He sprung on a high cliff
projecting over this mountain-valley, and blowing his bugle with a few
notes of the well-known pibroch of Lanarkshire, was answered by the
reverberations of a thousand echoes.
At the loved sounds which had not dared to visit their ears since the
Scottish standard was lowered to Edward, the hills seemed teeming with
life. Men rushed from their fastnesses, and women with their babes
eagerly followed to see whence sprung a summons so dear to every
Scottish heart. Wallace stood on the cliff, like the newly-aroused
genius of his country; his long plaid floated afar, and his glittering
hair streaming on the blast, seemed to mingle with the golden fires
which shot from the heavens. Wallace raised his eyes-a clash as of the
tumult of contending armies filled the sky, and flames, and flashing
steel, and the horrid red of battle, streamed from the clouds upon the
hills.**
**The late Duke of Gordon exhibited a similar scene to Prince Leopold,
when his royal highness visited Gordon Castle, his "hills reeming with
life."-(1830.)
"Scotsmen!" cried Wallace, waving the fatal sword, which blazed in the
glare of these northern lights like a flaming brand, "behold how the
heavens cry aloud to you! I come, in the midst of their fires, to call
you to vengeance.
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