FLODDEN FIELD. We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe-milking; SCOTTISH BALLAD. I. 'TWAS on a sultry summer noon, The sky was blue, the breeze was still, And Nature with the robes of June Had clothed the slopes of Flodden hill; As rode we slowly o'er the plain, 'Mid wayside flowers and sprouting grain, The leaves on every bough seem'd sleeping, And wild bees murmur'd in their mirth So pleasantly, it seem'd as Earth A jubilee were keeping. II. And canst thou be, unto my soul I said, that dread Northumbrian field, Where War's terrific thunder-roll Above two banded kingdoms peal'd? From out the forest of his spears The crash of Surrey's onward charging, 17 III. Hark to the turmoil and the shout, The broken lance and draggled plume! While stripling blithe, and veteran stern, Pour forth their life-blood on the fern, Amid its fierce commotion ! IV. Mown down, like swathes of summer flowers, The chosen of her chivalry! For battle-field the festal board, Liest low amid the bleeding! 19 V. Yes! here thy life-star knew decline, And what it wish'd, full long believed :— And, o'er the slopes where conflict rang, The quiet sheep were grazing. 20 VI. And were the nameless dead unsung, 21 To find but death on Flodden plain? No! many a mother's melting lay Mourn'd o'er the bright flowers wede away; And many a maid, with tears of sorrow, Whose locks no more were seen to wave, Pined for the beauteous and the brave, Who came not on the morrow! 22 VII. From northern Thule to the Tweed Was heard the wail, and felt the shock; And o'er the mount, and through the mead, Untended, wander'd many a flock; In many a creek, on many a shore, THE FIELD OF PINKIE. WRITTEN ON THE TRI-CENTENARY OF THE BATTLE, I. A LOVELY eve! as loath to quit a scene The Forth a sheet of gold from shore to shore; Gold on the Esk, and on the ripen'd plains, And on the boughs of yon broad sycamore. II. Long shadows fall from turret and from tree ; III. On this green hill-yon grove-the placid flow Of Esk-and on the Links that skirt the town How differently, three hundred years ago, The same sun o'er this self-same spot went down ! Instead of harvest wealth, the gory dead In many a mangled heap lay scatter'd round; Where all is tranquil, anguish reign'd and dread, And for the blackbird wail'd the bugle's sound. IV. Mirror'd by fancy's power, my sight before Darken the hollows and the heights afar— The leaders, and the legions, mad for war.23 |