Page:A biographical dictionary of eminent Scotsmen, vol 1.djvu/167

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JOHN BARBOUR.
137

Stand into bataill them agayne;
With all thair mycht, and all thair mayne,
Thai layid on, as men out off wyt.
And quhar thai, with full strak, mycht hyt,
Thar mycht na armur stynt thair strak.
Thai to fruchyt that thai mycht ourtak.
And with axys such dusches gave,
That thai helmys, and heds, clave.
And thair fayis rycht bardely
Met thaim, and dung on them douchtely,
With wapyngs that war styth off stele.
Thar wes the bataill strekyt weill.
Sa gret dyn that wes off dynts,
As wapyngs apon armur stynts;
And off spers sa gret bresting;
And sic thrang, and sic thrysting;
Sic gyrning, granyng; and sa gret
A noyis, as thai gan othyr beit:
And ensenyeys on ilka sid:
Gewand, and takand, wounds wid;
That it wes hidwyss for to her.—Book xiii. l. 14 & 138.

The apostrophe to Freedom, after the painful description of the slavery to which Scotland was reduced by Edward, is in a style of poetical feeling very uncommon in that and many subsequent ages, and has been quoted with high praise by the most distinguished Scottish historians and critics:—

A! fredome is a nobill thing!
Fredome mayse man to haiff liking!
Fredome all solace to man giffis:
He levys at ese that frely levys!
A noble hart may haiff nane ese,
Na ellys nocht that may him plese,
Gyff fredome failythe: for fre liking
Is yearnyt our all othir thing
Na he, that ay hase levyt fre,
May nocht knaw weill the propyrte,
The angyr, na the wrechyt dome,
That is cowplyt to foule thyrldome.
Bot gyff he had assayit it,
Than all perquer he suld it wyt;
And suld think fredome mar to pryse
Than all the gold in warld that is.[1]Book i. l. 225.

  1. Some readers may perhaps arrive at the sense of this fine passage more readily through the medium of the following paraphrase:—


    Ah, Freedom is a noble thing,
    And can to life a relish bring.
    Freedom all solace to man gives;
    He lives at ease that freely lives.
    A noble heart may have no ease,
    Nor aught beside that may it please,
    If freedom fail—for 'tis the choice,
    More than the chosen, man enjoys.
    Ah, he that ne'er yet lived in thrall,
    Knows not the weary pains which gall
    The limbs, the soul, of him who 'plains
    In slavery's foul and festering chains!
    If these he knew, I ween right soon
    He would seek back the precious boon
    Of freedom, which he then would prize
    More than all wealth beneath the skies.