Robert Bruce, despairing of his country's cause, was aroused to new hope
and purpose by the sight of a spider casting its lines until at last it
had one that held. In the following passage the poet, uncertain as to
his own future, yet trusts the providence which guides the birds in
their long and uncharted migrations.
I go to prove my soul!
I see my way as birds their trackless way.
I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first,
I ask not: but unless God send his hail
Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,
In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:
He guides me and the bird. In his good time!
_Robert Browning._