“’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,
  No force of man, nor craft of fiend,
    Shall cleave me from thy side!”

  And aye we sail’d, and aye we sail’d,
    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 watch-tower’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 turn’d 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 ye 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,
    Not 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 or sea,
    Where danger bars the way;
  And therefore are we here, Lord King,
    To ride with thee this day!”