57. And who that saw that monarch ride, His kingdom battling by his side, Could then his direful doom foretell; Fair was his seat in knightly selle, And in his sprightly eye was set Some sparks of the Plantagenet. Though bright and wandering was his glance, It flashed at sight of shield and lance. "Knowest thou," he said, "De Argentine, Yon knight who marshals thus their line?" 58. "The tokens on his helmet tell The Bruce, my liege; I know him well." "And shall the audacious traitor brave The presence where our banners wave?" "So please my liege," said Argentine, "Were he but horsed on steed like mine, To give him fair and knightly chance, I would adventure forth my lance." 59. "In battle-day," the king replied, "Nice tourne rules are set aside; Still must the rebel dare our wrath! Set on him--sweep him from our path!" And, at King Edward's signal, soon Dashed from the ranks Sir Edward Bohun! 60. Of Hereford's high blood he came, A race renowned for knightly fame; He burned before his monarch's eye To do some deed of chivalry. He spurred his steed, he couched his lance, And darted on the Bruce at once. As motionless as rocks, that bide The wrath of the advancing tide, The Bruce stood fast; each breast beat high, And dazzled was each gazing eye; The heart had hardly time to think, The eyelid scarce had time to wink, While on the king, like flash of flame, Spurred to full speed, the war-horse came! The partridge may the falcon mock, If that slight palfrey stand the shock; But, swerving from the knight's career, Just as they met, Bruce shunned the spear; Onward the baffled warrior bore His course--but soon his course was o'er! High in his stirrups stood the king, And gave his battle-axe the swing. Right on De Bohun, the whiles he passed, Fell that stern dint--the first--the last! Such strength upon the blow was put, The helmet crushed like hazel-nut, The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, Was shivered to the gauntlet grasp. Springs from the blow the startled horse, Drops on the plain the lifeless corse; First of that fatal field, how soon, How sudden fell the fierce De Bohun! 61. One pitying glance the monarch shed Where on the field his foe lay dead; Then gently turned his palfrey's head, And, pacing back his sober way, Slowly he gained his own array. There round their king the leaders crowd And blame his recklessness aloud, That risked 'gainst each adventurous spear A life so valued and so dear. His broken weapon's shaft surveyed The king, and careless answer made "My loss must pay my folly's tax-- I've broke my trusty battle-axe"