He raised his red-cross shield no more,
Helm, cuish, and breast-plate stream'd with gore.
Yet, as he saw the King advance,
He strove even then to couch his lance--
The effort was in vain!
The spur-stroke fail'd to rouse the horse;
Wounded and weary, in 'mid course
He tumbled on the plain.
Then foremost was the generous Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to loose:--
"Lord Earl, the day is thine!
My sovereign's charge, and adverse fate,
Have made our meeting all too late;
Yet this may Argentine,
As boon from ancient comrade, crave--
A Christian's Mass, a soldier's grave."
Bruce pressed his dying hand--its grasp
Kindly replied; but, in his clasp
It stiffen'd and grew cold--
And, "O farewell!" the victor cried,
Of chivalry the flower and pride,
The arm in battle bold,
The courteous mien, the noble race,
The stainless faith, the manly face!
Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine,
For late-wake of De Argentine.
O'er better knight on death-bier laid,
Torch never gleamd, nor Mass was said! [1]
[Footnote 1: It is said that the body of Sir Giles de Argentine was
brought to Edinburgh, and interred with the greatest pomp in St. Giles'
Church. Thus did the royal Bruce respond to the dying knight's
request.
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