THE SCOTIAD - damowords

Outlaw WallacePart 7Frae the forest to the cityAll poor Scots obsess'd with pity,But for one spirit on the run,Her native saviour, brightest son,For of all ancient, brave, true ScotsWhose glories knew no bars & blots,‘Wallace!’ the name known most of all,For Scotland was his very soul,& just that name his soul could liftThrough boiling sun & yowdendriftBrave Wallace is a hunted man,But gudemen help where e'er they canWith food & shelter, news & knives,For while he lives Scotland survives.Wallace Attacks AyrWallace was still a man of might& rode from Crawford one fine night,For forty miles, then came on AyrTo catch the Inglis unawareAs fast in farmer’s barn they sleptWith flaming torches Wallace creptFull to the roof these fiery brandsFlung vengeance from triumphant handsWhose ruddy ruin whirls on high,Reekin’ into a moonless sky,Now turret with a thund'rous soundGives groan & tumbles to the ground,Crushing the wretches underneath,Life overwhelmed by fiery wreath.