[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.