A peasant mark'd his angry eye, He saw him reach the lake's dark bourne, He saw him near a Blasted Oak, But never from that hour return. Three days pass'd o'er, no tidings came ;-Where should the Chief his steps delay? With wild alarm the servants ran, Yet knew not where to point their way. His vassals ranged the mountain's height, The covert close, the wide-spread plain; But all in vain their eager search, They ne'er must see their lord again. Yet Fancy, in a thousand shapes, Bore to his home the Chief once more; Some saw him on high Moal's top, Some saw him on the winding shore. With wonder fraught the tale went round, Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light, And to this day the peasant still, With cautious fear avoids the ground; In each wild branch a spectre sees, And trembles at each rising sound. Ten annual suns had held their course, As oft she traced his manly form. Yet still to hope her heart would cling, To distant lands had steer'd his way. And dull and dank each valley's space. Loud o'er the weir the hoarse flood fell, And dash'd the foaming spray on high; The west wind bent the forest tops, And angry frown'd the evening sky. A stranger pass'd Llanelltid's bourne, His dark-grey steed with sweat besprent, Which, wearied with the lengthen'd way, Could scarcely gain the hill's ascent. The portal reach'd-the iron bell To know what meant the clam'rous call. "O! lead me to your lady soon; Say, it is my sad lot to tell, She long has proved she loved so well." The menials look surprise and fear; Still o'er his harp old Modred hung, And touch'd the notes for grief's worn ear. The lady sat amidst her train; A mellow'd sorrow mark'd her look: Then, asking what his mission meant, The graceful stranger sigh'd and spoke :-"O could I spread one ray of hope, One moment raise thy soul from woe, Gladly my tongue would tell its tale, My words at ease unfetter'd flow! "Now, lady, give attention due, The story claims thy full belief: E'en in the worst events of life, Suspense removed is some relief. "Though worn by care, see Madoc here, Great Glyndwr's friend, thy kindred's foe; Ah! let his name no anger raise, For now that mighty Chief lies low. "E'en from the day, when, chain'd by fate, By wizard's dream, or potent spell, Lingering from sad Salopia's field, 'Reft of his aid the Percy fell;-- "E'en from that day misfortune still, Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. "Vanquished at length, the Glyndwr fled Where winds the Wye her devious flood; To find a casual shelter there, In some lone cot, or desert wood. "Clothed in a shepherd's humble guise, "To penury extreme, and grief, The Chieftain fell a lingering prey; I heard his last few faltering words, Such as with pain I now convey. "To Sele's sad widow bear the tale, Nor let our horrid secret rest; Give but his corse to sacred earth, Then may my parting soul be blest." "Dim wax'd the eye that fiercely shone, "How could I then his mandate bear? "Proscribed by Henry's hostile rage, My country lost despoil'd my land, Desperate I fled my native soil, And fought on Syria's distant strand. "O, had thy long-lamented lord The holy cross and banner view'd, Died in the sacred cause! who fell Sad victim of a private fend! "Led by the ardour of the chase, Far distant from his own domain, From where Garthmaelan spreads her shades, The Glyndwr sought the opening plain. With head aloft, and antlers wide, A red buck roused then cross'd in view: Stung with the sight, and wild with rage, Swift from the wood fierce Howel flew. "With bitter taunt, and keen reproach, He, all impetuous, pour'd his rage; Reviled the Chief as weak in arms, And bade him loud the battle wage. "Glyndwr for once restrain'd his sword, And, still averse, the fight delays; But soften'd words, like oil to fire. Made anger more intensely blaze. "They fought; and doubtful long the fray! "How could we hope for wish'd retreat, And all its shrivell'd arms were bare. "Be this, I cried, his proper grave! (The thought in me was deadly sin,) Aloft we raised the hapless Chief, And dropp'd his bleeding corpse within." A shriek from all the damsels burst, That pierced the vaulted roofs below; While horror-struck the Lady stood, A living form of sculptured woe. With stupid stare, and vacant gaze, Full on his face her eyes were cast, Absorb'd-she lost her present grief, And faintly thought of things long past. Like wild-fire o'er a mossy heath, The rumour through the hamlet ran; The peasants crowd at morning dawn, To hear the tale-behold the man. He led them near the Blasted Oak, Back they recoil'd!-the right hand still, And proudly deck'd their slaughter'd lord. They bore the corse to Vener's shrine, With holy rites and prayers address'd; Nine white-robed monks the last dirge sang. And gave the angry spirit rest. NOTE Q. Hence might they see the full array Of either host, for deadly fray.