Scot!" He gave us back, "St. Andrew, and the right!" Wrapping his arm in what had wrapped his face, And looking like the lion that he was. Beholding him, I trembled, and stood still; But one more rash ran on, to shriek and fall, His raised right arm lopped at the shoulder off. With that a voice cried, "In the king's name, peace!" The Scot looked up and saw a troop approach. "Too great a pack for one," he said, and ran. Now this was Ormesby, the justiciary, Arrived in Lanark to dispense the law, With Hazelrig, the ruler of the shire. Mallorie [aside to Beaumont]. Quick, man! be quick! Look how his Highness chafes! Beaumont. The valiant Scot was Wallace. It appeared His foster-mother, who had paid away The earnings of her lifetime for his corpse, Kissing and weeping o'er it, saw a spark Struggle with night of death; or else her hope Inspired new breath, much aided by her prayers. The little glow she nursed into a flame, So feeble, that, lest meat should smother it, Her daughter gave one of her bosom's springs, Then at high-tide to feed her new-born babe, For the replenishing his body's lamp. Being recovered, he had come to see His wife, who dwelt in Lanark. Wallace [aside]. God! O God! Beaumont. Hazelrig led the chase: I followed close. We reached the house: I searched the garden. There, Scarcely concealed, I saw the prisoner. Sire, I'm not a coward, and I was not then; But from the instant that I recognised The dead man come alive, enchantment caught My spirit in a toil, and made me watch, Powerless and voiceless, all he did. I felt No movement, even while I followed him. There was some witchery I do believe. In by the window, when the search was o'er, He entered, saying gaily to his wife, "I almost think an English lourdane saw me. How thin a thicket hides a dread discovery!" Then seeing on the floor his lady lie, "O God! what varied truth was in that word! Not dead, my love!" She spoke that I could hear. "Dying, dying. Hazelrig has killed me. My spirit clings still to my lips to kiss you. I would my soul might melt into a kiss To lie on your lips till your soul's release, And then to heaven together we would fly. Avenge my death and Scotland's wrongs." "My love!" He cried; and all his strength was water. And long he held her: and he shook and sobbed. Wallace [straining his bonds]. Nay, hang me!--burn me!--I am sawn asunder! Beaumont. At length he put her softly on a seat, And took her hand and knelt: and she was dead: Her face was like an angel's fallen asleep. Upon her bloody breast his eyes he fixed, Seeming unruffled as a still white flame, And words, more dread than silence, spake aloud: "I will avenge thy death and Scotland's wrongs. For every tear that now my eyes have dropped From English veins shall seas of blood be shed. Each sigh of mine shall have ten thousand echoes: Yea, for her death I'll England sepulchre. O glutton grave, a surfeit shall be thine!