Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/142

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 honoured name
    Each Scottish babe shall call,
And all who love the Bruce's fame
    Shall mourn the Douglas' fall.