FLODDEN FIELD

SIR WALTER SCOTT

(From "Marmion," Canto VI)

HENRY VII. had hoped to secure peace with Scotland by giving his daughter Margaret to James IV. in marriage; but the ambition of Henry VIII. led him to renew the claim to overlordship, and war broke out. At the battle of Flodden Field (1513) James IV. was killed and the Scotch army was ruined.

From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till,
Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and fast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;

Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,

Told England, from his mountain-throne
King James did rushing come. —
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,
Until at weapon-point they close. —
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust;
And such a yell was there,

Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth,
And fiends in upper air;

O life and death were in the shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

And triumph and despair.

Long look'd the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness nought descry.

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 sea-mew.
Then mark'd they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,

And plumèd crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave;
But nought distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook, and falchions flash'd amain;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stoop'd, 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,
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 highlandman,
And many a rugged Border clan,

With Huntly, and with Home.

But as they left the dark'ning heath,
More desperate grew the strife of death.
The English shafts in volleys hail'd,
In headlong charge their horse assail'd;
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 bill-men ply the ghastly blow,
Unbroken was the ring;

The stubborn spear-men still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood,

Each stepping where his comrade stood,
The instant that he fell.

No thought was there of dastard flight;
Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well;

Till utter darkness closed her wing
O'er their thin host and wounded King.
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
Led back from strife his shatter'd bands;
And from the charge they drew,
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands.
Sweep back to ocean blue.

Then did their loss his foemen know;

Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low,

They melted from the field, as snow,

When streams are swoln and south winds blow, Dissolves in silent dew.

Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
While many a broken band,

Disorder'd, 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,
Of Flodden's fatal field,

Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,
And broken was her shield.

EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN

WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN

THE death of James IV. left Scotland a prey to all the dangers of a long minority. His son, James V., was hardly a twelvemonth old. When but thirty years of age he died, leaving an infant daughter, Mary Stuart, sole heir to the throne.

News of battle!

I

news of battle!

Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:
And the archways and the pavement
Bear the clang of hurrying feet.
News of battle! who hath brought it?

News of triumph? Who should bring

Tidings from our noble army,
Greetings from our gallant King?
All last night we watched the beacons
Blazing on the hills afar,

Each one bearing, as it kindled,
Message of the opened war.

All night long the northern streamers
Shot across the trembling sky:
Fearful lights, that never beckon
Save when kings or heroes die.

II

News of battle! Who hath brought it?
All are thronging to the gate;
Warder-warder! open quickly!

:6

Man

is this a time to wait?" And the heavy gates are opened: Then a murmur long and loud, And a cry of fear and wonder

Bursts from out the bending crowd. For they see in battered harness Only one hard-stricken man; And his weary steed is wounded,

And his cheek is pale and wan: Spearless hangs a bloody banner

In his weak and drooping handGod! can that be Randolph Murray, Captain of the city band?

III

Round him crush the people, crying, "Tell us all oh, tell us true!