Each stepping where his comrade stood, No thought was there of dastard flight ;— Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, Till utter darkness closed her wing Then did their loss his foemen know; Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, They melted from the field as snow, 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, Tradition, legend, tune, and song, Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear, XXXVI. Day dawns upon the mountain's side :- View not that corpse mistrustfully, Nor to yon Border castle high Look northward with upbraiding eye; Nor cherish hope in vain, That, journeying far on foreign strand, May yet return again. He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; And fell on Flodden plain : And well in death his trusty brand, Firm clenched within his manly hand, Beseemed the monarch slain. But, O! how changed since yon blithe night!—— Gladly I turn me from the sight, Unto my tale again. XXXVII. Short is my tale :—Fitz-Eustace' care A pierced and mangled body bare And there, beneath the southern aisle, 19 A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair, Did long Lord Marmion's image bear. 'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook The fair cathedral stormed and took; But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chad, There erst was martial Marmion found, His hands to heaven upraised; And all around, on scutcheon rich, And yet, though all was carved so fair, Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied, The lowly woodsman took the room. XXXVIII. Less easy task it were, to shew Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low : They dug his grave e'en where he lay, But every mark is gone; Time's wasting hand has done away And broke her font of stone: But yet from out the little hill Oft halts the stranger there, For thence may best his curious eye |