“Have down, have down, my merrymen all-- Have down unto the plain; We’ll let the Scottish lion loose Within the fields of Spain!”
“Now welcome to me, noble Lord, Thou and thy stalwart power; Dear is the sight of a Christian Knight, Who comes in such an hour!
“Is it for bond or faith you come, Or yet for golden fee? Or bring ye France’s lilies here, Or the flower of Burgundie?”
“God greet thee well, thou valiant King, Thee and thy belted peers-- Sir James of Douglas am I called, And these are Scottish spears.
“We do not fight for bond or plight, Nor yet for golden fee; But for the sake of our blessed Lord, Who died upon the tree.
“We bring our great King Robert’s Heart Across the weltering wave, To lay it in the holy soil Hard by the Saviour’s grave.
“True Pilgrims we, by land or sea, Where danger bars the way; And therefore are we here, Lord King, To ride with thee this day!”
The King has bent his stately head, And the tears were in his eyne-- “God’s blessing on thee, noble Knight, For this brave thought of thine!
“I know thy name full well, Lord James; And honoured may I be, That those who fought beside the Bruce Should fight this day for me!
“Take thou the leading of the van, And charge the Moors amain; There is not such a lance as thine In all the host of Spain!”
The Douglas turned towards us then, Oh, but his glance was high!-- “There is not one of all my men But is as bold as I.
“There is not one of all my Knights But bears as true a spear-- Then onwards, Scottish gentlemen, And think King Robert’s here!”
The trumpets blew, the cross-bolts flew, The arrows flashed like flame, As spur in side, and spear in rest, Against the foe we came.
And many a bearded Saracen Went down, both horse and man; For through their ranks we rode like corn, So furiously we ran!
But in behind our path they closed, Though fain to let us through, For they were forty thousand men, And we were wondrous few.
We might not see a lance’s length, So dense was their array, But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade Still held them hard at bay.
“Make in! make in!” Lord Douglas cried-- “Make in, my brethren dear! Sir William of Saint Clair is down; We may not leave him here!”
But thicker, thicker grew the swarm, And sharper shot the rain, And the horses reared amid the press, But they would not charge again.