15. Then Argentine, in England's name,
So highly urged his sovereign's claim,
He waked a spark, that, long suppressed,
Had smoldered in Lord Roland's breast;
And now, as from the flint the fire,
Flashed forth at once his generous ire.
"Enough of noble blood," he said,
"By English Edward had been shed,
Since matchless Wallace first had been
In mockery crowned with wreaths of green,
And done to death by felon hand,
For guarding well his native land.
Where's Nigel Bruce? and De la Haye,
And valiant Seaton--where are they?
Where Somerville, the kind and free?
And Fraser, flower of chivalry?
Have they not been on gibbet bound,
Their quarters flung to hawk and hound,
And hold we here a cold debate
To yield more victims to their fate?
What! can the English leopard's mood
Never be gorged with Northern blood?
Was not the life of Athole shed
To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed?
Nor must his word, till dying day,
Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay?"
16. "Nor deem," said Dunnegan's knight,
"That thou shalt brave alone the fight!
By saints of isle and mainland both,
By woden wild--my grandsire's oath--
Let Rome and England do their worst;
Rowe'er attainted and accursed,
If Bruce shall e'er find friends again,
Once more to brave a battle-plain,
If Douglas couch again his lance,
Or Randolph dare another chance,
Old Torquil will not be to lack
With twice a thousand at his back;
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold,
Good abbot! for thou knowest of old,
Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will
Smack of the wild Norwegian still
Nor will I barter freedom's cause
For England's wealth or Rome's applause!"
17.
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