Part I.
Part I.
"Twas in the holy Minorites,
In the auld town of Dumfries,
That Bruce and John de Comyn met
To vow goodwill and peace.
Before the altar face to face
The rival kinsmen stood --
"Now, John de Comyn, we are met
For our puir country's good,
"Our rival claims may we adjust
Before this holy shrine! --
Earl Huntingdon was your forbear,
Earl Huntingdon was mine;
"But you are of the Baliol blood,
And Baliol's day is done,
For England's king he terms his Liege,
He and his craven son.
"They bar the way 'gainst you and yours --
The nation turns to me" --
Quoth Comyn -- "Stay, I am the son
Of Royal Marjory.
"She was ain sister to King John,
Through her I claim the throne;
In 'fault of Baliol I am heir
Through her and Huntingdon,
"'Tis true, we baith are sisters' bairns
Of Scotland's Royal line,
But you are from the younger stock,
The elder blood is mine."
"Enough," cried Bruce, his eyne dilate
With ill-dissembled ire,
"Enough -- the Comyn and the Bruce
To Scotland's throne aspire.
"Both cannot reign, yet may we twain
Against the South combine,
Support my title to the Crown
And all my lands are thine,
"Or gi'e to me fair Badenoch,
And by my knightly word
I'll stand by thee, and fight for thee,
And own thee for my Lord."
"Gie me the Carrick," Comyn said --
"Gie me braid Galloway,
I'll waive my right to Scotland's crown,
And own thy sov'reign sway.
"Needs but a Missive off they hand
Our Covenant to seal,
And to the Bruce -- to Scotland's King --
Shall John de Comyn kneel."
"Needs there a Missive?" cried the Bruce,
"Thou has my knightly word --
Thy title-deeds shall be my oath,
Backed by my trusty sword.
"What! would'st away? Now, by the Rood,
Thou art a traitor knave --
Thine aim to reign a puppet king,
The haughty Edward's slave.
"A written bond! I like it not --
'Twere a unholy thing,
That well might suit thy purpose, sir,
To shew to England's king."
Stung by the taunt Red Comyn turned
Upon his haughty foe;
But Bruce upon his rival sprung,
And dealt a sudden blow --
A blow that struck the Comyn down --
The Bruce a moment stood,
And on his fallen kinsman gazed
Aweltering in his blood.
With blood the altar was defiled,
Blood trailed along the floor --
Bruce, horror-stricken, rushed awa',
And crossed the chapel door.
Without, the fierce Kirkpatrick stood
And Lindsay by his side,
The bridle-reins they lichtly held
Prepared to mount and ride.
"O, but my Lord is deadly pale,
O, is my Lord in pain?"
"Alas!" quoth Bruce, "I fear, I doubt,
I have the Comyn slain."
Kirkpatrick laughed, and drew his knife --
"You fear -- you doubt," said he,
"Then I'll mak' sicker, and decide
This royal rivalrie."
Then rushed he furious through the kirk
With Lindsay by his side,
And there upon the altar steps
The Comyn they espied.
Bleeding, but yet alive he lay --
His gory hand was pressed
With effort vain to staunch the stream
That bubbled from his breast.
They hurl them on the prostrate foe,
They raise the flashing knife,
And hack and hew till, with a groan,
Red Comyn yields his life.
The haughty Comyn yields his life,
The bloody deed is done;
The holy Minorites they leave,
And to their leader run.
Up hastens Lindsay to his Lord,
And speaks on bended knee --
"Your rival to the throne is dead,
God save your Majestie."
"To horse, to horse; awa', awa',"
The fierce Kirkpatrick cried,
They mount their steeds and awa' like the wind,
Bruce and his henchmen ride.
The die is case -- ride warily,
O Bruce, for rough the path!
Thou shalt encounter swift and sure
The holy Church's wrath.
