FLODDEN FIELD.

We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae:
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning-
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.

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 way-side flowers and sprouting grain, The leaves on every bough seemed sleeping, And wild bees murmured in their mirth So pleasantly, it seemed 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 pealed?

From out the forest of his spears
Ardent imagination hears

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The crash of Surrey's onward charging;
While curtal-axe and broadsword gleam
Opposed a bright, wide, coming stream,
Like Solway's tide enlarging.18

III.

Hark to the turmoil and the shout,
The war-cry and the cannon's boom!
Behold the struggle and the rout,

The broken lance and draggled plume!
Borne to the earth with deadly force,
Down come the horseman and his horse;
Round boils the battle like an ocean,

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,
Yes! on the cold earth there they lie,
The lords of Scotland's banner'd towers,1s

The chosen of her chivalry!
Commingled with the vulgar dead,
Profane lies many a sacred head;
And thou, the vanguard onward leading,
Who left the sceptre for the sword,
For battle-field the festal board,

Liest low amid the bleeding!

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V.

Yes! here thy life-star knew decline, Though hope, that strove to be deceived, Shaped thy fair course to Palestine,

And what it wished, full long believed:—20 An unhewn pillar on the plain

Marks out the spot where thou wast slain : There pondering as I stood, and gazing, From its grey top the linnet sang,

And, o'er the slopes where conflict rang, The quiet sheep were grazing.

VI.

And were the nameless dead unsung,
The patriot and the peasant train,
Who like a phalanx round thee clung,21
To find but death on Flodden plain?
No! many a mother's melting lay
Mourned 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!

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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, wandered many a flock;

In many a creek, on many a shore,
Lay tattered sail and rotting oar;
And, from the castle to the dwelling
Of the rude hind, a common grief,
In one low wail that sought relief,
From Scotland's heart came swelling!

THE FIELD OF PINKIE.

WRITTEN ON THE TRI-CENTENARY OF THE BATTLE, SEPT. 10, 1847.

I.

A LOVELY eve! as loath to quit a scene
So beautiful, the parting sun smiles back
From western Pentland's summits, all between
Bearing the impress of his glorious track ;
His last, long, level ray fond Earth retains;
The Forth a sheet of gold from shore to shore ;
Gold on the Esk, and on the ripened plains,

And on the boughs of yon broad sycamore.

II.

Long shadows fall from turret and from tree;
Homeward the labourer thro' the radiance goes ;
Calmly the mew floats downward to the sea;
And inland flock the rooks to their repose :
Over the ancient farmstead wreathes the smoke,
Melting in silence 'mid the pure blue sky;
And sings the blackbird, cloistered in the oak,
His anthem to the eve, how solemnly!

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 scattered round; Where all is tranquil, anguish reigned and dread, And for the blackbird wailed the bugle's sound.

IV.

Mirror'd by fancy's power, my sight before
The past revives with panoramic glow;
Scotland resumes the cold rough front of yore,
And England, now her sister, scowls her foe:
Two mighty armaments, for conflict met,

Darken the hollows and the heights afar-
Horse, cannon, standard, spear, and burgonet,

The leaders, and the legions, mad for war.

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