In remembering the Battle of Bannockburn, June 23, 1314 - 700 years ago today. Excerpt from The Brus by John Barbour, 1320-1395 “My Lords, whod listen for to hear, romance begins now here.” “...to doubt this truth, this awful fact, disposed fore God this night with head and heart exposed to doubts and cares in woebegone array would be to say, we have a choice this day, (think you thats true?) I fear youd not yet stay and choosing lose, instead decide to stray from path of destined fate, our purpose right, o men of steel be true and weigh your might against whats yours by gift and grant to hold, defend and keep, let feudal rule be tholed, it matters not were here, this watershed, where bolder now by far since Wallace led his men; afraid? not he! (I think you know) we are the brave, are we afeard here now? (uncertain looks, I see) theyre echoed here, behind these eyes, my own, there lurks, not fear, a dread perhaps? (for death think you?) this night my friends, that altered state holds neither fright, nor angst, a dies natalis, day of birth, yet I retain a fearful glance (such mirth!) it cannot be, for fear of failure looms, it eats at me, for which my Lady swoons lest we regret this day thats come so near, a morn, if lose we do, when all I fear above all else, the fact of Scotlands shame and not for dying mind, for that, no blame, for not aspiring high, for triumphs lack, for stripes, the masterss game on victims back and murder, famine, pain all etched in gall, in vacant eyes of villein and the thrall, those folks for whom without wed not survive for whom perhaps we fight, I may surmise (whats that my friends?) you think I rant or worse, have lost my senses now to speak out thus? for all ye fight for gain of land in fee, rewarded all shall be who fights with me and rightly so, for Norman Seigneurie, but stop, pray think, may I suggest it be your duty lies with you and with your tail, for who will tend the land for whom if fail upon this Park that stretches south to burn with limbs agley, our blood to feed the worm, if all that we achieve this day forsooth, this day, this fateful day, this day of truth, the Feast of John the Baptist, Saint of Rome, let this be Scotlands day, lets send him home; outnumbered by the Kings men ten to one (you hear the din, their camps not far off, son!) de Bohun no longer with them, headstrong lapse, no braver, foolish knight at such synapse, he challenged King of Scots upon the field, yet pose yourselves this query why he failed when mounted on a horse against my mount and wearing helmet, steel cuirass, so stout (ye murmur mongst yourselves?) Ill tell you why, a gesture from our God, the Lord on high, despite the sentence passed from Avignon, declared unchurched by Clement Pope, now gone, who has expired, while conclave ballots votes it gives respite, a cry of hope from throats renewed and I, that hewed Red Comyn down forsaken I am not, by God! (ye frown?) as yesterday upon the field I struck and down he fell, the blow that did its work was guided by that hand, the reapers thief renews our hope, restores our faith, belief in that were right to stand and fight, destroy, disdain the odds that Edwards men enjoy (and send him homeward, do you say we can?) as well ye know, this King is scarce a man for strife, who thinks this wars already won, were dealing not with father, but the son who must avoid the shame, curtail dismay get Stirling Castle back by deadline day, unlike his sire, his prime ancestral light, a man youd underrate through oversight or fault and peril be the consequence of that (a fine reward ye say?) nonsense! Its not the older Edward Rex that shines, who led his armies north too many times, who coaxed the fires from hell, unwelcome guest who tore the heart from heros beating chest, who drove a last crusade, caused this land strife and died campaigning, how he lived his life, contented not with Aquitaine and Wales, with Ireland vanquished now beyond the pale, he sought dominion here to add to fame as Hammer of the Scots he played a game, direct in line from Odin, doubtless Thor, as Normands heir, he always wanted more and now the Hammers son, a mallet just who covets what he doesnt want but must, his goal to vie, compete, with fathers ire he lacks, its plain, the spirit of his sire and yet beset by hazard here, one throw is all we have, once cast, the dice will show we trust full sure in strength, we do but seek their doom and pray for one mistake, thou meek and English King, esteem us false and rue the day you challenged Scots of iron brood (I see ye nod at that, my Good Sir James) we fight, but not for glorys sake nor fame, nor welfare of a nation not yet born, the battle looms for life, for if were shorn, revenge endured shall cause good men to wail, weve come too far from Methven Wood to fail, our fate awaits, think now of honours heights against the wagered sums of English knights wholl flounder ’neath the trees, a countless sum will die upon our spears, well not succumb to yoke of southern foe, well make him burn his bannocks men, like Alfred whom wed scorn, and strive, advance, with but one hundred men of us alive, if thats the outcome when the day is done, declare your rights, your oath, remember that, when next were in Arbroath and set your heart and strength to win the day, await your foes that come in horse array and ride with speed, their arms so boldly brought, well wreak our mighty will, be vengeance wrought with one accord and stubborn versus cruel, well stoutly meet the first and still the fools, the hindmost, make them tremble, have a care to carry honour men, this day and bear your arms with pride to gain the end I pray, o Scotland fight with valour, not dismay, ye might have lived in thraldom, never earned, but freedoms not for giving up when yearned for nows the time and nows the hour to fight, Almighty God, we seek your guiding light.”
Posted on: Tue, 24 Jun 2014 05:32:57 +0000
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