Chapter 5

Chapter XVIIIBy Lauder BridgeThe Ancient Royal Burgh of Lauder, a quaint little border town with hardly more than one street, is on the banks of the river Leader, on the high road between Edinburgh and Kelso. It stands very picturesquely, among the bold hills and fine woods of Berwickshire, and the valley is called Lauderdale, extending to where the Leader joins the Tweed, just below Melrose. Peacefully beautiful is the spot; and yet it was once the scene of a harsh, grim tragedy.It was in the reign of King James III. of Scotland, who offended his subjects in two particulars.First, to get wealth for himself, he mixed brass and lead with his silver money, and put it into circulation as pure silver; next, he chose favourites from the common people, and set these above the proud noblemen of Scotland.This latter would not have been so bad a fault if the king had always chosen wisely; but, as often in such cases, he was led by flatterers rather than by worthy men.In 1482 the king declared war against England, and, as in these warlike days the nobles were the leaders of the army, this brought the discontented lords together.When the Scottish army reached Lauder in their southward march, the proud nobles met in Lauder church; all were angry with the king, yet each was afraid to make the first move. So Lord Gray told them a mocking fable."Do you remember," said he, "how all the mice got together and agreed that it would be a splendid thing if a bell were hung round the cat's neck, so that wherever she went she could be heard; the only difficulty was to find a mouse to bell the cat!"These warlike nobles did not like to be spoken of as if they were mice, and it roused them to deeper rage.Then out spoke Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, the head of the younger branch of the Douglas family. "Trust me, I'll bell the cat!"There was a knock at the door; Cochrane, the architect, whom the nobles said had been a mason, but was now the king's chief favourite, entered, dressed in black velvet, with a heavy chain of gold round his neck, a horn of gold tipped with precious stones, and all his attire of the costliest. Angus caught the chain in his hands and said, "A rope would suit that neck better!"Then the nobles laid violent hands on all the king's low-born favourites and hanged them by the bridge of Lauder, in front of the king's very eyes! Cochrane was proud and brave to the last. He said that as the king had made him an earl he should be hanged with a rope made of silk; little did the nobles care for his protests, the halter of a horse was in their opinion good enough for him.From this time onward the headstrong Earl of Angus was known by the nick-name of "Bell-the-Cat." It may be taken for granted that neither he nor the nobles who supported him would have dared to act so arrogantly and violently unless they felt quite sure that the king had not the power to punish them. He returned sullenly to Edinburgh, more the captive of the nobles than their master.A parliament appointed the Duke of Albany lieutenant-general of the kingdom, but he in turn soon lost favour, for he was suspected of too great a friendship for Edward IV., King of England, and fled for safety to France, giving James another chance to govern his kingdom for himself.This weak and unhappy monarch, however, was not destined to have much peace. Before very long, another quarrel with his nobles led to their taking up arms with a view of deposing him and placing his son on the throne. The king and his nobles met in battle near Stirling, but, at the very beginning of the fight, James was thrown from his horse and stabbed by a soldier, whose name remained unknown. Thus died this weak but amiable and unfortunate king.Chapter XIXThe Battle of Flodden FieldOne of the most tragic episodes in the History of the Borders was the battle of Flodden Field, when the flower of the Scottish nobility fell around their sovereign, James IV., while fighting against the English under Surrey.The causes of the war were many. Henry of England refused to give up the jewels which had been promised as the dowry of his sister Margaret on her marriage with James IV.The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Edmund Howard, had attacked and taken two Scottish ships, and slain their captain, Sir Andrew Barton. James, who was fond of Barton, demanded redress, but Henry insolently replied that kings should not quarrel about pirates.But the immediate cause was the friendship between France and Scotland. Henry was preparing for war with France, and James stood by his ally, declaring that if Henry warred with France, he would lead an army into England. The Queen of France sent James a turquoise ring, asking him to carry out his threat to serve her interests.James had been warned that his action would have terrible consequences. A man appeared to him at Linlithgow, clad in a long blue gown, with bare head, and carrying a pikestaff, and having told the king that his dead mother had sent him to warn him not to go to war against England, he disappeared as suddenly as he had come.Also at the dead of night a voice had been heard proclaiming aloud at the market Cross in Edinburgh the names of those who, within forty days, would be no more. It was thought at the time that these happenings were instigated by Queen Margaret, but the king still persisted in his policy, and led his army across the Border, in spite of the warnings of his counsellors and his queen.A fine description of his army is given by Sir Walter Scott, when Lord Marmion watches the scene from