FLODDEN FIELD

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

(See biographical sketch on page 316)

In 1513 James IV., king of Scotland, rashly invaded England, where he met disastrous defeat in the battle of Flodden. The king and the flower of the Scottish nobility were left dead upon the field. This description of the battle is from the last part of "Marmion." Lord Marmion is represented on his return from Scotland, attending Lady Clare to the English court; he reached Flodden just as the English and Scotch forces were about to join in battle. Leaving Lady Clare in charge of his attendant squires, he hastened to the field.

Scott's description of this battle is one of the finest battle scenes in all literature. You will read it with more intelligent interest if you will consult the plan of the battlefield given in the lesson notes and will read the account of Flodden in Scott's "Tales of a Grandfather.”

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still
With Lady Clare upon the hill,

On which for far the day was spent

The western sunbeams now were bent;
The cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view :
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,

Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war
As down the hill they broke ;
Nor martial shout nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,

Told England, from his mountain throne
King James did rushing come.

Scarce could they hear or see their foes
Until at weapon point they close.

They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;
And such a yell was there,

Of sudden and portentous birth,

As if men fought upon the earth
And fiends in upper air;

Oh! life and death were in the shout
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,
And triumph and despair.

Long looked the anxious squires; their eye
Could in the darkness nought descry.

At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And first the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears,
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white seamew.
Then marked they, dashing broad and far,

The broken billows of the war,
And plumèd crests of chieftains brave
Floating like foam upon the wave;
But naught distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain ;
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;
Fell England's arrow flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.

Amid the scene of tumult, high

They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly;
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight,
Although against them come
Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man,
And many a rugged Border clan,
With Huntly and with Home.

Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle,
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,

And with both hands the broadsword plied.
'Twas vain. But Fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile cheered Scotland's fight.
Then fell that spotless banner white,
The Howard's lion fell;

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew

With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle yell.

The Border slogan rent the sky!

"A Home! a Gordon !

was the cry:

Loud were the clanging blows;

Advanced, forced back, now low, now high,

The pennon sunk and rose;

As bends the bark's mast in the gale,

When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,

It wavered mid the foes.

No longer Blount the view could bear:

66

By heaven and all its saints! I swear

I will not see it lost!

Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads and patter prayer,—
I gallop to the host."

And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.

The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made for a space an opening large,

The rescued banner rose,

But darkly closed the war around,
Like pine tree rooted from the ground
It sank among the foes.

Then Eustace mounted too, — yet stayed,
As loath to leave the helpless maid,

When, fast as shaft can fly,

Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread,

The loose rein dangling from his head,

Housing and saddle bloody red,
Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ;
And Eustace, maddened at the sight,
A look and sign to Clara cast

To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into the fight.

Ask me not what the maiden feels,
Left in that dreadful hour alone :
Perchance her reason stoops or reels;
Perchance a courage not her own
Braces her mind to desperate tone.
The scattered van of England wheels;
She only said, as loud in air

The tumult roared, "Is Wilton there?"
They fly, or, maddened by despair,

Fight but to die, "Is Wilton there?" With that, straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen drenched with gore, And in their arms, a helpless load,

A wounded knight they bore.

His hand still strained the broken brand;
His arms were smeared with blood and sand.
Dragged from among the horses' feet,

With dinted shield and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion?
Young Blount his armor did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,

Said, "By Saint George, he's gone!