THE HEART OF THE BRUCE by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY

"When he found his end drew nigh, that great king summoned
his barons and peers around him, and, singling out the good Lord
James of Douglas, fondly entreated him, as his old friend
and companion
in arms, to cause his heart to be taken from his body, after
death, and to transport it to Palestine, in redemption of a vow which
he had made to go thither in person." -- SIR WALTER SCOTT'S HISTORV
IF SCOTIAND.

KING ROBERT bore with gasping breath
The strife of mortal pain,
And, gathering round the couch of death,
His nobles mourned in vain.
Bathed were his brows in chilling dew,
As thus he faintly cried, --
"Red Comyn, in his sins, I slew
At the high altar's side.

"For this a vow my soul hath bound,
In armed lists to ride,
A warrior to that Holy Ground
Where my Redeemer died.
Lord James of Douglas, see, we part!
I die before my time;
I charge thee bear this pulseless heart
A pilgrim to that clime."

He ceased, for lo! in close pursuit,
With fierce and fatal strife,
Death came, and crush'd with icy foot
The brittle lamp of life.
The brave Earl Douglas, trained to meet
Dangers and perils wild,
Now, kneeling at his sovereign's feet,
Wept as a weaned child.

Beneath Dunfermline's hallowed nave,
Enwrapt in cloth of gold,
The Bruce's relics found a grave
Deep in their native mould;
But locked within its silver vase,
Next to Lord James' breast,
His heart went journeying on apace,
In Palestine to rest.

While many a noble Scottish knight,
With sable shield and plume,
Rode as its guard in armor bright,
To bless their Saviour's tomb.
As on the scenery of Spain
They bent a traveller's eye,
Forth came, in bold and glorious train,
Her flower of chivalry.

Led by Alphonso 'gainst the Moor,
They came in proud array,
And set their serried phalanx sure
To bide the battle-fray.
"God save ye now, ye gallant band
Of Scottish warriors true;
Good service for the Holy Land
Ye on this field may do."

So with the cavalry of Spain
In brother's grasp they closed,
And the grim Saracen in vain
Their blended might opposed;
But Douglas, with his falcon-glance,
O'erlooking crest and spear,
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 honored name,
Each Scottish babe shall call,
And all who love the Bruce's fame
Deplore the Douglas' fall.

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