That jealous Church, whose Sanctuary
Thou, impious, hast profaned,
And with thy mighty rival's blood
Hast her pure altar stained.
Thou shalt encounter swift and sure
The Comyn's kith and kin,
And Edward frae the south shall rush
To scourge thee for thy sin.
Ride warily, and try to live
This evil action down;
Be stout of heart whate'er betide,
Nor fear Misfortune's frown --
Scotland hath need of thee, and thou
Shalt ably wear her Crown.
__________________________________________________
Part II.
The day was drear, in doubt and fear
The anxious nobles met;
Alas! there was no ancient Crown
On Robert's head to set.
The Sword, the Sceptre, and the Crown
To the far South were ta'en;
Proud Edward had uplift them a',
And Scotland's throning-stane.
Twa Earls unto the crowning cam',
Twa Earls and fourteen Lords --
Wi' this sma' handful wad the Bruce
Defy the English hordes.
Undaunted stands he in the Church
A heaven-created King.
"Who shall the robes of State provide?
Who shall the circlet bring?"
Who shall the throne provide, and who
Shall bring the Canopy?
For use and wont maun be observed,
And solemn honours high."
Then Glasgow's Bishop up and spake,
"My robes I'll frankly gie,
And Baliol's banner I have brocht
To be the Canopy."
Scone's pious Abbot answered next,
"My chair shall be the throne,
And this slight coronet of gold
Shall be King Robert's crown.
"The image of a holy man
It crowned," the Abbot said,
"O may it rest in sanctity
Upon our Monarch's head."
"And who shall crown our gracious King,
Who but the Earl of Fife?"
"Alas! he isna here this day,
He fears for lands and life."
"Then in default, myself I'll crown,"
Said Bruce, "by right divine" --
"Nay, hold!" -- it was a female spoke --
"I claim this right as mine."
It was the Ladye Buchan spake:
She stepped before the Bruce,
"The right to crown the King of Scots
Is mine from ancient use;
"The sister of Lord Fife this day
Acts in her brother's stead,
And standeth here to set the crown
Upon King Robert's head."
She ceased, and proudly glanced around;
King Robert smiled assent,
While on the Dame was every eye
With marked approval bent.
A Dame of goodly presence she,
Of bold commanding mien --
Nature and birth bestowed alike,
The aspect of a Queen.
And she has crowned King Robert Bruce
With solemn honors high;
And on the throne the Monarch sits
Aneth his Canopy.
The homage of his Lords is given,
While Ladye Buchan stands
Beside the Throne -- when all is done
Attention she commands --
"All hail to thee, O Scotland's King,
To thee and thine," she said,
"And may the blessing from high Heaven
Descend upon thy head.
"My task is done; since Canmore's time,
Within this scared place,
The kings of Scotland have been crowned
By Fife's devoted race.
But never yet had King a task
Such as remains for thee --
The task is thine from Southron bonds
To set thy country free.
When I cam' on the Scone at dawn,
O but the day was drear,
But now the sun shines in the lift,
The sullen sky is clear.
"Accept the omen -- Heaven smiles --
A glorious fate be thine
To drive the Southron out, to found
A freedom -- loving line.
"Thou art the chosen of the land,
The people turn to thee
With yearning hearts to lead them on
To war -- to victory.
"Thou livest in each loyal heart;
Thy name's in every mouth;
The Bruce we want to lead us on
Against the greedy South.
"My ban upon the Southron crew
That stole our rights awa' --
Our rights, our lands and liberties
Aneth the guise of Law.
"They've taen awa' our Scottish crown,
Our ancient throning-stane;
But not, I trow, for evermore,
We'll get them back again.
"For crown and throne and lands and rights
And glorious liberty --
For all we prize and hold most dear,
The Nation looks to thee.
"O Tower of strength to Scotland's cause,
O King! rise in thy might;
Go! gird thee for the brunt of war,
And God defend the Right!"
I'd love to have you drop by!--Barbara