On Malcolm’s shoulder, kindly said,
“Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy
In my poor follower’s glistening eye?
I’ll tell thee:—he recalls the day
When in my praise he led the lay
O’er the arch’d gate of Bothwell proud,
While many a minstrel answer’d loud,
When Percy’s Norman pennon,[133] won
In bloody field, before me shone,
And twice ten knights, the least a name