And many a bearded Saracen

Went down, both horse and man;

For through their ranks we rode like corn, So furiously we ran!

But in behind our path they closed,
Though fain to let us through,
For they were forty thousand men,
And we were wondrous few.

We might not see a lance's length,
So dense was their array,

But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade
Still held them hard at bay.

"Make in! make in!" Lord Douglas cried"Make in, my brethren dear!

Sir William of Saint Clair is down;
We may not leave him here!"

But thicker, thicker grew the swarm,
And sharper shot the rain,

And the horses reared amid the press,
But they would not charge again.

"Now Jesu help thee," said Lord James,
"Thou kind and true Saint Clair!
An' if I may not bring thee off,

I'll die beside thee there!"

Then in his stirrups up he stood,
So lion-like and bold,

And held the precious heart aloft

All in its case of gold.

He flung it from him, far ahead,

And never spake he more,

But-"Pass thou first, thou dauntless heart, As thou wert wont of yore !"

The roar of fight rose fiercer yet,

And heavier still the stour,

Till the spears of Spain came shivering in, And swept away the Moor.

"Now praised be God, the day is won!
They fly o'er flood and fell:

Why dost thou draw the rein so hard,
Good knight, that fought so well?"

"O, ride ye on, Lord King!" he said,
"And leave the dead to me,
For I must keep the dreariest watch
That ever I shall dree!

"There lies, above his master's heart,

The Douglas, stark and grim; And woe is me I should be here, Not side by side with him!

"The world grows cold, my arm is old,

And thin my lyart hair,

And all that I loved best on earth

Is stretched before me there.

"O Bothwell banks! that bloom so bright Beneath the sun of May,

The heaviest cloud that ever blew

Is bound for you this day.

"And, Scotland! thou mayst veil thy head In sorrow and in pain:

The sorest stroke upon thy brow
Hath fallen this day in Spain!

"We'll bear them back unto our ship,
We'll bear them o'er the sea,
And lay them in the hallowed earth
Within our own countrie.

"And be thou strong of heart, Lord King, For this I tell thee sure,

The sod that drank the Douglas' blood
Shall never bear the Moor!"

The King he lighted from his horse,
He flung his brand away,

And took the Douglas by the hand,
So stately as he lay.

"God give thee rest, thou valiant soul!
That fought so well for Spain;
I'd rather half my land were gone,
So thou wert here again!"

We bore the good Lord James away,
And the priceless heart we bore,
And heavily we steered our ship
Towards the Scottish shore.

No welcome greeted our return,
Nor clang of martial tread,

But all were dumb and hushed as death
Before the mighty dead.

We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk,
The heart in fair Melrose;
And woful men were we that day-
God grant their souls repose!

WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN.

THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT.

Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;

But putting to the main,

At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marched toward Agincourt
In happy hour-

Skirmishing day by day

With those that stopped his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay

With all his power,

Which in his height of pride,

King Henry to deride,

His ransom to provide

To the king sending;

Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,

Yet, with an angry smile,

Their fall portending.

And, turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then:
Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed;

Yet have we well begun-
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun

By fame been raised.

And for myself, quoth he,
This my full rest shall be;
England ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me,

Victor I will remain,

Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell;
No less our skill is

Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopp'd the French lilies.

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen.

Excester had the rear-
A braver man not there;
O Lord! how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!