62. The next morning, being the 24th of June, at break of day the battle began in terrible earnest. The English as they advanced saw the Scots getting into lines. The Abbot of Inchaffray walked through their ranks barefooted, and exhorted them to fight for their freedom. They kneeled down as he passed, and prayed to heaven for victory. King Edward, who saw this, called out: "They kneel down; they are asking forgiveness." "Yes," said a celebrated English baron, called Ingelram de Umphraville, "but they ask it from God, not from us; these men will conquer, or die upon the field." The English king ordered his men to begin the battle. The archers then bent their bows, and began to shoot so closely together that the arrows fell like flakes of snow on a Christmas-day. 63. Upon the right, behind the wood, Each by his steed, dismounted, stood The Scottish chivalry; With foot in stirrup, hand on mane, Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain His own keen heart, his eager train, Until the archers gain the plain; Then "Mount ye gallants free!" He cried; and, vaulting from the ground, His saddle every horseman found. On high their glittering crests they toss, As springs the wild-fire from the moss; The shield hangs down on every breast, Each ready lance is in the rest, And loud shouts Edward Bruce: "Forth, marshal! on the peasant foe We'll tame the terrors of their bow, And cut the bow-string loose!" 64. Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks, They rushed among the archer ranks. No spears were there the shock to let, No stakes to turn the charge were set, And bow shall yeoman's armor slight, Stand the long lance and mace of might? Or what may their short swords avail, 'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail? Amid their ranks the chargers spring, High o'er their heads the weapons swing, And shriek and groan and vengeful shout Give note of triumph and of rout! Awhile, with stubborn hardihood, Their English hearts the strife made good; Borne down at length on every side, Compelled to flight, they scatter wide. Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee, And bound the deer of Dallorn-Lee! The broken bows of Bannock's shore Shall in the greenwood ring no more! Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now, The maids may twine the summer bough, May northward look with longing glance For those that went to lead the dance, For the blithe archers look in vain! Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en, Pierced through, trod down, by thousands slain, They cumber Bannock's bloody plain!