Blackford Hill."Thousand pavilions, white as snow,Spread all the Borough-moor below,Upland, and dale, and down:—A thousand, did I say? I ween,Thousands and thousands, there were seen,That chequer'd all the heath betweenThe streamlet and the town;In crossing ranks extending far,Forming a camp irregular;Oft giving way, where still there stoodSome relics of the old oak wood,That darkly huge did intervene,And tamed the glaring white with green,In these extended lines there lay,A martial kingdom's vast array.For from Hebudes, dark with rain,To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,And from the southern Redswire edge,To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,From west to east, from south to north,Scotland sent all her warriors forth,Marmion might hear the mingled hum,Of myriads up the mountain come;The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,And charger's shrilling neigh;And see the shifting lines advanceWhilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,The sun's reflected ray.* * * * *They saw, slow rolling on the plain,Full many a baggage-cart and wain,And dire artillery's clumsy car.By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;* * * * *Nor mark'd they less, where in the airA thousand streamers flaunted fair,Various in shape, device, and hue,Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] thereO'er the pavilions flew.Highest and midmost, was descriedThe royal banner floating wide;The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,Which still in memory is shown,Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,And gave to view the dazzling field,Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold."[#] Each feudal ensign intimated the rank of those who displayed them.Marmion wondered that with such a glorious army at his back anyone should try to dissuade James from battle, yet Sir David Lindesay of the Mount answered him,"'twere goodThat Kings would think withal,When peace and wealth their land has bless'd,'Tis better to sit still at rest,Than rise, perchance to fall."Men-at-arms were there, sheathed in plate armour, with battle-axe and spear, and mounted on Flemish steeds. Young knights and squires practised their chargers on the plain. Hardy burghers marched on foot, armed with long pikes and two-handed swords and bright bucklers.The yeoman, too, was on foot, dressed in steel-jack quilted well with iron, and bearing at his back, provisions for forty days. He seemed sad of cheer, and loth to leave his humble cottage, wondering who would till the land during his absence.There, too, was the Borderer:—"bred to war,He knew the battle's din afar,And joy'd to hear it swell.His peaceful day was slothful ease,Nor harp nor pipe his ear could pleaseLike the loud slogan yell."for"War's the Borderer's game,Their gain, their glory, their delight,To sleep the day, maraud the night,O'er mountain, moss, and moor."[image]Flodden FieldThere, too, were the Celts, with savage eyes looking out wildly through red and sable hair, with sinewy frames and legs bare above the knees, their chiefs known by the eagle's plumage. They wore the skin of the red deer, a graceful bonnet, and a plaid hung from the shoulders, and carried as weapons a broadsword, a dagger, and quivers, bows, and shafts.The Isles-men, too, were there, carrying the ancient Danish battle-axe. While the army was mustering together, James feasted the chiefs in Holyrood Palace, for at dawn they were to march southward."Well loved that splendid monarch ayeThe banquet and the song,By day the tourney, and by nightThe merry dance, traced fast and light,The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,The revel loud and long.This feast outshone his banquets past;It was his blithest and his last."And hazel was his eagle eye,And auburn of the darkest dye,His short curl'd beard and hair.Light was his footstep in the dance,And firm his stirrup in the lists;And oh! he had that merry glance,That seldom lady's heart resists."Yet no fair lady was as dear to James as his own Queen Margaret, who sat alone in the tower of Linlithgow weeping for the war against her native country, and for the danger of her lord.On the morrow, James marched south, crossed the Tweed, and encamped on the banks of the Till, near Twisel Bridge. The Scottish army moved down the side of the Tweed to Flodden Hill taking Norham Castle, and the Border towns of Etal, Wark, and Ford. Much time was wasted in these petty enterprises, time which should have been spent in marching to Newcastle before the English were prepared to offer resistance. When the castle of Ford was stormed, Lady Heron, wife of Sir William Heron, then a prisoner in Scotland, was taken, and this beautiful and artful woman induced James to idle away his time until all chance was lost of defeating the enemy.The army suffered severely from want of provisions, and many of the Highlanders and Isles-men returned home, many who had come only for booty, deserted, and the numbers were reduced to about thirty thousand.Meanwhile, the Earl of Surrey had raised twenty-six thousand men, and received other enforcements as he came north from Durham. He therefore challenged James to fight, and charged him with violating the treaty of peace between the two kingdoms.The Scottish nobles were unwilling to fight, and said it was impossible to remain in a country so plundered; also, if fight the king must, he would fight to much greater advantage in his own country, to whose welfare the loss of this battle would be fatal; while he had sufficiently indicated his honour by crossing