THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       Stout Stanley fronts their right,

       My sons command the vaward post,

       With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight:

       Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light,

       Shall be in rearward of the fight,

       And succour those that need it most.

       Now, gallant Marmion, well I know,

       Would gladly to the vanguard go;

       Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there,

       With thee their charge will blithely share:

       There fight thine own retainers too,

       Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.”

       “Thanks, noble Surrey!” Marmion said,

       Nor farther greeting there he paid;

       But, parting like a thunderbolt,

       First in the vanguard made a halt,

       Where such a shout there rose

       Of “Marmion! Marmion!” that the cry

       Up Flodden mountain shrilling high,

       Startled the Scottish foes.

       XXV

      Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still

       With Lady Clare upon the hill;

       On which, for far the day was spent,

       The western sunbeams now were bent.

       The cry they heard, its meaning knew,

       Could plain their distant comrades view:

       Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,

       “Unworthy office here to stay!

       No hope of gilded spurs to-day.

       But see! look up—on Flodden bent

       The Scottish foe has fired his tent.”

       And sudden, as he spoke,

       From the sharp ridges of the hill,

       All downward to the banks of Till,

       Was wreathed in sable smoke.

       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.

       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;

       Oh, life and death were in the shout,

       Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

       And triumph and despair.

       Long looked the anxious squires; their eye

       Could in the darkness nought descry.

       XXVI

      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.

       Then marked they, dashing broad and far,

       The broken billows of the war,

       And plumed crests of chieftains brave

       Floating like foam upon the wave;

       But nought distinct they see:

       Wide raged the battle on the plain;

       Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;

       Fell England’s arrow-flight like rain;

       Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,

       Wild and disorderly.

       Amid the scene of tumult, high

       They saw Lord Marmion’s falcon fly:

       And stainless Tunstall’s banner white,

       And Edmund Howard’s lion bright,

       Still bear them bravely in the fight;

       Although against them come,

       Of gallant Gordons many a one,

       And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,

       And many a rugged Border clan,

       With Huntley and with Home.

       XXVII

      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.

       Then fell that spotless banner white,

       The Howard’s lion fell;

       Yet still Lord Marmion’s falcon flew

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