Hast thou not seen, from heaven, in ire,

The eagle swift descend?

Hast thou not seen the sheeted fire

The lowering darkness rend?

Not faster glides the eagle gray
Adown the yielding wind;
Not faster bears the bolt away,
Leaving the storm behind;

Than flew the warriors on their way,
With full suspended breath;

Than flew the warriors on their way

Across the field of death.

So fierce the shock, so loud the clang,
The gleams of fire were seen;
The rocks and towers of Stirling rang,

And the red blood fell between.

Earl Walter's gray was borne aside,

Lord Darcie's black held on.

"Oh! ever alack," fair Margaret cried, "The brave Earl Walter's gone!" "Oh! ever alack," the king replied, "That ever the deed was done!".

Earl Walter's broken corslet doffed,
He turned with lightened eye;
His glancing spear he raised aloft,
And seemed to threat the sky.

Lord Darcie's spear aimed at his breast,

He parried dextrously;

Then caught him rudely by the wrist,

Saying, "Warrior, come with me!"

Lord Darcie drew, Lord Darcie threw ; But threw and drew in vain ;

Lord Darcie drew, Lord Darcie threw,

And spurred his black amain.

Down came Lord Darcie, casque and brand

Loud rattled on the clay;

Down came Earl Walter, hand in hand,

And head to head they lay.

Lord Darcie's steed turned to his lord,

And trembling stood behind;

But off Earl Walter's dapple scoured

Far fleeter than the wind;

Nor stop, nor stay, nor gate, nor ford,

Could make her look behind.

O'er holt, o'er hill, o'er slope and slack,
She sought her native stall;

She liked not Darcie's doughty black,

Nor Darcie's spear at all.

"Even go thy ways," Earl Walter cried,

"Since better may not be;

I'll trust my life with weapon tried,

But never again with thee.

"Rise up, Lord Darcie, sey thy brand,

And fling thy mail away;

For foot to foot, and hand to hand,

We'll now decide the day."

So said, so done; their helms they flung, Their doublets linked and sheen;

And hawberk, armlet, cuirass, rung

Promiscuous on the green.

Now, Darcie! now thy dreaded name,

That oft has chilled a foe,

Thy hard-earned honours, and thy fame,

Depend on every blow.

Sharp be thine eye, and firm thy hand;

Thy heart unmoved remain;

For never was the Scottish brand

Upreared, and reared in vain."

Lord Darcie's sword he forced a-hight,

And tripped him on the plain.

"O, ever alack,” then cried the knight,

"I ne'er shall rise again !"

When good Earl Walter saw he grew
So pale, and lay so low,

Away his brace of swords he threw,
And raised his fainting foe.

Then rang the list with shouts of joy,
Loud and more loud they grew,

And many a bonnet to the sky
And many a coif they threw.

The tear stood in the father's eye,—
He wiped his aged brow,—

"Give me thy hand, my gallant boy!

I knew thee not till now.