Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare:
Oh! think of Marmion in thy prayer!·
Thou wilt not?- well, no less my care
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard,
With ten picked archers of my train;
With England if the day go hard,
To Berwick speed amain.
But if we conquer, cruel maid,
My spoils shall at your feet be laid,
When here we meet again.'
He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid's despair,
Nor heed the discontented look
From either squire, but spurred amain,
And, dashing through the battle-plain,
His
way to Surrey took.

XXIV

700

710

720

'The good Lord Marmion, by my life! Welcome to danger's hour! Short greeting serves in time of strife. Thus have I ranged my power: Myself will rule this central host, Stout Stanley fronts their right, My sons command the vaward post, With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight; Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, Shall be in rearward of the fight, And succor those that need it most. Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, Would gladly to the vanguard go; Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there, With thee their charge will blithely share; There fight thine own retainers too Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.' Thanks, noble Surrey!' Marmion said, Nor further greeting there he paid, But, parting like a thunderbolt, First in the vanguard made a halt, Where such a shout there rose Of Marmion! Marmion!' that the cry, Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, Startled the Scottish foes.

730

The
cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view: 740
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
Unworthy office here to stay!
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. -

At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And first the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears,
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white seamew.
Then marked they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,

And plumed crests of chieftains brave 780
Floating like foam upon the wave;

But nought distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook and falchions flashed amain;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.

Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly;

And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 790
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight,
Although against them come
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,

The pennon sunk and rose;

As bends the bark's-mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It wavered mid the foes.

No longer Blount the view could bear: By heaven and all its saints! I swear I will not see it lost!

Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads and patter prayer,
I gallop to the host.'

And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.

The fiery youth, with desperate charge,

Made for a space an opening large,

The rescued banner rose,

But darkly closed the war around, Like pine-tree rooted from the ground

It sank among the foes.

820

830

Then Eustace mounted too, yet stayed, As loath to leave the helpless maid,

When, fast as shaft can fly, Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread, The loose rein dangling from his head, Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by; And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 840 A look and sign to Clara cast To mark he would return in haste, Then plunged into the fight.

XXVIII

Ask me not what the maiden feels, Left in that dreadful hour alone:

Perchance her reason stoops or reels;

850

Perchance a courage, not her own, Braces her mind to desperate tone.The scattered van of England wheels; — She only said, as loud in air The tumult roared, 'Is Wilton there?'They fly, or, maddened by despair, Fight but to die, — 'Is Wilton there?' With that, straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen drenched with gore, And in their arms, a helpless load,

A wounded knight they bore.
His hand still strained the broken brand;
His arms were smeared with blood and
sand.

Dragged from among the horses' feet, 860
With dinted shield and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion!
Young Blount his armor did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,

Said, 'By Saint George, he 's gone!
That spear-wound has our master sped,
And see the deep cut on his head !
Good-night to Marmion.'-
'Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease:
He opes his eyes,' said Eustace; 'peace!'

XXIX

869

where?

880

Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! Redeem my pennon, - charge again! Cry, "Marmion to the rescue!"- Vain! Last of my race, on battle-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again!Yet my last thought is England's-fly, To Dacre bear my signet-ring; Tell him his squadrons up to bring.Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie: Tunstall lies dead upon the field, His lifeblood stains the spotless shield; Edmund is down; my life is reft; The Admiral alone is left. Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost. Must I bid twice?—hence, varlets! fly!Leave Marmion here alone They parted, and alone he lay; Clare drew her from the sight away, Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,

to die.'

890

And half he murmured, 'Is there none

Of all my halls have nurst,

Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water from the spring,
To slake my dying thirst!'

XXX

O Woman! in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!-
Scarce were the piteous accents said,
When with the baron's casque the maid
To the nigh streamlet ran:
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears;
The plaintive voice alone she hears,
Sees but the dying man.

910

She stooped her by the runnel's side,
But in abhorrence backward drew;
For, oozing from the mountain's side
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide
Was curdling in the streamlet blue.
Where shall she turn? - behold her mark
A little fountain cell,

Where water, clear as diamond spark,
In a stone basin fell.

Above, some half-worn letters say,
Drink, weary, pilgrim. drink, and. prap.
For, the. kind. soul. of. Sibyl. Grep.

Who. built, this. cross, and, well.
She filled the helm and back she hied,
And with surprise and joy espied
A monk supporting Marmion's head;
A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,
To shrive the dying, bless the dead.

XXXI

920

930

Though in the action burst the tide
In torrents from his wounded side.
Then it was truth,' he said — ' I knew
That the dark presage must be true.
I would the Fiend, to whom belongs
The vengeance due to all her wrongs,
Would spare me but a day!
For wasting fire, and dying groan,
And priests slain on the altar stone,
Might bribe him for delay.

It may not be! this dizzy trance
Curse on yon base marauder's lance,
And doubly cursed my failing brand !
A sinful heart makes feeble hand.'
Then fainting down on earth he sunk,
Supported by the trembling monk.

