THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ Now, from the summit to the plain,

       Waves all the hill with yellow grain

       And o’er the landscape as I look,

       Nought do I see unchanged remain,

       Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook.

       To me they make a heavy moan,

       Of early friendships past and gone.

       XXV

      But different far the change has been,

       Since Marmion, from the crown

       Of Blackford, saw that martial scene

       Upon the bent so brown:

       Thousand pavilions, white as snow,

       Spread all the Borough Moor below,

       Upland, and dale, and down:-

       A thousand, did I say? I ween,

       Thousands on thousands there were seen,

       That chequered all the heath between

       The streamlet and the town;

       In crossing ranks extending far,

       Forming a camp irregular;

       Oft giving way, where still there stood

       Some relics of the old oak wood,

       That darkly huge did intervene,

       And tamed the glaring white with green:

       In these extended lines there lay

       A martial kingdom’s vast array.

       XXVI

      For from Hebudes, dark with rain,

       To eastern Lodon’s fertile plain,

       And from the southern Redswire edge,

       To farthest Rosse’s rocky ledge;

       From west to east, from south to north.

       Scotland sent all her warriors forth.

       Marmion might hear the mingled hum

       Of myriads up the mountain come;

       The horses’ tramp, and tingling clank,

       Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,

       And charger’s shrilling neigh;

       And see the shifting lines advance

       While frequent flashed, from shield and lance,

       The sun’s reflected ray.

       XXVII

      Thin curling in the morning air,

       The wreaths of failing smoke declare,

       To embers now the brands decayed,

       Where the nightwatch their fires had made.

       They saw, slow rolling on the plain,

       Full many a baggage-cart and wain,

       And dire artillery’s clumsy car,

       By sluggish oxen tugged to war;

       And there were Borthwick’s Sisters Seven,

       And culverins which France had given.

       Ill-omened gift! the guns remain

       The conqueror’s spoil on Flodden plain.

       XXVIII

      Nor marked they less, where in the air

       A thousand streamers flaunted fair;

       Various in shape, device, and hue,

       Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,

       Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,

       Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there

       O’er the pavilions flew.

       Highest and midmost, was descried

       The royal banner floating wide;

       The staff, a pine-tree strong and straight,

       Pitched deeply in a massive stone -

       Which still in memory is shown -

       Yet bent beneath the standard’s weight

       Whene’er the western wind unrolled,

       With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,

       And gave to view the dazzling field,

       Where, in proud Scotland’s royal shield,

       The ruddy lion ramped in gold.

       XXIX

      Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright -

       He viewed it with a chief’s delight -

       Until within him burned his heart

       And lightning from his eye did part,

       As on the battle-day;

       Such glance did falcon never dart,

       When stooping on his prey.

       “Oh! well, Lord Lion, hast thou said,

       Thy king from warfare to dissuade

       Were but a vain essay:

       For, by Saint George, were that host mine,

       Not power infernal, nor divine.

       Should once to peace my soul incline,

       Till I had dimmed their armour’s shine

       In glorious battle-fray!”

       Answered the bard, of milder mood -

       “Fair is the sight—and yet ‘twere good

       That kings would think withal,

       When peace and wealth their land has blessed,

       ‘Tis better to sit still at rest,

       Than rise, perchance to fall.”

       XXX

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