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The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse!
Wounded and weary, in mid course
He stumbled on the plain.
Then foremost was the generous Bruce
To raise his head, his helm to loose;—
'Lord earl, the day is thine!
My sovereign's charge, and adverse fate,
Have made our meeting all too late:

Yet this may Argentine,

As boon from ancient comrade, craveA Christian's mass, a soldier's grave.'

Bruce pressed his dying hand-its grasp Kindly replied; but in his clasp

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BATTLE OF FLODDEN

MARMION

CANTO VI.-Stanzas, 18-35

NEXT morn the baron climbed the tower,
To view afar the Scottish power

Encamped on Flodden edge:
The white pavilions made a show,
Like remnants of the winter snow,
Along the dusky ridge.

Long Marmion looked:-at length his eye
Unusual movement might descry

Amid the shifting lines:

The Scottish host drawn out appears,
For, flashing on the hedge of spears,

The eastern sunbeam shines.
Their front now deepening, now extending,
Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending,
Now drawing back, and now descending,
The skilful Marmion well could know,
They watched the motions of some foe,
Who traversed on the plain below.
Even so it was. From Flodden ridge

The Scots beheld the English host

Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post, And heedful watched them as they crossed The Till by Twisel Bridge.

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High sight it is, and haughty, while They dive into the deep defile:

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree,
Troop after troop are disappearing;
Troop after troop their banners rearing
Upon the eastern bank you see.
Still pouring down the rocky den,
Where flows the sullen Till,
And rising from the dim-wood glen,
Standards on standards, men on men,

In slow succession still,

And, sweeping o'er the Gothic arch,
And pressing on, in ceaseless march,
To gain the opposing hill.

And why stands Scotland idly now,
Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,
Since England gains the pass the while,
And struggles through the deep defile?
What checks the fiery soul of James?
Why sits that champion of the dames

Inactive on his steed,

And sees, between him and his land, Between him and Tweed's southern strand,

His host Lord Surrey lead?

What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand?O, Douglas, for thy leading wand!

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed! O for one hour of Wallace wight,

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Their marshalled lines stretched east and west,
And fronted north and south;
And distant salutation passed

From the loud cannon mouth;
Not in the close successive rattle,

That breathes the voice of modern battle,
But slow and far between.

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 plumèd crests of chieftains brave Floating like foam upon the wave; But nought distinct they see: 90 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.

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'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
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle-yell.

The border slogan rent the sky!
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry:
Loud were the clanging blows;
Advanced, forced back,--now low, now high
The pennon sunk and rose;

As bends the bark's mast in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,
It wavered 'mid the foes.

[No longer Blount the view could bear:
'By Heaven and all its saints! I swear,
I will not see it lost!

Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads, and patter prayer,—
I gallop to the host.'

And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.

The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space, an opening large,-
The rescued banner rose,-]

But darkly closed the war around;
Like pine-tree rooted from the ground,

It sunk among the foes.

[Then Eustace mounted too:-yet staid,
As loath to leave the helpless maid,

When, fast as shaft can fly,
Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangled from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ;]

With that, straight up the hill there rode
Two horsemen drenched with gore,
And in their arms, a helpless load,

A wounded knight they bore.
His hand still strained the broken brand;
His arms were smeared with blood and sand.
Dragged from among the horses' feet,
With dinted shield, and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion!.
[Young Blount his armour did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,

Said-By Saint George, he's gone!
That spear-wound has our master sped,―
And see, the deep cut on his head!
Good-night to Marmion.'-
'Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease:
He opes his eyes,' said Eustace; 'peace!']

When doffed his casque, he felt free air,
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare:—

'Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare!

Redeem my pennon,-charge again!

Cry-" Marmion to the rescue!"-Vain!
Last of my race, on battle plain

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That shout shall ne'er be heard again!—
Yet my last thought is England's-fly,
To Dacre bear my signet ring:
Tell him his squadrons up to bring.-
Fitz-Eustace to Lord Surrey hie;

[Tunstall lies dead upon the field,
His life-blood stains the spotless shield:
Edmund is down: My life is reft;
The Admiral alone is left.

Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,-
With Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full upon Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England's lost.-]
Must I bid twice?-hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone-to die.'
[They parted, and alone he lay;
Clare drew her from the sight away.
Till pain rung forth a lowly moan,
190 And half he murmured,- Is there none,
Of all my halls have nurst,

Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water from the spring,

To slake my dying thirst!'

O, woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, 200 A ministering angel thou!—

Scarce were the piteous accents said,
When, with the Baron's casque, the maid
To the nigh streamlet ran:
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears;
The plaintive voice alone she hears,
Sees but the dying man.

She filled the helm, and back she hied,
And with surprise and joy espied
A Monk supporting Marmion's head;
210 A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,

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To shrieve the dying, bless the dead.]

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By many a death-bed I have been,
And many a sinner's parting seen,
But never aught like this.'-

The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,
And-STANLEY! was the cry;—

A light on Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his glazing eye:
With dying hand, above his head,
He shook the fragment of his blade,
Aud shouted 'Victory!

Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!'
Were the last words of Marmion.*

[By this, though deep the evening fell,
Still rose the battle's deadly swell,
For still the Scots, around their king,
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.
Where's now their victor vaward wing,

Where Huntly, and where Home?-]
O for a blast of that dread horn
On Fontarabian echoes borne,

That to king Charles did conie, When Rowland brave, and Oliver, And every paladin and peer,

On Roncesvalles died!

Such blast might warn them, not in vain,
To quit the plunder of the slain,
And turn the doubtful day again,

While yet on Flodden side,
Afar, the Royal Standard flies,
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies,
Our Caledonian pride!

[In vain the wish-for far away. While spoil and havoc mark their way, Near Sybil's cross the plunderers stray. 'O, Lady,' cried the monk, 'away!' And placed her on her steed, And led her to the chapel fair,

Of Tillmouth upon Tweed. There all the night they spent in prayer, And at the dawn of morning, there She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.

But as they left the darkening heath,
More desperate grew the strife of death.]
The English shafts in volleys hailed,
In headlong charge their horse assailed;
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep
To break the Scottish circle deep,

That fought around their king.

But yet, though thick the shafts as snow,
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,
Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,
Unbroken was the ring;

The stubborn spearmen still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood,

Each stepping where his comrade stood,
The instant that he fell.

* The speech may end here

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No thought was there of dastard flight;
Linked in the serried phalanx tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well;

290 Till utter darkness closed her wing

O'er their thin host and wounded king.
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
Led back from strife his shattered bands;
And from the charge they drew,
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,
Sweep back to ocean blue.

Then did their loss his foemen know;
Their king, their lords, their mightiest low,
They melted from the field, as snow,

300 When streams are swoln and south winds blow, Dissolves in silent dew.

Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
While many a broken band,
Disordered, through her currents dash,
To gain the Scottish land;

To town and tower, to down and dale,
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song,
310 Shall many an age that wail prolong:

Still from the sire the son shall hear
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear,
Of Flodden's fatal field,
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear,
And broken was her shield!

Day dawns upon the mountain's side:-
There, Scotland! lay thy bravest pride,
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one:
The sad survivors all are gone.—
View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled though it be;
Nor to yon Border castle high
Look northward with upbraiding eye;
Nor cherish hope in vain,
That, journeying far on foreign strand,
The royal Pilgrim to his land

May yet return again.

He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; Reckless of life, he desperate fought,

And fell on Flodden plain:

And well in death his trusty brand,
Firm clenched within his manly hand,
Beseemed the monarch slain.

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BATTLE OF WATERLOO

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK
Stanzas 54-60

WHILE all around was danger, strife, and fear,

While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky,

And wide Destruction stunned the listening

ear,

Appalled the heart, and stupefied the eye,— Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry,

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite,

Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light.

Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud

A varied scene the changeful vision showed, For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. From mast and stern St George's symbol flowed,

Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; Mottling the sea, their landward barges rowed, And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand,

and spear, And the wild beach returned the seaman's

jovial cheer.

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BONNIE DUNDEE

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,

'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;

So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee !

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'There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth,

If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;

There are wild duniewassals three thousand times three,

Will cry hoigh! for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

'There's brass on the target of barkened bullhide;

There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;

The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free,

At a toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.

'Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks— Ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your

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