Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/142

Rh Saw brave St. Clair with broken lance, That friend from childhood dear.

He saw him by a thousand foes Opprest and overborne, And high the blast of rescue rose From his good bugle-horn; And reckless of the Moorish spears In bristling ranks around His monarch's heart oft steeped in tears He from his neck unbound,

And flung it toward the battle front, And cried with panting breath, "Pass first, my liege, as thou wert wont—    I follow thee to death." Stern Osmyn's sword was dire that day, And keen the Moorish dart, And there Earl Douglas bleeding lay Beside the Bruce's heart.

Embalmed with Scotland's flowing tears, That peerless champion fell, And still the lyre to future years His glorious deeds shall tell, The "good Lord James" that honoured name Each Scottish babe shall call, And all who love the Bruce's fame Shall mourn the Douglas' fall.