Tantallon Castle. No need upon the sea-girt side; And thus these lines, and ramparts rude, Flodden. THE Scots beheld the English host The Till by Twisel bridge. High sight it is, and haughty, while They dive into the deep defile ; Beneath the caverned cliff they fall, Beneath the castle's airy wall. Troop after troop are disappearing ; Troop after troop their banners rearing, Upon the eastern bank you see. And rising from the dim-wood glen, In slow succession still, And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, That morn, to many a trumpet-clang, Flodden. And many a chief of birth and rank, To give the marching columns room. And why stands Scotland idly now, And sees, between him and his land, What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand?— O for one hour of Wallace wight, Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight, From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, |