When guilt we meditate within,

Or harbour unrepented sin."—
Lord Marmion turned him half aside,
And twice to clear his voice he tried,
Then pressed Sir David's hand,—
But nought, at length, in answer said;
And here their farther converse staid,

Each ordering that his band

Should bowne them with the rising day,
To Scotland's camp to take their way,-

Such was the King's command.

XXIII.

Early they took Dun-Edin's road,

And I could trace each step they trode;

Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone,

Lies on the path to me unknown.

Much might it boast of storied lore;

But, passing such digression o'er,

Suffice it that their route was laid

Across the furzy hills of Braid.

They passed the glen and scanty rill,

And climbed the opposing bank, until

They gained the top of Blackford Hill.

XXIV.

Blackford! on whose uncultured breast,

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,

A truant-boy, I sought the nest,

Or listed, as I lay at rest,

While rose, on breezes thin,

The murmur of the city crowd,

And, from his steeple jangling loud,

Saint Giles's mingling din.

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 reliques 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 tinkling clank,

Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,

And chargers' 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 night-watch 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,

* Seven culverins so called, cast by one Borthwick.