lew.
Then I stooped, and took the banner,
- As ye see it, from his breast,
And I closed our hero's eyelids,
- And I left him to his rest.
In the mountains growled the thunder,
- As I leaped the woeful wall,
And the heavy clouds were settling
- Over Flodden, like a pall."
So he ended. And the others
- Cared not any answer then;
Sitting silent, dumb with sorrow,
- Sitting anguish-struck, like men
Who have seen the roaring torrent
- Sweep their happy homes away,
And yet linger by the margin,
- Staring idly on the spray.
But, without, the maddening tumult
- Waxes ever more and more,
And the crowd of wailing women
- Gather round the Council door.
Every dusky spire is ringing
- With a dull and hollow knell,
And the Miserere's singing
- To the tolling of the bell.
Through the streets the burghers hurry,
- Spreading terror as they go;
And the rampart's thronged with watchers
- For the coming of the foe.
From each mountain-top a pillar
- Streams into the torpid air,
Bearing token from the Border
- That the English host is there.
All without is flight and terror,
- All within is woe and fear—
God protect thee, Maiden City,
- For thy latest hour is near!
No! not yet, thou high Dunedin!
- Shalt thou totter to thy fall;
Though thy bravest and thy strongest
- Are not there to man the wall.
No, not yet! the ancient spirit
- Of our fathers hath not gone;
Take it to thee as a buckler
- Better far than steel or stone.
Oh, remember those who perished
- For thy birthright at the time
When to be a Scot was treason,
- And to side with Wallace, crime!
Have they not a voice among us,
- Whilst their hallowed dust is here?
Hear ye not a summons sounding
- From each buried warrior's bier?
"Up!"—they say—"and keep the freedom
- Which we won you long ago:
Up! and keep our graves unsullied
- From the insults of the foe!
Up! and if ye cannot save them,
- Come to us in blood and fire:
Midst the crash of falling turrets,
- Let the last of Scots expire!"
Still the bells are tolling fiercely,
- And the cry comes louder in;
Mothers wailing for their 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 g