SCENE II.--The Wood of Drome. Scotch

soldiers about a watch-fire.

1st Soldier. What clouted loons we are! Royal beadsmen! Eh? 2nd Soldier. The king's as ragged as the rest. 1st Soldier. That's true. to-day I hunted with him, and I thought, Seeing his doublet loop-holed, frayed, and fringed; His swaddled legs and home-made shoes of pelt; His barbarous beard and hair, and freckled face, That manhood's surely more than royalty; For through this weedy, nettle-grown decay, A majesty appeared that distanced us, Even as a ruined palace overbears A hamlet's desolation.

Enter Bruce, unperceived.

3rd Soldier. He's a king By nature, though descent were lost in churls. 2nd Soldier. Ay, ay; but mark: I'll reason of our state. Here many days we've wasted in the wild, Chased by the English like the deer we chase, Exposed like them, without their native wont, Beneath this fickle, rigorous northern clime, Ill-fed, ill-clad, and excommunicate; While decent burghers--Scots as true as we-- Live warm, and prosper with their families. I think we're fools. 1st Soldier. Fools for ourselves, maybe, But wise I hope for Scotland: and the folk In every town and village think us wise, And bless and pray for us. Bruce [aside]. A brave heart that. [Advancing.] Good evening, comrades. Can you guess the time? 1st Soldier. An hour past sunset. Look, your Majesty; Barred by these trunks the cloudy embers burn Where day is going out. Bruce. Faintly I see. Your fire's so bright it dims the distant glow. Sit down again, good friends. 1st Soldier. A story, sir? 2nd Soldier. O, pray you tell us one! Bruce. I think I will. I've told you many tales of chivalry, Of faerie, and of Greeks and Romans too; But now I'll tell you of a Scotchman--one Who lived when Rome was most puissant here. The Roman governor, a valiant man, Agricola, in whom ambition paused Whenever prudence thought the utmost done, Reconquered all the southern British tribes, And drove his enemy beyond the Forth. The noble Galgacus then swayed the realm That stretches northward of that winding stream; And while the Roman, building forts and walls, As was his wont, secured the bird in hand, He mustered from his glens a skin-clad host To fight for freedom. Ardoch they call it, Where the armies met. Ere the battle joined, Firm on his chariot-floor with voice aflame, The Scottish chief harangued his thirty thousand. "Brothers," he cried, "behold your enemies! Gauls, Germans, Britons--mercenaries, slaves! In conquest, one and strong; but in defeat, So many weaklings, heartless, hopeless, lost. One signal victory to us were more Than all the battles that our foes have won: Their confidence is in their leader; ours, In our cause. Hearken!--had I a voice, Like heaven's thunder, I would shout across This battle-field to be, to yon mixed throng, And tell them they are Britons, Germans, Gauls: Bid them remember how in haughty Rome Their free-born countrymen are taught to serve The wanton fancies of luxurious vice In perfumed chambers or in bloody shows; Think of their wives and daughters, all abused; Think of themselves, leagued with their conquerors Armed and opposed against consanguine folk, Placed in the van to bear the battle's brunt, That Rome may triumph, and her blood not shed: Then would they turn and rend with us the foe. What need has Rome of Britain? we, of Rome? We, the last lonely people of the North, A morsel merely, perilous and far, Incite the eagle appetite of Rome, Uncloyed until she gorges all the world. No other need has Rome. Poor, desolate, Shrouded with mists, with cold empanoplied, At war among ourselves, fighting with beasts, We yet are freemen; and we need not Rome: We are the only freemen in the world. Here, in the very bosom of our land-- The last land in the world--we meet the power That rules all other lands but ours. Even here Let Rome be stricken. Brothers, countrymen, Freedom has taken refuge in our hills. She has a home upon the streaming seas, But loves the land where men are hers. Let not The word go forth on woeful-sounding winds That Rome has driven freedom from the earth: Sprite you with lions' hearts; like baleful stars Inflame your eyes that their disastrous glance May palsy foes afar; pour your whole strength In every blow, nor fear a drought: the power Of each is great as all when all are one. Rush like a torrent; crash like rocks that fall When thunder rends the Grampians. Liberty! Cry 'Liberty!' and shatter Rome." The Scots were worthy of their gallant chief, And fought as if they loved death, courting her By daring her to opportunities; Which she--a maid o'er-wooed--resented oft, And strained their cooler rivals to her breast; But discipline--that rock that bears the world, Compactly built--a city on a cliff Breaking disorder back like unknit waves-- Founded the Roman power; and on its front The Scots beat, shivered by their own onset; And evening saw them ebb, calmed, vanquished, spent. Yet that lost battle was a gain: our hills, That battle, and the ruin of her fleet, Held Rome behind Grahame's dyke, and kept us Scots. All south of us the Romans, Saxons, Danes, And Normans, conquering in turn, o'erthrew From change to change; but we are what we were Before Aeneas came to Italy, Free Scots; and though this great Plantagenet Seems now triumphant, we will break his power. Shall we not, comrades? 1st Soldier. Yes, your Majesty. 2nd Soldier. But might it not have been a benefit If Rome had conquered Scotland too, and made Between the Orkneys and the Channel Isles One nation? Bruce. A subtle question, soldier; But profitless, requiring fate unwound. It might be well were all the world at peace, One commonwealth, or governed by one king; It might be paradise; but on the earth You will not find a race so provident As to be slaves to benefit their heirs. 1st Soldier. At least we will not. Bruce. By St. Andrew, no!