the Border.James would not listen to the counsel of his nobles, though even the aged Earl of Angus expostulated with him. To this old warrior he angrily said, "Angus, if you are afraid, you may go home," at which insult the aged Earl burst into tears.The English army crossed the Till by Twisel Bridge and pressed on while the Scottish army stood idly by, the Scottish nobles in vain entreating the king to attack the English while they were crossing.When the English army had drawn up in order of battle on the left bank of the river, the Scots, setting fire to their temporary huts, came down the ridge of Flodden. The clouds of smoke from the burning huts were driven into the face of the English, so that the Scots had got to within a quarter of a mile of them before they perceived them."No 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 foesUntil at weapon-point they close."With clanging blows and arrows that fell like rain, with yelling and clamour and sword-sway and lance-thrust, the battle continued until the evening, and when even fell, the Scots still fought in an unbroken ring round their king. But when darkness came, and Surrey withdrew his men, the flower of Scotland's chivalry had fallen, and the king lay dead on the field."Afar, the royal standard flies,And round it toils and bleeds and dies.Our Caledonian pride!"* * * * *But yet, though thick the shafts as now,Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,Though billmen ply the ghastly bow,Unbroken was the ring.The stubborn spearmen still made goodTheir dark impenetrable wood,Each stepping where his comrade stoodThe instant that he fell.No thought was there of dastard flight:Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,As fearlessly and well;Till utter darkness closed her wingO'er their thin host and wounded King.Then skilful Surrey's sage commandsLed back from strife his shattered bands;And from the charge they drew,As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,Sweep back to ocean blue.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 blowDissolves in silent dew.* * * * *Still from the sire the son shall hearOf the stern fight and carnage drearOf Flodden's fatal field,Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,And broken was her shield!* * * * *And well in death his trusty brand,Firm clench'd within his manly handBeseem'd the Monarch slain."Chapter XXAfter FloddenSo deeply did the tragic result of Flodden touch the hearts of the Scottish people that no Scot could for many a long day hear it mentioned without a heart-thrill.Many are the songs written about it, the most famous perhaps, being the "Flowers of the Forest," written two centuries later, though partly founded upon an older and almost forgotten song.THE FLOWERS OF THE FORESTI've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking,Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day;But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning[#]The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.[#] a broad grassy lane used as milking-ground.At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;[#]The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;Wae daffing,[#] nae gabbing,[#] but sighing and sabbing;Ilk ane lifts her leglin,[#] and hies her away.[#] rallying.[#] joking.[#] chatting.[#] milking-pail.In hair'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,The bandsters[#] are runkled,[#] and lyart[#] or gray;At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;[#]The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.[#] sheaf-binders.[#] wrinkled.[#] inclining to grey.[#] coaxing.At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play;But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary—The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.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.JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).The following poem also gives eloquent and touching expression to the deep gloom which descended upon the Border after the fatal battle, and tells of the despair felt in almost every Ettrick home:—SELKIRK AFTER FLODDEN(A WIDOW'S DIRGE, OCTOBER 1513)It's but a month the mornSin' a' was peace and plenty;Oor hairst was halflins shorn,Eident men and lasses denty.But noo it's a' distress—Never mair a merry meetin ';For half the bairns are faitherless,And a' the women greetin'.O Flodden Field!Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,Where forest flow'rs are fairest,Ilka lassie's stricken doun,Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.A' the lads they used to meetBy Ettrick braes or YarrowLyin' thrammelt head and feetIn Brankstone's deadly barrow!O Flodden Field!Frae every cleuch and clanThe best o' the braid BorderRose like a single manTo meet the royal order.Oor Burgh toun itsel'Sent its seventy doun the glen;Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!O Flodden Field![#] This was the man who brought an English flag back to Selkirk from Flodden. Four brothers of that name are said to have perished in the battle.Round about their gallant king,For country and for croun,Stude the dauntless Border ring,Till the last was hackit doun.I blame na what has been—They maun fa' that canna flee—But oh, to see what I hae seen,To see what now I see!O Flodden Field!The souters a' fu' croose,O'er their leather and their lingle,Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,Sat contentit round the ingle.Noo there's naething left but dool,—Never mair their work will cheer them;In Flodden's bluidy poolThey'll neither wait nor wear them!O Flodden Field!Whar the weavers used to meet,In ilka bieldy corner,Noo there's nane in a' the street,Savin' here and there a mourner,Walkin' lonely as a wraith,Or if she meet anither,Just a word below their braithO' some slauchtered son or brither!O Flodden Field!There stands the gudeman's loomThat used tae gang sae cheerie,Untentit noo, and toom,Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,Till the sicht I canna dree;For the shuttles lyin' dumbSpeak the loudlier to meO' him that wunna come.O Flodden Field!Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,Just to haud it frae my een,But I haena yet the pow'rTo forget what it has been;And I listen through the hooseFor the chappin o' the lay,Till the scrapin' o' a mooseTak's my very braith away.O Flodden Field!Then I turn to sister Jean,And my airms aboot her twine,And I kiss her sleepless een,For her heart's as sair as mine,—A heart ance fu' o' fun,And hands that ne'er were idle,Wi' a' her cleedin' spunAgainst her Jamie's bridal.O Flodden Field!Noo we've naether hands nor hairt—In oor grief the wark's forgotten,Though it's wantit every airt,And the craps are lyin' rotten.War's awsome blast's gane bye,And left a land forlorn;In daith's dool hairst they lie,The shearers and the shorn.O Flodden Field.Wi' winter creepin' near us,When the nichts are drear and lang,Nane to help us, nane to hear us,On the weary gate we gang!Lord o' the quick an' deed,Sin' oor ain we canna see,In mercy mak gude speed,And bring us whar they be,Far, far, frae Flodden Field!"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.Another lyric, relating to the fatal battle of Flodden, refers to the gallantry of the Souters, or shoemakers of Selkirk, who, to the number of eighty, and headed by their town-clerk, joined the army as it entered England. They distinguished themselves greatly, and few returned. The "yellow and green" are the liveries of the house of Home, taxed by some with being the cause of the defeat.THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRKUp wi' the Souters of Selkirk,And doun wi' the Earl of Home;And up wi' a' the braw ladsThat sew the single-soled shoon.Fye upon yellow and yellow,And fye upon yellow and green,But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,And up wi' the single-soled sheen.Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,For they are baith trusty and leal;And up wi' the men o' the Forest,And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.In Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," the following well-known poem tells how the news of the disaster at Flodden Field was received in Edinburgh:—EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDENINews of battle! news of battle!Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:And the archways and the pavementBear the clang of hurrying feet.News of battle! Who hath brought it?News of triumph! Who should bringTidings from our noble army,Greetings from our gallant King?All last night we watched the beaconsBlazing on the hills afar,Each one bearing, as it kindled,Message of the opened war.All night long the northern streamersShot across the trembling sky:Fearful lights that never beckonSave when kings or heroes die.IINews of battle! Who hath brought it?All are thronging to the gate;"Warder—warder! open quickly!Man—is this a time to wait?"And the heavy gates are opened;Then a murmur long and loud,And a cry of fear and wonderBursts from out the bending crowd.For they see in battered harnessOnly one hard-stricken man;And his weary steed is wounded,And his cheek is pale and wan.Spearless hangs a bloody bannerIn his weak and drooping hand—God! can that be Randolph Murray,Captain of the city band?IIIRound him crush the people, crying,"Tell us all—oh, tell us true!Where are they who went to battle,Randolph Murray, sworn to you?Where are they, our brothers—children?Have they met the English foe?Why art thou alone, unfollowed?Is it weal, or is it woe?"Like a corpse the grisly warriorLooks from out his helm of steel;But no word he speaks in answer—Only with his armèd heelChides his weary steed, and onwardUp the city streets they ride;Fathers, sisters, mothers, children,Shrieking, praying by his side."By the God that made thee, Randolph!Tell us what mischance hath come."Then he lifts his riven banner,And the asker's voice is dumb.[image]"Tell us all—oh, tell us true!"IVThe elders of the cityHave met within their hall—The men whom good King James had chargedTo watch the tower and wall."Your hands are weak with age," he said,"Your hearts are stout and true;So bide ye in the maiden town,While others fight for you.My trumpet from the Border-sideShall send a blast so clear,That all who wait within the gateThat stirring sound may hear.Or, if it be the will of HeavenThat back I never come,And if, instead of Scottish shout,Ye hear the English drum,Then let the warning bells ring out,Then gird you to the fray,Then man the walls like burghers stout,And fight while fight you may.'Twere better that in fiery flameThe roofs should thunder down,Than that the foot of foreign foeShould trample in the town!"VThen in came Randolph Murray,His step was slow and weak,And, as he doffed his dinted helm,The tears ran down his cheek:They fell upon his corsletAnd on his mailed hand,As he gazed around him wistfully,Leaning sorely on his brand.And none who then beheld himBut straight were smote with fear,For a bolder and a sterner manHad never couched a spear.They knew so sad a messengerSome ghastly news must bring;And all of them were fathers,And their sons were with the King.

