Wyseby

4 WYSEBY : A LEGEND
land !" is the cry. Poor, devoted land, much must
thou suffer. But thy hour of subjugation is not yet
come.
Scotlandward march Edward and his host. Daily
nearer and nearer his proud army approaches. Shall
they pass the Border unopposed ? In the halls of
Lochwood grey warriors hold noisy counsel. What
shall be done ? Flight to Bruce, allegiance to ' Ed-
ward, are spoken of, fiercely debated. A grim war-
rior arose. Silence fell on all. 'Twas a strange
sight that, at that hour, in the old hall of Lochwood.
A large fire of Scotch pine blazed in a rude fire-
place at the upper end of the hall ; and along the
walls, at intervals, pine torches glared fitfully. By a
rude table sat thirty grim warriors — chiefs strong in
battle — free of speech — fierce, yet generous — full of
wild daring. The blue mail gleams on each broad
breast ; a proud plume nodded over each dark, fur-
rowed, thoughtful brow ; — each hand grasped a
Border broadsword. A grim warrior arose : — -
gaunt and bony his frame ; broad, lofty, but deeply
furrowed, his forehead ; large, grey, piercing, his
eyes. 'Tis Douglas. All are silent. " Women are
we," cried he, " thus to waste our time in idle debate.
Flight to Bruce is indeed possible ; but shall we
leave our castles to light the midnight sky, — our
cattle to feed the enemies of our country, — the feeble
of our retainers to glut the cruelty of invaders ?
Allegiance to Edward, — to the son of the murderer
of Wallace ? Never! by St Bryde," cried he, draw-
ing his sword, and dashing the scabbard on the table
before the assembled chiefs. " Only one way is left
for us — to fight — to conquer or die. Up, then!"
shouted he, waving his sword ; ;s he that refuses to