And they looked with bitter scorn on their leader highly born,
Who preferred to fill his horn
Up with wine!
Then said Launcelot the tall, “Bring the chargers from their stall;
Lead them straight unto the hall, down below:
Draw your weapons from your side, fling the gates asunder wide,
And together we shall ride
On the foe!”
Then Provan knew full well, as he leaped into his selle,
That few would ’scape to tell how they fared;
And Gilkison and Nares, both mounted on their mares,
Looked terrible as bears,
All prepared.
With his bloodhounds in the leash, stood the iron-sinewed Neish,
And the falchion of Dalgleish glittered bright—
“Now, wake the trumpet’s blast; and, comrades, follow fast;
Smite them down unto the last!”
Cried the knight.
In the cumbered yard without, there was shriek, and yell, and shout,
As the warriors wheeled about, all in mail.
On the miserable kerne fell the death-strokes stiff and stern,
As the deer treads down the fern,
In the vale!
Saint Mungo be my guide! It was goodly in that tide
To see the Bogle ride in his haste;
He accompanied each blow with a cry of “Ha!” or “Ho!”
And always cleft the foe
To the waist.
“George of Gorbals—craven lord! thou didst threat me with the cord;
Come forth and brave my sword, if you dare!”
But he met with no reply, and never could descry
The glitter of his eye
Anywhere.
Ere the dawn of morning shone, all the Gorbaliers were down,
Like a field of barley mown in the ear:
It had done a soldier good to see how Provan stood,
With Neish all bathed in blood,
Panting near.