LITMIR.BIZ

      And aye the purple hues decay'd

      Upon the fading hill,

      And but one heart in all that ship

      Was tranquil, cold, and still.

      The good Earl Douglas walk'd the deck,

      And oh, his brow was wan!

      Unlike the flush it used to wear

      When in the battle van.—

      "Come hither, come hither, my trusty knight,

      Sir Simon of the Lee;

      There is a freit lies near my soul

      I fain would tell to thee.

      "Thou knowest the words King Robert spoke

      Upon his dying day,

      How he bade me take his noble heart

      And carry it far away:

      "And lay it in the holy soil

      Where once the Saviour trod,

      Since he might not bear the blessed Cross,

      Nor strike one blow for God.

      "Last night as in my bed I lay,

      I dream'd a dreary dream:—

      Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand

      In the moonlight's quivering beam.

      "His robe was of the azure dye,

      Snow-white his scatter'd hairs,

      And even such a cross he bore

      As good Saint Andrew bears.

      "'Why go ye forth, Lord James,' he said,

      'With spear and belted brand?

      Why do ye take its dearest pledge

      From this our Scottish land?

      "'The sultry breeze of Galilee

      Creeps through its groves of palm,

      The olives on the Holy Mount

      Stand glittering in the calm.

      "'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,

      Nor 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 Pedro, King of Arragon,

      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 call'd,

      And these are Scottish spears.

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