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55. There was a knight among the English called Sir Henry de Bohun,
who thought this would be a good opportunity to gain great fame to
himself and put an end to the war by killing King Robert. The king
being poorly mounted, and having no lance, Bohun galloped on him
suddenly and furiously, thinking, with his long spear and his big
strong horse, easily to bear him down to the ground. King Robert saw
him and permitted him to come very near, then suddenly turned his pony
a little to one side, so that Sir Henry missed him with the lance
point, and was in the act of being carried past him by the career of
his horse. But as he passed, King Robert rose up in his stirrups and
struck Sir Henry on the head with his battle-axe so terrible a blow
that it broke to pieces his iron helmet, as if it had been a
nut-shell, and hurled him from his saddle. He was dead before he
reached the ground. This gallant action was blamed by the Scottish
leaders, who thought Bruce ought not to have exposed himself to so
much danger when the safety of the whole army depended on him. The
king only kept looking at his weapon, which was injured by the force
of the blow, and said, "I have broken my good battle-axe." This is
the way Scott describes this incident in the "Lord of the Isles":
56. O gay yet fearful to behold,
Flashing with steel and rough with gold,
And bristled o'er with balls and spears,
With plumes and pennons waving fair,
Was that bright battle front! for there
Rode England's king and peers.
57. And who that saw that monarch ride,
His kingdom battling by his side,
Could then his direful doom foretell;
Fair was his seat in knightly selle,
And in his sprightly eye was set
Some sparks of the Plantagenet.
Though bright and wandering was his glance,
It flashed at sight of shield and lance.
"Knowest thou," he said, "De Argentine,
Yon knight who marshals thus their line?"
58. "The tokens on his helmet tell
The Bruce, my liege; I know him well."
"And shall the audacious traitor brave
The presence where our banners wave?"
"So please my liege," said Argentine,
"Were he but horsed on steed like mine,
To give him fair and knightly chance,
I would adventure forth my lance."
59. "In battle-day," the king replied,
"Nice tourne rules are set aside;
Still must the rebel dare our wrath!
Set on him--sweep him from our path!"
And, at King Edward's signal, soon
Dashed from the ranks Sir Edward Bohun!
60. Of Hereford's high blood he came,
A race renowned for knightly fame;
He burned before his monarch's eye
To do some deed of chivalry.
He spurred his steed, he couched his lance,
And darted on the Bruce at once.
As motionless as rocks, that bide
The wrath of the advancing tide,
The Bruce stood fast; each breast beat high,
And dazzled was each gazing eye;
The heart had hardly time to think,
The eyelid scarce had time to wink,
While on the king, like flash of flame,
Spurred to full speed, the war-horse came!
The partridge may the falcon mock,
If that slight palfrey stand the shock;
But, swerving from the knight's career,
Just as they met, Bruce shunned the spear;
Onward the baffled warrior bore
His course--but soon his course was o'er!
High in his stirrups stood the king,
And gave his battle-axe the swing.
Right on De Bohun, the whiles he passed,
Fell that stern dint--the first--the last!
Such strength upon the blow was put,
The helmet crushed like hazel-nut,
The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp,
Was shivered to the gauntlet grasp.
Springs from the blow the startled horse,
Drops on the plain the lifeless corse;
First of that fatal field, how soon,
How sudden fell the fierce De Bohun!
61. One pitying glance the monarch shed
Where on the field his foe lay dead;
Then gently turned his palfrey's head,
And, pacing back his sober way,
Slowly he gained his own array.
There round their king the leaders crowd
And blame his recklessness aloud,
That risked 'gainst each adventurous spear
A life so valued and so dear.
His broken weapon's shaft surveyed
The king, and careless answer made
"My loss must pay my folly's tax--
I've broke my trusty battle-axe"
62. The next morning, being the 24th of June, at break of day the
battle began in terrible earnest. The English as they advanced saw the
Scots getting into lines. The Abbot of Inchaffray walked through their
ranks barefooted, and exhorted them to fight for their freedom. They
kneeled down as he passed, and prayed to heaven for victory. King
Edward, who saw this, called out: "They kneel down; they are asking
forgiveness." "Yes," said a celebrated English baron, called Ingelram
de Umphraville, "but they ask it from God, not from us; these men will
conquer, or die upon the field." The English king ordered his men to
begin the battle. The archers then bent their bows, and began to shoot
so closely together that the arrows fell like flakes of snow on a
Christmas-day.
63. Upon the right, behind the wood,
Each by his steed, dismounted, stood
The Scottish chivalry;
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain
His own keen heart, his eager train,
Until the archers gain the plain;
Then "Mount ye gallants free!"
He cried; and, vaulting from the ground,
His saddle every horseman found.
On high their glittering crests they toss,
As springs the wild-fire from the moss;
The shield hangs down on every breast,
Each ready lance is in the rest,
And loud shouts Edward Bruce:
"Forth, marshal! on the peasant foe
We'll tame the terrors of their bow,
And cut the bow-string loose!"
64. Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks,
They rushed among the archer ranks.
No spears were there the shock to let,
No stakes to turn the charge were set,
And bow shall yeoman's armor slight,
Stand the long lance and mace of might?
Or what may their short swords avail,
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail?
Amid their ranks the chargers spring,
High o'er their heads the weapons swing,
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout
Give note of triumph and of rout!
Awhile, with stubborn hardihood,
Their English hearts the strife made good;
Borne down at length on every side,
Compelled to flight, they scatter wide.
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee,
And bound the deer of Dallorn-Lee!
The broken bows of Bannock's shore
Shall in the greenwood ring no more!
Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now,
The maids may twine the summer bough,
May northward look with longing glance
For those that went to lead the dance,
For the blithe archers look in vain!
Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en,
Pierced through, trod down, by thousands slain,
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain!
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