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As best they might, the train;

       Each o’er his head his yew-bow bore,

       A caution not in vain;

       Deep need that day that every string,

       By wet unharmed, should sharply ring.

       A moment then Lord Marmion stayed,

       And breathed his steed, his men arrayed,

       Then forward moved his band,

       Until, Lord Surrey’s rearguard won,

       He halted by a cross of stone,

       That, on a hillock standing lone,

       Did all the field command.

       XXIII

      Hence might they see the full array

       Of either host, for deadly fray;

       Their marshalled lines stretched east and west,

       And fronted north and south,

       And distant salutation passed

       From the loud cannon mouth;

       Not in the close successive rattle,

       That breathes the voice of modern battle,

       But slow and far between.

       The hillock gained, Lord Marmion stayed:

       “Here, by this cross,” he gently said,

       “You well may view the scene.

       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

      “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 succour 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 farther 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.

       XXV

      Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still

       With Lady Clare upon the hill;

       On which, for far the day was spent,

       The western sunbeams now were bent.

       The cry they heard, its meaning knew,

       Could plain their distant comrades view:

       Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,

       “Unworthy office here to stay!

       No hope of gilded spurs to-day.

       But see! look up—on Flodden bent

       The Scottish foe has fired his tent.”

       And sudden, as he spoke,

       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;

       Oh, life and death were in the shout,

       Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

       And triumph and despair.

       Long looked the anxious squires; their eye

       Could in the darkness nought descry.

       XXVI

      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 marked they, dashing broad and far,

       The broken billows of the war,

       And plumed 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 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,

       And Edmund Howard’s lion bright,

      

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