The lord of the isles . t amazed,Sunk banner, spear, and shield; Each weapon-point is downward sent, Each warrior to the ground is bent. The rebels, Argentine, repent! For pardon they have kneeld.— Aye !—but they bend to other powers, And other pardon sue than ours ! See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands, And Messes them with lifted hands!1 Upon the spot where they have kneeld. These men will die, or win the held.— 1 Maurice, Abbot of Inchaffray, placing himself on an eminence,celebrated mass in sight of the Scottish army. He then passed along thefront, bare-footed, and bearing a crucifix in hi
The lord of the isles . t amazed,Sunk banner, spear, and shield; Each weapon-point is downward sent, Each warrior to the ground is bent. The rebels, Argentine, repent! For pardon they have kneeld.— Aye !—but they bend to other powers, And other pardon sue than ours ! See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands, And Messes them with lifted hands!1 Upon the spot where they have kneeld. These men will die, or win the held.— 1 Maurice, Abbot of Inchaffray, placing himself on an eminence,celebrated mass in sight of the Scottish army. He then passed along thefront, bare-footed, and bearing a crucifix in his hands, and exhorting theScots in few and forcible words, to combat for their rights and their Scots kneeled down. They yield, cried Edward ; see, they imploremercy.— They do, answered Ingelram de Umfraville, but not ours. Onthat field they will be victorious, or die.—Annate of Scotland, vol. 47. Till: LOUD OV THE [SLES, —Then prove we it they die or win !Bid Glosters Earl the fight XXII. Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high,Just as the Northern ranks arose, Signal for Englands archery To halt and bend their hows. 266 THE LORD OF THE ISLES Then steppd each yeoman forth a pace,Glanced at the intervening space, And raised his left hand high;To the right ear the cords they bring—— At once ten thousand bow-strings-ring, Ten thousand arrows fly !Nor paused on the devoted ScotThe ceaseless fury of their shot ; As fiercely ami as fast,Forth whistling came the grey-goose wingAs the wild hailstones pelt and ring Adown Decembers mountain targe of tough 1 mil-hide,Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide;Woe, woe to Scotlands bannerd pride, If the fell shower may last !Upon the right, behind the wood,Each by his steed dismounted, stood The Scottish chivalry;——With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrainHis own keen heart, his eager train,Until the archers gaind the plain ; Then, Mount, ye gallants free!He
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