At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, 20 While drums, with rolling note, foretell Relief to weary sentinel. Through narrow loop and casement barred, The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, And, struggling with the smoky air, 25 Deadened the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone The lights through arch of blackened stone, And showed wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deformed with beard and scar, 30 All haggard from the midnight watch, And fevered with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, 35 Showed in what sport the night had flown. Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; Some labored still their thirst to quench; Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, 40 While round them, or beside them flung, At every step their harness rung. III These drew not for their fields the sword, Like tenants of a feudal lord, Nor owned the patriarchal claim 45 Of Chieftain in their leader's name; Adventurers they, from far who roved, To live by battle which they loved. There the Italian's clouded face, The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 50 The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air; The Fleming there despised the soil, That paid so ill the laborer's toil; Their rolls showed French and German name; 55 And merry England's exiles came, To share, with ill-concealed disdain, Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. All brave in arms, well trained to wield The heavy halberd, brand, and shield; 60 In camps licentious, wild and bold; In pillage fierce and uncontrolled; And now, by holytide and feast, From rules of discipline released. IV