All downward to the banks of Till,
Was wreathed in sable smoke.
3. 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.
4. 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.
5. Long look'd the anxious squires; their eye
Could in the darkness naught 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.
6. Then mark'd they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,
And pluméd crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave;
But naught 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.
7. Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,
And with both hands the broadsword plied,
'Twas vain :-But Fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight.
8. Then fell that spotless banner white,
The Howard's lion fell;
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle-yell.
The Border slogan rent the sky.
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry;
Loud were the changing blows;
Advanced, forced back,-now low, now high
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.
9. 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.
10. The fiery youth, with desperate cnarge, 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.
Then Eustace mounted too;-yet staid,
As loath to leave the helpless maid,
When, fast as shaft can fly,
11. Blood-shot 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,
A look and sign to Clara cast,
To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into the fight.
12. Ask me not what the maiden feels,
Left in that dreadful hour alone:
Perchance her reason stoops, or reels;
Perchance a courage, not her own,
Braces her mind to desperate tone.
The scatter'd van of England's wheels ;-
She only said, as loud in air
The tumult roar'd, "Is Wilton there?"—
They fly, or, madden'd by despair,
Fight but to die,-" Is Wilton there?"
38. FLODDEN FIELD (CONCLUDED
WITH that, straight up the hill there rode,
Two horsemen drench'd with gore,
And in their arms, a helpless load,
A wounded knight they bore.
His hand still strain'd the broken brand;
His arms were smear'd with blood and sand:
Dragg'd from among the horses' feet,
With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone: 2. Can that be haughty Marmion !
When, doff'd his casque, he felt free air,
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare :-
"Where's Harry Blount? Fitz Eustace where?
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!3. 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 life-blood 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.
4. Must I bid twice?-hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here, alone-to die !"
They parted, and alone he lay:
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmured,-"Is there none
Of all my halls have nurst,
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blesséd water from the spring
To slake my dying thirst!"
5. 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!-
6. 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.
7. She fill'd 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.
8. The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale,
And-Stanley! was the cry;-
A light on Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his glazing eye:
9. With dying hand, above his head,
He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted, "Victory!-
Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!"
Were the last words of Marmion.
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.
10. 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 billmen ply the ghastly blow,
Unbroken was the ring;
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