HENRY HUDSON'S FOURTH VOYAGE[1] (continued 2)

The English, after this great defeat, were no longer in a condition to support their pretensions to be masters of Scotland, or to continue, as they had done for nearly twenty years, to send armies into that country to overcome it. On the contrary, they became for a time scarce able to defend their own frontiers against King Robert and his soldiers.

Thus did Robert Bruce arise from the condition of an exile, hunted with bloodhounds like a stag or beast of prey, to the rank of an independent sovereign, universally acknowledged to be one of the wisest and bravest kings who then lived. The nation of Scotland was also raised once more from the situation of a distressed and conquered province to that of a free and independent state, governed by its own laws, and subject to its own princes; and although the country was after the Bruce's death often subjected to great loss and distress, both by the hostility of the English, and by the unhappy civil wars among the Scots themselves, yet they never afterward lost the freedom for which Wallace had laid down his life, and which King Robert had recovered, not less by his wisdom than by his weapons. And therefore most just it is, that while the country of Scotland retains any recollection of its history, the memory of those brave warriors and faithful patriots should be remembered with honor and gratitude.[3]

[Footnote 3: Three years after the Battle of Bannockburn, Bruce went over into Ireland to assist in establishing his brother Edward as king of the island. The Irish defended themselves so vigorously that the Scotch were compelled to retire, leaving Edward dead upon the field. For a number of years, Robert the Bruce reigned gloriously over Scotland, but toward the end of his life he fell a victim to leprosy and was compelled to live for two years in his castle at Cardross on the beautiful banks of the River Clyde. During this illness, Edward the Second of England died, and his son Edward the Third, a mere youth, came to the throne. The boy king determined to retrieve the losses that his father had sustained, but was prevented by Douglas, Randolph, and other loyal Scotch leaders, who distinguished themselves by almost incredible deeds of valor. When the king was dying, he ordered that his heart should be taken from his body, embalmed and given to Douglas to be by him carried to Palestine and buried in Jerusalem. Douglas caused the heart to be enclosed in a silver case, and proud of the distinction the king had shown him, started with a number of followers for Palestine. When he arrived in Spain, however, he was diverted from his original purpose and led to join with King Alphonso in an attempt to drive the Saracens from Granada. In a bitter fight with the Moors, Douglas was killed, and after the battle, his body was found lying across the silver case, as if his last object had been to defend the heart of Bruce. No further attempt was made to carry Robert's heart to Jerusalem, but it was returned to Scotland and buried in the monastery of Melrose.]

BRUCE AND THE SPIDER

By BERNARD ARTON

For Scotland's and for freedom's right The Bruce his part had played, In five successive fields of fight Been conquered and dismayed; Once more against the English host His band he led, and once more lost The meed for which he fought; And now from battle, faint and worn, The homeless fugitive forlorn A hut's lone shelter sought.

And cheerless was that resting place For him who claimed a throne: His canopy, devoid of grace, The rude, rough beams alone; The heather couch his only bed,— Yet well I ween had slumber fled From couch of eider down! Through darksome night till dawn of day, Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay Of Scotland and her crown.

The sun rose brightly, and its gleam Fell on that hapless bed, And tinged with light each shapeless beam Which roofed the lowly shed; When, looking up with wistful eye, The Bruce beheld a spider try His filmy thread to fling From beam to beam of that rude cot: And well the insect's toilsome lot Taught Scotland's future king.

Six times his gossamery thread The wary spider threw;

[Illustration: BRUCE BEHELD A SPIDER]

In vain that filmy line was sped, For powerless or untrue Each aim appeared, and back recoiled The patient insect, six times foiled, And yet unconquered still; And soon the Bruce, with eager eye, Saw him prepare once more to try His courage, strength, and skill.

One effort more, his seventh and last! The hero hailed the sign! And on the wished-for beam hung fast That slender, silken line; Slight as it was, his spirit caught The more than omen, for his thought The lesson well could trace, Which even "he who runs may read," That Perseverance gains its meed, And Patience wins the race.

* * * * *

THE HEART OF BRUCE

By WILLIAM L. AYTOUN

It was upon an April morn, While yet the frost lay hoar, We heard Lord James's bugle horn Sound by the rocky shore.

Then down we went, a hundred knights, All in our dark array, And flung our armor in the ships That rode within the bay.

We spoke not as the shore grew less, But gazed in silence back, Where the long billows swept away The foam behind our track.

And aye the purple hues decayed Upon the fading hill, And but one heart in all that ship Was tranquil, cold, and still.