XXXII

With fruitless labor Clara bound
And strove to stanch the gushing wound;
The monk with unavailing cares
Exhausted all the Church's prayers.
Ever, he said, that, close and near,
A lady's voice was in his ear,

949

960

And that the priest he could not hear; 970 For that she ever sung,

In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!'

with cruel hand

So the notes rung. 'Avoid thee, Fiend! Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! Oh! look, my son, upon yon sign Of the Redeemer's grace divine;

Oh! think on faith and bliss! By many a death-bed I have been, And many a sinner's parting seen, But never aught like this.' The war,

that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, And Stanley !' was the cry. A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glazing eye; With dying hand above his head He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted Victory!

Charge, Chester, charge!

on !'

980

990

On, Stanley,

Were the last words of Marmion.

XXXIII

By this, though deep the evening fell, Still rose the battle's deadly swell, For still the Scots around their king, Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.

But as they left the darkening heath
More desperate grew the strife of death.
The English shafts in volleys hailed,
In headlong charge their horse assailed;
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep
To break the Scottish circle deep

That fought around their king.
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow,
Though charging knights like whirlwinds
go,

Though billmen ply the ghastly blow,
Unbroken was the ring;

The stubborn spearmen still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood,
Each stepping where his comrade stood
The instant that he fell.

1030

Their king, their lords, their mightiest low,

1050

They melted from the field, as snow, When streams are swoln and southwinds blow,

Dissolves in silent dew.

Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
While many a broken band
Disordered through her currents dash,
To gain the Scottish land;

To town and tower, to down and dale,
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song
Shall many an age that wail prolong;
Still from the sire the son shall hear
Of the stern strife and carnage drear

1060

Of Flodden's fatal field, Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear And broken was her shield!

XXXV

Day dawns upon the mountain's side. —
There, Scotland! lay thy bravest pride,
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one;
The sad survivors all are gone.
View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled though it be;
Nor to yon Border castle high
Look northward with upbraiding eye;
Nor cherish hope in vain
That, journeying far on foreign strand,
The Royal Pilgrim to his land

May yet return again.

He saw the wreck his rashness wrought;
Reckless of life, he desperate fought,

And fell on Flodden plain:
And well in death his trusty brand,
Firm clenched within his manly hand,
Beseemed the monarch slain.

1070

1080

But oh! how changed since yon blithe night!

Gladly I turn me from the sight
Unto my tale again.

XXXVI

Short is my tale: - Fitz-Eustace' care
A pierced and mangled body bare
To moated Lichfield's lofty pile;
And there, beneath the southern aisle,
A tomb with Gothic sculpture fair
Did long Lord Marmion's image bear.-
Now vainly for its site you look;
'T was levelled when fanatic Brook
The fair cathedral stormed and took,

1090

every mark is gone:

Time's wasting hand has done away
The simple Cross of Sibyl Grey,
And broke her font of stone;
But yet from out the little hill
Oozes the slender springlet still.
Oft halts the stranger there,

For thence may best his curious eye
The memorable field descry;
And shepherd boys repair

To seek the water-flag and rush,

And rest them by the hazel bush, And plait their garlands fair,

Nor dream they sit upon the grave
That holds the bones of Marmion brave.
When thou shalt find the little hill,
With thy heart commune and be still.
If ever in temptation strong
Thou left'st the right path for

wrong,

1121

1130

--

the

1140

If every devious step thus trod
Still led thee further from the road,
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb;
But say, 'He died a gallant knight,
With sword in hand, for England's right.'

XXXVIII

1150

I do not rhyme to that dull elf
Who cannot image to himself
That all through Flodden's dismal night
Wilton was foremost in the fight,
That when brave Surrey's steed was slain
'T was Wilton mounted him again;
'T was Wilton's brand that deepest hewed
Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood:
Unnamed by Holinshed or Hall,

He was the living soul of all;

That, after fight, his faith made plain,
He won his rank and lands again,
And charged his old paternal shield

With bearings won on Flodden Field. 1160
Nor sing I to that simple maid
To whom it must in terms be said
That king and kinsmen did agree
To bless fair Clara's constancy;
Who cannot, unless I relate,

Paint to her mind the bridal's state,
That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke,
More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke;
That bluff King Hal the curtain drew, 1169
And Katherine's hand the stocking threw;
And afterwards, for many a day,
That it was held enough to say,

In blessing to a wedded pair,

'Love they like Wilton and like Clare!'

L'ENVOY

TO THE READER

WHY then a final note prolong,
Or lengthen out a closing song,
Unless to bid the gentles speed,
Who long have listed to my rede?
To statesmen grave, if such may deign
To read the minstrel's idle strain,

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit,
And patriotic heart - as PITT!

A garland for the hero's crest,

And twined by her he loves the best!
To every lovely lady bright,

What can I wish but faithful knight?
To every faithful lover too,

What can I wish but lady true?
And knowledge to the studious sage,
And pillow soft to head of age!
To thee, dear school-boy, whom my lay
Has cheated of thy hour of play,
Light task and merry holiday!
To all, to each, a fair good-night,
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!