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, 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 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. To moated Lichfield's lofty pile; And there, beneath the southern aisle, 'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook The fair cathedral stormed and took ; But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chad, A guerdon meet the spoiler had!) There erst was martial Marmion found, His feet upon a couchant hound, His hands to heaven upraised; And all around, on scutcheon rich, prayer, One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay In Scotland mourns as "wede away: Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied, And dragged him to its foot, and died, The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain, And thus their corpses were mista’en ; And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb, The lowly woodsman took the room. XXXVII. Less easy task it were, to shew Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low. They dug his grave e'en where he lay, But every mark is gone; Time's wasting hand has done away The simple Cross of Sybil 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 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 the wrong; If every devious step, thus trode, 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." 15 |