Scotland -- History -- War of Independence, 1285-1371 -- Fiction
"So," said he, "did I once believe myself forever shut in from the
world, by an obscurity that promised me happiness as well as seclusion!
But the hours of Ellerslie are gone! No tender wife will now twine
her faithful arms around my neck. Alas, the angel that sunk my
country's wrongs to a dreamy forgetfulness in her arms, she was to be
immolated that I might awake! My wife, my unborn babe, they must both
bleed for Scotland!-and the sacrifice shall not be yielded in vain.
No, blessed God," cried he, stretching his clasped hands toward my
countrymen to liberty and happiness! "Let me counsel with thy wisdom;
let me conquer with thine arm! and when all is finished, give me, O
gracious Father! a quiet grave, beside my wife and child."
Tears, the first he had shed since the hour in which he last pressed
his Marion to his heart, now flowed copiously from his eyes. The
women, the children, had aroused all his recollections but in so
softened a train, that they melted his heart till he wept. "It is thy
just tribute, Marion," said he; "it was blood you shed for me, and
shall I check these poor drops? Look on me, sweet saint, best-beloved
of my soul; O! hover near me in the day of battle, and thousands of
thine and Scotland's enemies shall fall before thy husband's arm!"
The plaintive voice of the Highland pipe at this moment broke upon his
ear. It was the farewell of the patriarch Lindsay, as he and his
departing company descended the winding paths of Craignacoheilg.
Wallace started on his feet. The separation had then taken place
between his trusty followers and their families; and guessing the
feelings of those brave men from what was passing in his own breast, he
dried away the traces of his tears, and once more resuming the
warrior's cheerful look, sought that part of the rock where the
Lanarkmen were quartered.
As he drew near he saw some standing on the cliff and others leaning
over, to catch another glance of the departing group ere it was lost
amid the shades of Glenfinlass.
"Are they quite gone?" asked Dugald.
"Quite," answered a young man, who seemed to have got the most
advantageous situation for a view.
"Then," cried he, "may St. Andrew keep them until we meet again!"
"May a greater than St. Andrew hear thy prayer!" ejaculated Wallace.
At the sound of this response from their chief they all turned round.
"My brave companions," said he, "I come to repay this hour's pangs by
telling you that, in the attack of Dumbarton, you shall have the honor
of first mounting the walls. I shall be at your head, to sign each
brave soldier with a patriot's seal of honor."
"To follow you, my lord," said Dugald, "is our duty."
"I grant it," replied the chief; "and as I am the leader in that duty,
it is mine to dispense to every man his reward; to prove to all men
that virtue alone is true nobility."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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