Enter Nigel Bruce.

My brother Nigel! Happy and amazed I see you here. Why left you Aberdeen? Nigel. For several ends. And firstly, I have news. Bruce. Come to our cave. Nigel. No; for a reason, no. Bruce. Mysteries, secrets!--Well; retire good friends. [Soldiers go out. Nigel. Perhaps my news is stale. Bruce. Little I know Since in the flight from Methven, panic-struck, We parted company. Nigel. Learn then that Haye-- Hugh de la Haye; John is with you, I know-- Inchmartin, Fraser, Berclay, Somerville, Young Randolf, Wishart, trusty Lamberton Are captives. Bruce. Half my world! But is it true? Nigel. So much is certainty. Rumour declares Young Randolf has deserted us; that those I named will ransom; but that some, unknown, Have died the death of traitors. Bruce. Noble souls! Randolf--poor boy! What more? Nigel. A price Is on your head. Bruce. That matters not. Nigel. I know. Still, have great heed of whom and how you trust. That's all the evil tidings. Hear the good. The queen--Ah, this is she! I'll leave you now. [Goes out.

Enter Isabella.

Bruce. My dearest! Isabella. I couldn't wait, my husband. The Lady Douglas and the Lady Buchan Are in your cave. We rode from Aberdeen This evening, learning you were cantoned here. Douglas was sleeping when we came. His wife Bent o'er him, and she slipped into his dream; For when he waked he wondered not at all To see his lady there, till memory Aroused him quite to find the vision true. Nigel was seeking you; but when I saw The joy these two partook, incontinent I hurried out myself to find like cheer. My dear wayfaring hero, I have come To share your crust, and rags, and greenwood couch: I'm deep in love with skied pavilions: I'll be your shepherdess, Arcadian king. This evening's journey lay throughout a wood: The honeysuckle incensed all the air, And cushats cooed in every fragrant fir; Tall foxgloves nodded round the portly trees, Like ruffling pages in the trains of knights; Above the wood sometimes a green hill peered, As if dame Nature on her pillow turned And showed a naked shoulder; all the way, Whispering along, rose-bushes blushed like girls That pass blood-stirring secrets fearfully, Attending on a princess in her walk; I think with rarely scented breath they said A loving wife was speeding to her lord. Why are you silent? Bruce. I am thinking, dear, That I'm the richest monarch in the world. Possessing such a universe of love, The treasure most desired by kings and clowns. Isabella. What universe, dear lord? Bruce. Simplicity! You are my universe of love, you know. Isabella. Then keep your universe, and do not waste In empty space the time. I'll stay with you; Surely I can? Come, tell me all your plans. Bruce. I've none. What I desire I know; and think Firmly and honestly my wish is right. Plans are for gods and rich men: I am poor. Isabella. In spirit? So you may be blamelessly; But are you, sir? Bruce. I hardly know. Just now I tried to cheer a whining fellow here, But stood myself in greater need of hope. Isabella. I know--I understand. You need to think Of other things, my dear. I've heard of men, Great men, exhausted even to lunacy By just those labours that were beating smooth A thoroughfare for ever to success, Repair themselves with youth's prerogative That stops time and the world deposes, all In favour of a dream; or spend a while With children or the simplest souls they knew. Come, you must be amused. But, tell me, sir, Am I to stay? Bruce. Yes, dearest pilgrim, yes. Isabella. Oh, I am happy! We will live like birds. Bruce. And in the winter? Isabella. Winter? What is it? This is the summer. Bruce. Winter is---- Isabella. Hush!--hark! What birds so late fly screaming overhead? Bruce. Stout capercailzies, hurrying to their hills, Sated with fir-tops. Isabella. Ah! But, dearest lord, Are you quite well? I haven't asked you yet. Bruce. I am very well. And you? Isabella. See--look at me: You used to know by gazing in my eyes. Bruce. My wife, my lover, you are well indeed. Isabella. The fire is nearly out. Come to the cave, And there we will devise amusements, dear. [They go out.