Is the noble Douglas nigh,
Arm'd to follow thee, or die?
Now, true Heart! as thou wast wont,
Pass thou to the peril's front!
Where the banner-spear is gleaming,
And the battle's red wine streaming,
Till the Paynim quail before thee,
Till the Cross wave proudly o'er thee!
—Dreams! the falling of a leaf
Wins me from their splendours brief,
Dreams, yet bright ones!—Scorn them not,
Thou, that seek'st the holy spot;
Nor, amidst its lone domain,
Call the faith in relics vain!
* The cry of Douglas, on throwing from him the casket, which contained the heart of Bruce, into the midst of a battle between the Moors and Spaniards. After the death of Douglas, who fell in this combat, the heart was brought back to Scotland, and buried at Melrose.
