r children,
- Sisters for their slaughtered kin.
All is terror and disorder,
- Till the Provost rises up,
Calm, as though he had not tasted
- Of the fell and bitter cup.
All so stately from his sorrow,
- Rose the old undaunted Chief,
That you had not deemed, to see him,
- His was more than common grief.
"Rouse ye, Sirs!" he said; "we may not
- Longer mourn for what is done:
If our King be taken from us,
- We are left to guard his son.
We have sworn to keep the city
- From the foe, whate'er they be,
And the oath that we have taken
- Never shall be broke by me.
Death is nearer to us, brethren,
- Than it seemed to those who died,
Fighting yesterday at Flodden,
- By their lord and master's side.
Let us meet it then in patience,
- Not in terror or in fear;
Though our hearts are bleeding yonder,
- Let our souls be steadfast here.
Up, and rouse ye! Time is fleeting,
- And we yet have much to do;
Up! and haste ye through the city,
- Stir the burghers stout and true!
Gather all our scattered people,
- Fling the banner out once more,—
Randolph Murray! do thou bear it,
- As it erst was borne before:
Never Scottish heart will leave it,
- When they see their monarch's gore!
"Let them cease that dismal knelling!
- It is time enough to ring,
When the fortress-strength of Scotland
- Stoops to ruin like its King.
Let the bells be kept for warning,
- Not for terror or alarm;
When they next are heard to thunder,
- Let each man and stripling arm.
Bid the women leave their wailing,—
- Do they think that woeful strain,
From the bloody heaps of Flodden
- Can redeem their dearest slain?
Bid them cease,—or rather hasten
- To the churches, every one;
There to pray to Mary Mother,
- And to her anointed Son,
That the thunderbolt above us
- May not fall in ruin yet;
That in fire, and blood, and rapine,
- Scotland's glory may not set.
Let them pray,—for never women
- Stood in need of such a prayer!
England's yeomen shall not find them
- Clinging to the altars there.
No! if we are doomed to perish,
- Man and maiden, let us fall;
And a common gulf of ruin
- Open wide to whelm us all!
Never shall the ruthless spoiler
- Lay his hot insulting hand
On the sisters of our heroes,
- Whilst we bear a torch or brand!
Up! and rouse ye, then, my brothers,
- But when next ye hear the bell
Sounding forth the sullen summons
- That may be our funeral knell,
Once more let us meet together,
- Once more see each other's face;
Then, like men that need not tremble,
- Go to our appointed place.
God, our Father, will not fail us
- In that last tremendous hour,—
If all other bulwarks crumble,
- He will be our strength and tower:
Though the ramparts rock beneath us,
- And the walls go crashing down,
Though the roar of conflagration
- Bellow o'er the sinking town;
There is yet one place of shelter,
- Where the foeman cannot come,
Where the summons never sounded
- Of the trumpet or the drum.
There again we'll meet our children,
- Who, on Flodden's trampled sod,
For their king and for their country
- Rendered up their souls to God.
There shall we find rest and refuge,
- With our dear departed brave;
And the ashes of the city
- Be our universal grave!"