"The Bruce," which Barbour himself informs us he wrote in the year 1375, is a metrical history of Robert the First—his exertions and achievements for the recovery of the independence of Scotland, and the principal transactions of his reign. As Barbour flourished in the age immediately following that of his hero, he must have enjoyed the advantage of hearing from eye-witnesses narratives of the war of liberty. As a history, his work is of good authority; he himself boasts of its soothfastness; and the simple and straight-forward way in which the story is told goes to indicate its general veracity. Although, however, the object of the author was mainly to give a soothfast history of the life and transactions of Robert the Bruce, the work is far from being destitute of poetical feeling or rhythmical sweetness and harmony. The lofty sentiments and vivid descriptions with which it abounds, prove the author to have been fitted by feeling and by principle, as well as by situation, for the task which he undertook. His genius has lent truth all the charms that, are usually supposed to belong to fiction. The horrors of war are softened by strokes of tenderness that make us equally in love with the hero and the poet. In battle painting, Barbour is eminent: the battle of Bannockburn is described with a minuteness, spirit, and fervency, worthy of the day. The following is a part of the description of that noble engagement, and presents a striking picture of a mortal combat before the introduction of gunpowder made warfare less a matter of brute force.
with wapynys stalwart of stele
They dang upon, with all thair mycht.
Their fayis resawyt wele, lk hycht,
With swerdis, speris, and with mase
The battaill thair sa feloun was,
And swa rycht spilling of blud,
That on the erd the sloussis stud.
The Scottsmen sa weill thaim bar,
And swa gret slauchter maid thai thar,
And fra sa fele the lyvis rewyt,
That all the feld bludy was lewyt.
That, tyme thir thre bataills wer,
All syd be syd, fechtand weill ner,
Thar mycht men her mony dint,
And wapynys apon armurs stynt,
And se tumble knychts and steds,
And mony rych and reale weds.
Defoullyt foully undre fete,
Sum held on loft; sum tynt the snet.
A lang quhill thus fechtand thai war;
That men na noyis mycht her thair;
Men hard noucht, but granys, and dynts
That flew fyr, as men flayis on flynts.
Thai faucht ilkane sa egrely,
That thai maid na noyis na cry,
But dang on othyr at thair mycht,
With wapnys that war burnyst brycht
***Whar mycht men se men felly fycht,
And men, that worthy war and wychtt
Do mony worthy wassellage.
Whai faucht as thai war in a rage.
For quhen the Scotts archery
Saw thair fayis sa sturdely
