he city
- Have met within their hall—
The men whom good King James had charged
- To watch the tower and wall.
"Your hands are weak with age," he said,
- "Your hearts are stout and true;
So bide ye in the Maiden Town,
- While others fight for you.
My trumpet from the Border-side
- Shall send a blast so clear,
That all who wait within the gate
- That stirring sound may hear.
Or, if it be the will of heaven
- That back I never come,
And if, instead of Scottish shouts,
- Ye hear the English drum,—
Then let the warning bells ring out,
- Then gird you to the fray,
Then man the walls like burghers stout,
- And fight while fight you may.
'T were better that in fiery flame
- The roofs should thunder down,
Than that the foot of foreign foe
- Should trample in the town!"
Then in came Randolph Murray,—
- His step was slow and weak,
And, as he doffed his dinted helm,
- The tears ran down his cheek:
They fell upon his corslet,
- And on his mailèd hand,
As he gazed around him wistfully,
- Leaning sorely on his brand.
And none who then beheld him
- But straight were smote with fear,
For a bolder and a sterner man
- Had never couched a spear.
They knew so sad a messenger
- Some ghastly news must bring:
And all of them were fathers,
- And their sons were with the King.
And up then rose the Provost—
- A brave old man was he,
Of ancient name and knightly fame,
- And chivalrous degree.
He ruled our city like a Lord
- Who brooked no equal here,
And ever for the townsmen's rights
Stood up 'gainst prince and peer.
- And he had seen the Scottish host
- March from the Borough-muir,
With music-storm and clamorous shout
And all the din that thunders out,
- When youth's of victory sure.
But yet a dearer thought had he,
- For, with a father's pride,
He saw his last remaining son
- Go forth by Randolph's side,
With casque on head and spur on heel,
- All keen to do and dare;
And proudly did that gallant boy
- Dunedin's banner bear.
Oh, woeful now was the old man's look,
- And he spake right heavily—
"Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings,
- However sharp they be!
Woe is written on thy visage,
- Death is looking from thy face:
Speak, though it be of overthrow—
- It cannot be disgrace!"
Right bitter was the agony
- That wrung the soldier proud:
Thrice did he strive to answer,
- And thrice he groaned aloud.
Then he gave the riven banner
- To the old man's shaking hand,
Saying—"That is all I bring ye
- From the bravest of the land!
Ay! ye may look upon it—
- It was guarded well and long,
By your brothers and your children,
- By the valiant and the strong.
One by one they fell around it,
- As the archers laid them low,
Grimly dying, still unconquered,
- With their faces to the foe.
Ay! ye well may look upon it—
- There is more than honour there,
Else, be sure, I had not brought it
- From the field of dark despair.
Never yet was royal banner
- Steeped in such a costly dye;
It hath lain upon a bosom
- Where no other shroud shall lie.
Sirs! I charge you keep it holy,
- Keep it as a sacred thing,
For the stain you see upon it
- Was the life-blood of your King!"
Woe, woe, and lamentation!
- What a piteous cry was there!
Widows, maidens, mothers, children,
- Shrieking, sobbing in despair!
Through the streets the death-word rushes,
- Spreading terror, sweeping on—
"Jesu Christ! our King has fallen—
- O great God, King James is gone!
Holy Mother Mary, shield us,
- Thou who erst did lose thy Son!
O the blackest day for Scotland
- That she ever knew before!
O our King—the good, the noble,
- Shall we see him never more?
Woe to us and woe to Scotland,
- O our sons, our sons and men!
Surely some have 'scaped the Southron,
- Surely some will come again!"
Till the oak that fell last winter
- Shall uprear its shattered stem—
Wives and mothers of Dunedin—
- Ye may look in vain for them!
But within the Council Chamber
- All was silent as the grave,
Whilst the tempest of their sorrow
- Shook the bosoms of the brave.
Well indeed might they be shaken
- With the weight of such a blow:
He was gone—their prince, their idol,
- Whom they loved and worshipped so!
Like a knell of death and 