'Stand, Bayard, stand! '--the steed obeyed, With arching neck and bended head, And glancing eye and quivering ear, As if he loved his lord to hear.

No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed, No grasp upon the saddle laid, But wreathed his left hand in the mane, And lightly bounded from the plain, Turned on the horse his armed heel, And stirred his courage with the steel.

Bounded the fiery steed in air, The rider sat erect and fair, Then like a bolt from steel crossbow Forth launched, along the plain they go.

They dashed that rapid torrent through, And up Carhonie's hill they flew;Still at the gallop pricked the Knight, His merrymen followed as they might.

Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride, And in the race they mock thy tide;Torry and Lendrick now are past, And Deanstown lies behind them cast;They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, They sink in distant woodland soon;Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire, They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre;They mark just glance and disappear The lofty brow of ancient Kier;They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides, And on the opposing shore take ground With plash, with scramble, and with bound.

Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth!

And soon the bulwark of the North, Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, Upon their fleet career looked clown.