Six times his gossamery thread
    The wary spider threw;

[Illustration:  BRUCE BEHELD A SPIDER]

  In vain that 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.

* * * * *

THE HEART OF BRUCE

By WILLIAM L. AYTOUN

  It was upon an April morn,
    While yet the frost lay hoar,
  We heard Lord James’s bugle horn
    Sound by the rocky shore.

  Then down we went, a hundred
    knights,
  All in our dark array,
  And flung our armor in the ships
    That rode within the bay.

  We spoke not as the shore grew less,
    But gazed in silence back,
  Where the long billows swept away
    The foam behind our track.

  And aye the purple hues decayed
    Upon the fading hill,
  And but one heart in all that ship
    Was tranquil, cold, and still.

  The good Lord Douglas paced the deck,
    And O, his face was wan! 
  Unlike the flush it used to wear
    When in the battle-van.

  “Come hither, come hither, my trusty knight,
    Sir Simon of the Lee;
  There is a freit lies near my soul
    I fain would tell to thee.

  “Thou know’st the words King Robert spoke
    Upon his dying day: 
  How he bade take his noble heart
    And carry it far away;

  “And lay it in the holy soil
    Where once the Saviour trod,
  Since he might not bear the blessed Cross,
    Nor strike one blow for God.

  “Last night as in my bed I lay,
    I dreamed a dreary dream:—­
  Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand
    In the moonlight’s quivering beam.

  “His robe was of the azure dye,
    Snow-white his scattered hairs,
  And even such a cross he bore
    As good Saint Andrew bears.

  “‘Why go ye forth, Lord James,’ he said,
    ’With spear and belted brand? 
  Why do you take its dearest pledge
    From this our Scottish land?

  “’The sultry breeze of Galilee
    Creeps through its groves of palm,
  The olives on the Holy Mount
    Stand glittering in the calm.

  “’But ’tis not there that Scotland’s heart
    Shall rest by God’s decree,
  Till the great angel calls the dead
    To rise from earth and sea!