เ Bruce. The incidents in his history,-the escape he made from English bondage to rescue his country from the same yoke; his rise refulgent from the stroke which, in the cloisters of the Gray Friars, Dumfries, laid the Red Comyn low; his daring to be crowned at Scone; his frequent defeats; his lion-like retreat to the Hebrides, accompanied by one or two friends, his wife meanwhile having been carried captive, three of his brothers hanged, and himself supposed to be dead; the romantic perils he survived, and the victories he gained amidst the mountains where the deep waters of the river Awe are still telling of his name, and the echoes of Ben Cruachan repeating the immortal sound; his sudden reappearance on the west coast of Scotland, where, as he shook his Carrick spear,' his country rose, kindling around him like heather on flame; the awful suspense of the hour when it was announced that Edward I., the tyrant of the Ragman's Roll, the murderer of Wallace, was approaching with a mighty army to crush the revolt; the electrifying news that he had died at Sark, as if struck by the breath of the fatal Border, which he had reached, but could not overpass; the bloody summer's day of Bannockburn, in which Edward II. was repelled, and the gallant army of his father annihilated; the energy and wisdom of the Bruce's civil administration after the victory; the less famous, but noble battle of Byland, nine years after Bannockburn, in which he again smote the foes of his country; and the recognition which at last he procured, on the accession of Edward III., of the independence of Scotland in 1329, himself dying the same year, his work done and his glory for ever secured,-not to speak of the beautiful legends which have clustered round his history like ivy round an ancestral tower-of the spider on the wall, teaching him the lesson of perseverance, as he lay in the barn sad and desponding in heart-of the strange signal-light upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry, which led him to land, while 'Dark red the heaven above it glow'd, Wild screams the dazzled sea-fowl gave, The blackcock deem'd it day, and crew;' and last, not least, the adventures of his gallant, unquenchable heart, when, in the hand of Douglas,-meet casket for such a gem!—it marched onwards, as it was wont to do, in conquering power, toward the Holy Land;-all this has woven a garland round the brow of Bruce which every civilised nation has delighted to honour, and given him besides a share in the affections and the pride of his own land, with the joy of which 'no stranger can intermeddle.' Bruce has been fortunate in his laureates, consisting of three of Scotland's greatest poets,-Barbour, Scott, and Burns. The last of these has given us a glimpse of the patriot-king, revealing him on the brow of Bannockburn as by a single flash of lightning. The second has, in 'The Lord of the Isles,' seized and sung a few of the more romantic passages of his history. But Barbour has, with unwearied fidelity and no small force, described the whole incidents of Bruce's career, and reared to his memory, not an insulated column, but a broad and deep-set temple of poetry. Barbour's poem has always been admired for its strict accuracy of statement, to which Bower, Wynton, Hailes, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and Sir Walter Scott all bear testimony; for the picturesque force of its natural descriptions; for its insight into character, and the lifelike spirit of its individual sketches; for the martial vigour of its battle-pictures; for the enthusiasm which he feels, and makes his reader feel, for the valiant and wise, the sagacious and persevering, the bold, merciful, and religious character of its hero, and for the piety which pervades it, and proves that the author was not merely a churchman in profession, but a Christian at heart. Its defects of rude rhythm, irregular constructions, and obsolete phraseology, are those of its age; but its beauties, its unflagging interest, and its fine poetic spirit, are characteristic of the writer's own genius. APOSTROPHE TO FREEDOM. Ah! freedom is a noble thing! Then all perquier1 he should it wit: DEATH OF SIR HENRY DE BOHUN. And when the king wist that they were In hale2 battle, coming so near, 1 'Perquier:' perfectly.-2 Hale:' whole.- Gart:' caused. Before them all there came ridand, And toward him he went in hy.2 Saw him come, forouth all his feres,5 He thought that he should well lightly Sprent they samen into a lyng;7 'Raw:' row.-2 Hy:' haste.-3 Apertly:' openly, clearly.- Forouth:' be yond-Feres:' companions.- Forouten:' without.-Sprent they samen into a lyng:' they sprang forward at once, against each other, in a line.-8 Raucht:' reached.-Harns:' brains.-10 Frushit:' broke. And he down to the yird1 'gan go Have slain a knight so at a straik, Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly, To meet so stith2 a knight, and stour, Was with the stroke broken in two. 1 'Yird:' earth.- 'Stith:' strong.—3 Tynsal:' destruction.” ‘Mainit:' lamented. |