Bruce and the Spider

    FOR Scotland's and for freedom's right
        The Bruce his part had played,
    In five successive fields of fight
        Been conquered and dismayed;
    Once more against the English host
    His band he led, and once more lost
        The meed for which he fought;
    And now from battle, faint and worn,
    The homeless fugitive forlorn
        A hut's lone shelter sought.

    And cheerless was that resting-place
        For him who claimed a throne:
    His canopy devoid of grace,
        The rude, rough beams alone;
    The heather couch his only bed, --
    Yet well I ween had slumber fled
        From couch of eider-down!
    Through darksome night till dawn of day,
    Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay
        Of Scotland and her crown.

    The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
        Fell on that hapless bed,
    And tinged with light each shapeless beam
        Which roofed the lowly shed;
    When, looking up with wistful eye,
    The Bruce beheld a spider try
        His filmy thread to fling
    From beam to beam of that rude cot;
    And well the insect's toilsome lot
        Taught Scotland's future king.

    Six times his gossamery thread
        The wary spider threw;
    In vain the filmy line was sped,
        For powerless or untrue
    Each aim appeared, and back recoiled
    The patient insect, six times foiled,
        And yet unconquered still;
    And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
    Saw him prepare once more to try
        His courage, strength, and skill.

    One effort more, his seventh and last!
        The hero hailed the sign!
    And on the wished-for beam hung fast
        That slender, silken line;
    Slight as it was, his spirit caught
    The more than omen, for his thought
        The lesson well could trace,
    Which even "he who runs may read,"
    That Perseverance gains its meed,
        And Patience wins the race.

        Bernard Barton