Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.

You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!

The Dirge of Wallace

 When Scotland's great Regent, our warrior most dear, 
The debt of his nature did pay, 
T' was Edward, the cruel, had reason to fear, 
And cause to be struck with dismay.
At the window of Edward the raven did croak, Though Scotland a widow became; Each tie of true honor to Wallace he broke- The raven croaked "Sorrow and shame!" At Eldersie Castle no raven was heard, But soothings of honor and truth; His spirit inspired the soul of the bard To comfort the Love of his youth! They lighted the tapers at dead of night, And chanted their holiest hymn; But her brow and her bosom were all damp with affright, Her eye was all sleepless and dim! And the lady of Eldersie wept for her lord, With a death-watch beat in her lonely room, When her curtain shook of its own accord, And the raven flapped at her window board To tell of her warrior's doom.
Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray For the soul of my knight so dear! And call me a widow, this wretched day, Since the warning of God is here.
For a nightmare rests on my strangled sleep; The lord of my bosom is doomed to die! His valorous heart they have wounded deep, And the blood-red tears his country shall weep For Wallace of Elderslie.
Yet knew not his country, that ominous hour, Ere the loud matin-bell was rung, That the trumpet of death on an English tower, The dirge of her champion sung.
When his dungeon light looked dim and red On the high-born blood of a martyr slain, No anthem was sung at his lowly death-bed,- No weeping was there when his bosom bled, And his heart was rent in twain.
When he strode o'er the wreck of each well-fought field, With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land; For his lace was not shivered on helmet or shield, And the sword that was fit for archangel to wield Was light in his terrible hand.
Yet, bleeding and bound, though the "Wallacewight" For his long-loved country die,, The bugle ne'er sung to a braver night Than William of Elderslie.
But the day of his triumphs shall never depart; His head, unemtombed, shall with glory be palmed: From its blood streaming altar his spirit shall start; Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, A nobler was never embalmed!

Poem by
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - The Dirge of WallaceEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...

Top Thomas Campbell Poems

Analysis and Comments on The Dirge of Wallace

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem The Dirge of Wallace here.