I heard the haughty words of Argentine demanding Bruce, as England’s prisoner, and the loud turmoil of fiercer chiefs demanding his life, while the brave Ronald cries:
“Forbear!
Not in my sight while brand I wear,
O’ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall,
Or blood of stranger stain my hall!
This ancient fortress of my race
Shall be misfortune’s resting-place,
Shelter and shield of the distressed,
No slaughterhouse for shipwrecked guest.”
I heard the Abbott’s stern charge asking the heroic King if he knew reason aught, why his curse should not be pronounced in requital of that rash deed at the high altar of the Church of Dumfries. I heard the eloquent defense of the King, and the unexpected and sublime blessing of the Abbott.