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 honour’d 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 all my knights
    But bears as true a spear—­
  Then onwards!  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 St 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 thee 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?”

  “Oh, 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, beside 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 stretch’d before me there.