NEWS of battle!—news of battle! | |
| Hark! ’tis ringing down the street: | |
| And the archways and the pavement | |
| Bear the clang of hurrying feet. | |
| News of battle? Who hath brought it? | 5 |
| News of triumph? Who should bring | |
| Tidings from our noble army, | |
| Greetings from our gallant King? | |
| All last night we watched the beacons | |
| Blazing on the hills afar, | 10 |
| Each one bearing, as it kindled, | |
| Message of the opened war. | |
| All night long the northern streamers | |
| Shot across the trembling sky: | |
| Fearful lights, that never beckon | 15 |
| Save when kings or heroes die. | |
| |
| News of battle! Who hath brought it? | |
| All are thronging to the gate; | |
| “Warder—warder! open quickly! | |
| Man—is this a time to wait?” | 20 |
| And the heavy gates are opened: | |
| Then a murmur long and loud, | |
| And a cry of fear and wonder | |
| Bursts from out the bending crowd. | |
| For they see in battered harness | 25 |
| Only one hard-stricken man, | |
| And his weary steed is wounded, | |
| And his cheek is pale and wan. | |
| Spearless hangs a bloody banner | |
| In his weak and drooping hand— | 30 |
| God! can that be Randolph Murray, | |
| Captain of the city band? | |
| Round him crush the people, crying, | |
| “Tell us all—oh, tell us true! | |
| Where are they who went to battle, | 35 |
| Randolph Murray, sworn to you? | |
| Where are they, our brothers—children? | |
| Have they met the English foe? | |
| Why art thou alone, unfollowed? | |
| Is it weal, or is it woe?” | 40 |
| Like a corpse the grisly warrior | |
| Looks from out his helm of steel; | |
| But no word he speaks in answer, | |
| Only with his armèd heel | |
| Chides his weary steed, and onward | 45 |
| Up the city streets they ride; * * * * * | |
| Through the streets the death-word rushes, | |
| Spreading terror, sweeping on— | |
| “Jesu Christ! our King has fallen— | |
| O great God, King James is gone! | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| 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!” | 60 |
| 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 | 65 |
| 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: | 70 |
| He was gone—their prince, their idol, | |
| Whom they loved and worshipped so! | |
| Like a knell of death and judgment | |
| Rung from heaven by angel hand, | |
| Fell the words of desolation | 75 |
| On the elders of the land. | |
| Hoary heads were bowed and trembling, | |
| Withered hands were clasped and wrung: | |
| God had left the old and feeble, | |
| He had ta’en away the young. | 80 |
| |
| Then the Provost he uprose, | |
| And his lip was ashen white, | |
| But a flush was on his brow, | |
| And his eye was full of light. | |
| “Thou hast spoken, Randolph Murray, | 85 |
| Like a soldier stout and true; | |
| Thou hast done a deed of daring | |
| Had been perilled but by few. | |
| For thou hast not shamed to face us, | |
| Nor to speak thy ghastly tale, | 90 |
| Standing—thou, a knight and captain— | |
| Here, alive within thy mail! | |
| Now, as my God shall judge me, | |
| I hold it braver done, | |
| Than hadst thou tarried in thy place, | 95 |
| And died above my son! | |
| Thou needst not tell it: he is dead. | |
| God help us all this day! | |
| But speak—how fought the citizens | |
| Within the furious fray? | 100 |
| For, by the might of Mary, | |
| ’Twere something still to tell | |
| That no Scottish foot went backward | |
| When the Royal Lion fell!” | |
| |
| “No one failed him! He is keeping | 105 |
| Royal state and semblance still; | |
| Knight and noble lie around him, | |
| Cold on Flodden’s fatal hill. | |
| Of the brave and gallant-hearted, | |
| Whom ye sent with prayers away, | 110 |
| Not a single man departed | |
| From his monarch yesterday. | |
| Had you seen them, O my masters! | |
| When the night began to fall, | |
| And the English spearmen gathered | 115 |
| Round a grim and ghastly wall! | |
| As the wolves in winter circle | |
| Round the leaguer on the heath, | |
| So the greedy foe glared upward, | |
| Panting still for blood and death. | 120 |
| But a rampart rose before them, | |
| Which the boldest dared not scale; | |
| Every stone a Scottish body, | |
| Every step a corpse in mail! | |
| And behind it lay our monarch | 125 |
| Clenching still his shivered sword: | |
| By his side Montrose and Athole, | |
| At his feet a Southern lord. | |
| All so thick they lay together, | |
| When the stars lit up the sky, | 130 |
| That I knew not who were stricken, | |
| Or who yet remained to die, | |
| Few there were when Surrey halted, | |
| And his wearied host withdrew; | |
| None but dying men around me, | 135 |
| When the English trumpet blew. | |
| 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. | 140 |
| In the mountains growled the thunder, | |
| As I leaped the woeful wall, | |
| And the heavy clouds were settling | |
| Over Flodden, like a pall.” | |
| |