—P. 354. The reader cannot here expect a full account of the Battle of Flodden; but, so far as is necessary to understand the romance, I beg to remind him, that, when the English army, by their skilful countermarch, were fairly placed between King James and his own country, the Scottish monarch resolved to fight; and setting fire to his tents, descended from the ridge of Flodden to secure the neighbouring eminence of Brankstone, on which that village is built. Thus the two armies met, almost without seeing each other, when, according to the old poem of " Flodden Field,” "The English line stretch'd east and west, And southward were their faces set; And manfully their focs they met." The English army advanced in four divisions. On the right, which first engaged, were the sons of Earl Surrey, namely, Thomas Howard, the Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, the Knight Marshal of the army. Their divisions were separated from each other; but at the request of Sir Edmund his brother's battalion was drawn very near to his own. The centre was commanded by Surrey in person; the left wing by Sir Edward Stanley, with the men of Lancashire, and of the palatinate of Chester. Lord Dacres, with a large body of horse, formed a reserve. When the smoke, which the wind had driven between the armies, was somewhat dispersed, they perceived the Scots, who had moved down the hill in a similar order of battle, and in deep silence. The Earls of Huntly and of Home commanded their left wing, and charged Sir Edmund Howard with such success, as entirely to defeat his part of the English right wing. Sir Edmund's banner was beaten down, and he himself escaped with difficulty to his brother's division. The Admiral, however, stood firm; and Dacre advancing to his support with the reserve of cavalry, probably between the interval of the divisions commanded by the brothers Howard, appears to have kept the victors in effectual check. Home's men, chiefly Borderers, began to pillage the baggage of both armies; and their leader is branded by the Scottish historians, with negligence or treachery. On the other hand, Huntly, on whom they bestow many encomiums, is said by the English historians to have left the field after the first charge. Meanwhile Lesquela Escossois descendirent la montaigne en bonne ordre, en la maniere que marchent les Allemans sans parler, ne faire aucun bruit —Gazette of the Battle, Pinkerton's History, Appendix, vol. ii p 456 the Admiral, whose flank these chiefs ought to have attacked, availed himself of their inactivity, and pushed forward against another large division of the Scottish army in his front, headed by the Earls of Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were slain and their forces routed. On the left, the success of the English was yet more decisive; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of undisciplined Highlanders, commanded by Lennox and Argyle, was unable to sustain the charge of Sir Edward Stanley, and especially the severe execution of the Lancashire archers. The King and Surrey, who commanded the respective centres of their armies, were meanwhile engaged in close and dubious conflict. James, surrounded by the flower of his kingdom, and impatient of the galling discharge of arrows, supported also by his reserve under Bothwell, charged with such fury, that the standard of Surrey was in danger. At that critical moment, Stanley, who had routed the left wing of the Scottish, pursued his career of victory, and arrived on the right flank, and in the rear of James's division, which throwing itself into a circle, disputed the battle till night came on. Surrey then drew back his forces: for the Scottish centre not having been broken, and their left wing being victorious, he yet doubted the event of the field. The Scottish army, however, felt their loss, and abandoned the field of battle in disorder, before dawn. They lost, perhaps, from eight to ten thousand men; but that included the very prime of their nobility, gentry, and even clergy. Scarce a family of eminence but has an ancestor killed at Flodden; and there is no province in Scotland, even at this day, where the battle is mentioned without a sensation of terror and sorrow. The English lost also a great number of men, perhaps within onethird of the vanquished, but they were of inferior note.-See the only distinct detail of the field of Flodden in Pinkerton's History, book xi.; all former accounts being full of blunders and inconsistency. The spot from which Clara views the battle must be supposed to have been on a hillock commanding the rear of the English right wing, which was defeated, and in which conflict Marmion is supposed to have fallen.1 1 In 1810, as Sir Carnaby Haggerstone's workmen were digging in Flodden Field, they came to a pit filled with human bones, and which seemed of great extent; but alarmed at the sight, they immediately filled up the excavation, and proceeded no farther. In 1817, Mr. Grey of Millfield Hill found, near the traces of an ancient encampment, a short distance from Flodden Hill, a tumulus, which, on removing, exhibited a very singular sepulchre. In the centre, a large urn was found, but in a thousand pieces. It had either been broken to pieces by the stones falling upon it when digging, or had gone to pieces on the admission of the air. This urn was surrounded by a number of cells formed of flat stones, in the shape of graves, but too small to hold the body in its natural state. These sepulchral recesses coutained nothing except ashes, or dust of the same kind as that in the urn.-Sykes' Local Records (2 vols. 8vo, 1833), vol. ii. pp. 60 and 109. EDINBURGH PRINTED BY R. AND R. CLARK. |