The good Lord Douglas paced the deck, And O, his face was wan! Unlike the flush it used to wear When in the battle-van.

"Come hither, come hither, my trusty knight, Sir Simon of the Lee; There is a freit lies near my soul I fain would tell to thee.

"Thou know'st the words King Robert spoke Upon his dying day: How he bade take his noble heart And carry it far away;

"And lay it in the holy soil Where once the Saviour trod, Since he might not bear the blessed Cross, Nor strike one blow for God.

"Last night as in my bed I lay, I dreamed a dreary dream:— Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand In the moonlight's quivering beam.

"His robe was of the azure dye, Snow-white his scattered hairs, And even such a cross he bore As good Saint Andrew bears.

"'Why go ye forth, Lord James,' he said, 'With spear and belted brand? Why do you take its dearest pledge From this our Scottish land?

"'The sultry breeze of Galilee Creeps through its groves of palm, The olives on the Holy Mount Stand glittering in the calm.

"'But 'tis not there that Scotland's heart Shall rest by God's decree, Till the great angel calls the dead To rise from earth and sea!

"'Lord James of Douglas, mark my rede! That heart shall pass once more In fiery fight against the foe, As it was wont of yore.

"'And it shall pass beneath the Cross, And save King Robert's vow; But other hands shall bear it back, Not, James of Douglas, thou!'

"Now, by thy knightly faith, I pray, Sir Simon of the Lee,— For truer friend had never man Than thou hast been to me,—

"If ne'er upon the Holy Land 'Tis mine in life to tread, Bear thou to Scotland's kindly earth The relics of her dead."

The tear was in Sir Simon's eye As he wrung the warrior's hand,— "Betide me weal, betide me woe, I'll hold by thy command.

"But if in battle-front, Lord James, 'Tis ours once more to ride, Nor force of man, nor craft of fiend, Shall cleave me from thy side!"

[Illustration: I SAW A PILGRIM STAND]

And aye we sailed and aye we sailed Across the weary sea, Until one morn the coast of Spain Rose grimly on our lee.

And as we rounded to the port, Beneath the watchtower's wall, We heard the clash of the atabals, And the trumpet's wavering call.

"Why sounds yon Eastern music here So wantonly and long, And whose the crowd of armed men That round yon standard throng?"

"The Moors have come from Africa To spoil and waste and slay, And King Alonzo of Castile Must fight with them to-day."

"Now shame it were," cried good Lord James, "Shall never be said of me That I and mine have turned aside From the Cross in jeopardie!

"Have down, have down, my merry men all,— Have down unto the plain; We'll let the Scottish lion loose Within the fields of Spain!"

"Now welcome to me, noble lord, Thou and thy stalwart power; Dear is the sight of a Christian knight, Who comes in such an hour!

"Is it for bond or faith you come, Or yet for golden fee? Or bring ye France's lilies here, Or the flower of Burgundie?"

"God greet thee well, thou valiant king, Thee and thy belted peers,— Sir James of Douglas am I called, And these are Scottish spears.

"We do not fight for bond or plight, Nor yet for golden fee; But for the sake of our blessed Lord, Who died upon the tree.

"We bring our great King Robert's heart Across the weltering wave. To lay it in the holy soil Hard by the Saviour's grave.

"True pilgrims we, by land and sea, Where danger bars the way; And therefore are we here, Lord King, To ride with thee this day!"

The king has bent his stately head, And the tears were in his eyne,— "God's blessing on thee, noble knight, For this brave thought of thine!"

"I know thy name full well, Lord James; And honored may I be, That those who fought beside the Bruce Should fight this day for me!

"Take thou the leading of the van, And charge the Moors amain; There is not such a lance as thine In all the host of Spain!"

The Douglas turned towards us then, O, but his glance was high!— "There is not one of all my men But is as bold as I.

"There is not one of my knights But bears as true a spear,— Then onward, Scottish gentlemen, And think King Robert's here!"

The trumpets blew, the cross-bolts flew, The arrows flashed like flame, As spur in side, and spear in rest, Against the foe we came.

And many a bearded Saracen Went down, both horse and man; For through their ranks we rode like corn, So furiously we ran!

But in behind our path they closed, Though fain to let us through, For they were forty thousand men, And we were wondrous few.

We might not see a lance's length, So dense was their array, But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade Still held them hard at bay.

"Make in! make in!" Lord Douglas cried,— "Make in, my brethren dear! Sir William of Saint Clair is down; We may not leave him here!"

