The scheme of battle fixed upon in Council, I avow,
Whate'er betide my nephew there may not be alter'd now."

-Fierce Edward Bruce with hush'd delight beheld the conflict waged;
For soothed his soul sat on its throne when battle round it raged-
"I wonder if Saint John be there, or who doth bear command-
Would God, I were down yonder now with axe and spear in hand!
A grudge Saint John doth bear me since our Gallowegian fight,
What time his thrice five hundred horse our fifty put to flight;
'Tis pity that intrepid Knight so long should sigh in vain

For vengeance"-thus quoth Edward Bruce: but Douglas cried amain-
"I cannot, O King, Randolph see batter'd to pieces there,
When I, at least, one arm can bring his jeopardy to share;
So, gracious Sire, I must be gone, whatever be my fate-
If Randolph falls unaided now, myself I'll scorn and hate!”
"Brave Douglas!-speed-reluctantly I yield thee my consent:"
Forth, like a cataract, down the steep dashing, the Douglas went;
And with him gallant spearmen pour'd two hundred and threescore,
Whose hearts, as one, heroic beat to plunge in battle's roar.
-Now, Edward Bruce, that fiery lord pants with impassion'd heat
Hence to descend to battle arm'd, and yonder foemen meet;
Thus he abrupt and brief addressed the King:-"My liege, I pray
Let me, with Douglas, also go downward to yonder fray;

And thence our valiant nephew pluck from slaughter's hungering bite,
And test our axes on yon knights against the coming fight.'

Answered the King in anger stern:-"Madman! how speak'st thou thus?-
Behold our foeman's main array advancing right on us!

The leader of our vaward gone, now he who rules our left-
How durst thou dream so wild? art thou of reason all bereft?"

"Forgive me, brother!" Edward cried, moved by the just reproach,

Right sore abash'd, I trow that he such frantic thought could broach;
For full upon them, marching stout, the English host drew near,
With gallant banners broad display'd of many a warrior-peer,

O'er whose fair shields and plumed helms, and o'er whose armour bright
A hovering sheet of radiance blazed that shed terrific light;
Beneath their horse-hoofs quaked the earth, as on they boldly strode,
While trumpets fury-kindling notes for vengeance breath'd abroad.
Order'd the English Monarch now his vast array to halt,
To counsel, with his wisest lords, the order of assault;
But all unheeding kept the van its onward brave career,
Burning to stretch the rebel foe upon a bloody bier.

Meanwhile the Bruce along his line at leisure slowly paced,
Upon a slender palfrey borne, in battle-armour cased;
But all unarmed he rode, unless a ponderous battle-axe,
Which in his right hand light he poised as 'twere a reed of flax:
Thus he his heavy war-horse kept all fresh for battle's brunt,
And thus, alone, he rode between his own and England's front.
Above his casque a diadem of gold was gleaming bright,
And oh, I ween, a nobler king ne'er marshall'd men for fight!
Affection laugh'd from out his eye, and sang upon his tongue,
As riding blythe his quickening words through every bosom rung;
For ah! their fervid hearts to his, heroic rivets clench,

Yea, genuine unswerving love, which naught but death may wrench;
Nay, sure, undying is their love, baptised and seal'd in blood,
Pour'd jointly forth for Caledon-a sacrificial flood:-
But lo! while Bruce is thus engaged adjusting his array,
Dashes d'Bohun across the Ford, and up the Roman Way;

Full panoplied-with low couch'd lance and bridle streaming loose
On his mail'd war-horse huge and fleet, against the half-armed Bruce:-
Bruce scans him as he thundering sweeps, and springs to face his foe-
They near-they meet-his palfrey true, Bruce reins and cheats the blow-
While, as d'Bohun darts past, bolt in his stirrups towers the King-
Nerved by the Patriot's God, he gives his axe the fatal swing-
One moment glances it on high- -as lightning strikes from heaven,
So fierce and swift it flashes down, through helm and skull deep driven!
D'Bohun's cleft head down breast and back a moment dangling hings,
While o'er the axe broke in the neck, yard-high the hot blood springs;
The horse beneath the blow stands stunn'd, check'd in its mid career-
Now bounds it forth, while o'er its haunch d'Bohun is hurl'd clear:
With heavy clash he sinks to earth-sullen his armour rings-
As Bruce the haft of his good axe beside the carcase flings.

All this in one fierce moment pass'd-the next rolls forth a shout;
From thrice ten thousand bosoms true, the applauding peal bursts out!
Thus fulminates the Scots' acclaim; now rush they to the fight,
Exulting in their patriot-king cleaving yon felon knight;
Now press they forth, with kindled hearts, into the battle-ground,
The proud invaders to engage but lo, the foe wheels round!
The English vaward turns and flies before their northern foes;
Yet not before the boldest fall beneath the Scottish blows.
Bruce prompt, a trumpet causes peal, at which his soldiers halt;—
Who swift their posts resume, to wait sternly the foe's assault.
Round Bruce now gather eagerly his nobles every one,
And with affection blame him sore that he such hazard run;
He, smiling, rued his shattered shaft, and with arch humour spoke-
"My lords, in sooth, I grieve to say-my favourite axe is broke!"
Thus he his danger lightly waived to those that led his host;

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