Then uproar wild and misarray[315] Marr'd the fair form of festal day. The horsemen prick'd among the crowd, Repell'd by threats and insult loud; To earth are borne the old and weak, The timorous fly, the women shriek; With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, The hardier urge tumultuous war. At once round Douglas darkly sweep The royal spears in circle deep, And slowly scale the pathway steep; While on the rear in thunder pour The rabble with disorder'd roar. With grief the noble Douglas saw The Commons rise against the law, And to the leading soldier said,-- "Sir John of Hyndford![316] 'twas my blade That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;[317] For that good deed, permit me then A word with these misguided men."-- [315] Disorder. [316] A village on the Clyde. [317] Knighthood was conferred by a slight blow with the flat of a sword on the back of the kneeling candidate. XXVIII. "Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for me Ye break the bands of fealty. My life, my honor, and my cause, I tender free to Scotland's laws. Are these so weak as must require The aid of your misguided ire? Or, if I suffer causeless wrong, Is then my selfish rage so strong, My sense of public weal so low, That, for mean vengeance on a foe, Those cords of love I should unbind, Which knit my country and my kind? Oh, no! Believe, in yonder tower It will not soothe my captive hour, To know those spears our foes should dread, For me in kindred gore are red; To know, in fruitless brawl begun For me, that mother wails her son; For me, that widow's mate expires; For me, that orphans weep their sires; That patriots mourn insulted laws, And curse the Douglas for the cause. Oh, let your patience ward[318] such ill, And keep your right to love me still!" [318] Ward off. XXIX. The crowd's wild fury sunk again In tears, as tempests melt in rain. With lifted hands and eyes, they pray'd For blessings on his generous head, Who for his country felt alone, And prized her blood beyond his own. Old men, upon the verge of life, Bless'd him who stayed the civil strife; And mothers held their babes on high, The self-devoted Chief to spy, Triumphant over wrongs and ire, To whom the prattlers owed a sire: Even the rough soldier's heart was moved; As if behind some bier beloved, With trailing arms and drooping head, The Douglas up the hill he led, And at the Castle's battled verge, With sighs resign'd his honor'd charge. XXX.