But thicker, thicker grew the swarm, And sharper shot the rain, And the horses reared amid the press, But they would not charge again.

"Now Jesu help thee," said Lord James, "Thou kind and true Saint Clair! An' if I may not bring thee off, I'll die beside thee there!"

Then in his stirrups up he stood, So lionlike and bold, And held the precious heart aloft All in its case of gold.

He flung it from him, far ahead, And never spake he more, But—"Pass thou first, thou dauntless heart, As thou wert wont of yore!"

The roar of fight rose fiercer yet, And heavier still the stour, Till the spears of Spain came shivering in, And swept away the Moor.

"Now praised be God, the day is won! They fly o'er flood and fell,— Why dost thou draw the rein so hard, Good knight, that fought so well?"

"O, ride ye on, Lord King!" he said, "And leave the dead to me, For I must keep the dreariest watch That ever I shall dree!

"There lies, above his master's heart, The Douglas, stark and grim; And woe is me I should be here, Not side by side with him!

"The world grows cold, my arm is old, And thin my lyart hair, And all that I loved best on earth Is stretched before me there.

"O Bothwell banks! that bloom so bright Beneath the sun of May, The heaviest cloud that ever blew Is bound for you this day.

"And Scotland! thou mayst veil thy head In sorrow and in pain: The sorest stroke upon thy brow Hath fallen this day in Spain!

"We'll bear them back unto our ship, We'll bear them o'er the sea, And lay them in the hallowed earth Within our own countrie.

[Illustration: HELD THE HEART ALOFT]

"And be thou strong of heart, Lord King, For this I tell thee sure, The sod that drank the Douglas' blood Shall never bear the Moor!"

The King he lighted from his horse, He flung his brand away, And took the Douglas by the hand, So stately as he lay.

"God give thee rest, thou valiant soul! That fought so well for Spain; I'd rather half my land were gone, So that thou wert here again!"

We bore the good Lord James away, And the priceless heart we bore, And heavily we steered our ship Towards the Scottish shore.

No welcome greeted our return, Nor clang of martial tread, But all were dumb and hushed as death Before the mighty dead.

We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk, The heart in fair Melrose; And woful men were we that day,— God grant their souls repose!

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

By HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! Who with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me?"

Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the northern skies Gleam in December; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking[1] old! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald[2] in song has told, No Saga[3] taught thee!

[Footnote 1: Vikings was the name given to the bold Norse seamen who in the eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries infested the northern seas. Tradition maintains that a band of these rovers discovered America centuries before Columbus.]

[Footnote 2: A skald was a Norse poet who celebrated in song the deeds of warriors.]

[Footnote 3: A saga is an ancient Scandinavian legend or tradition, relating mythical or historical events.]

"Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man's curse; For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon;[4] And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on.

[Footnote 4: A gerfalcon is a large falcon of Northern Europe.]

"Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the werewolf's[5] bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow.

[Footnote 5: According to a popular superstition, a werewolf is a man, who, at times, is transformed into a wolf. Such a wolf is much more savage than a real wolf, and is especially fond of human flesh. This superstition has at some time existed among almost all peoples.]

"But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's[6] crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led; Many the souls that sped,

[Footnote 6: Corsair is but another name for a pirate.]

[Illustration: I WAS A VIKING OLD]

Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders.

"Many a wassail-bout[7] Wore the long Winter out; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk's[8] tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o'erflowing.

[Footnote 7: A wassail-bout is a drinking bout, or carouse.]

[Footnote 8: Berserk, or Berserker, was the name given in heathen times in Scandinavia to a wild warrior or champion. The Berserkers, it is said, had fits of madness, when they foamed at the mouth and howled like beasts, rushing into battle naked and defenseless. It was believed that at such times they were proof against wounds either from fire or from steel.]

"Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chaunting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed. And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight, Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me,— Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen!— When on the white sea-strand, Waving his arméd hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw,[9] So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us.

[Footnote 9: The Skaw is the most northerly point of Denmark.]

"And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, Death! was the helmsman's hail, Death without quarter! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to lee-ward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower,[10] Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward.

[Footnote: 10. At Newport in Rhode Island is an old stone tower, which tradition says was built by the Norsemen when they visited this country. That is the tower to which Longfellow refers here.]

[Illustration: THREE WEEKS WE WESTWARD BORE]

"There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal![11] the Northland! skoal!" —Thus the tale ended.

[Footnote 11: Skoal is the customary salutation in Scandinavia when a health is drunk.]

[Illustration: Round Tower at Newport]