Chapter XVIII

By Lauder Bridge

The Ancient Royal Burgh of Lauder, a quaint little border town with hardly more than one street, is on the banks of the river Leader, on the high road between Edinburgh and Kelso. It stands very picturesquely, among the bold hills and fine woods of Berwickshire, and the valley is called Lauderdale, extending to where the Leader joins the Tweed, just below Melrose. Peacefully beautiful is the spot; and yet it was once the scene of a harsh, grim tragedy.

It was in the reign of King James III. of Scotland, who offended his subjects in two particulars.

First, to get wealth for himself, he mixed brass and lead with his silver money, and put it into circulation as pure silver; next, he chose favourites from the common people, and set these above the proud noblemen of Scotland.

This latter would not have been so bad a fault if the king had always chosen wisely; but, as often in such cases, he was led by flatterers rather than by worthy men.

In 1482 the king declared war against England, and, as in these warlike days the nobles were the leaders of the army, this brought the discontented lords together.

When the Scottish army reached Lauder in their southward march, the proud nobles met in Lauder church; all were angry with the king, yet each was afraid to make the first move. So Lord Gray told them a mocking fable.

"Do you remember," said he, "how all the mice got together and agreed that it would be a splendid thing if a bell were hung round the cat's neck, so that wherever she went she could be heard; the only difficulty was to find a mouse to bell the cat!"

These warlike nobles did not like to be spoken of as if they were mice, and it roused them to deeper rage.

Then out spoke Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, the head of the younger branch of the Douglas family. "Trust me, I'll bell the cat!"

There was a knock at the door; Cochrane, the architect, whom the nobles said had been a mason, but was now the king's chief favourite, entered, dressed in black velvet, with a heavy chain of gold round his neck, a horn of gold tipped with precious stones, and all his attire of the costliest. Angus caught the chain in his hands and said, "A rope would suit that neck better!"

Then the nobles laid violent hands on all the king's low-born favourites and hanged them by the bridge of Lauder, in front of the king's very eyes! Cochrane was proud and brave to the last. He said that as the king had made him an earl he should be hanged with a rope made of silk; little did the nobles care for his protests, the halter of a horse was in their opinion good enough for him.

From this time onward the headstrong Earl of Angus was known by the nick-name of "Bell-the-Cat." It may be taken for granted that neither he nor the nobles who supported him would have dared to act so arrogantly and violently unless they felt quite sure that the king had not the power to punish them. He returned sullenly to Edinburgh, more the captive of the nobles than their master.

A parliament appointed the Duke of Albany lieutenant-general of the kingdom, but he in turn soon lost favour, for he was suspected of too great a friendship for Edward IV., King of England, and fled for safety to France, giving James another chance to govern his kingdom for himself.

This weak and unhappy monarch, however, was not destined to have much peace. Before very long, another quarrel with his nobles led to their taking up arms with a view of deposing him and placing his son on the throne. The king and his nobles met in battle near Stirling, but, at the very beginning of the fight, James was thrown from his horse and stabbed by a soldier, whose name remained unknown. Thus died this weak but amiable and unfortunate king.

Chapter XIX

The Battle of Flodden Field

One of the most tragic episodes in the History of the Borders was the battle of Flodden Field, when the flower of the Scottish nobility fell around their sovereign, James IV., while fighting against the English under Surrey.

The causes of the war were many. Henry of England refused to give up the jewels which had been promised as the dowry of his sister Margaret on her marriage with James IV.

The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Edmund Howard, had attacked and taken two Scottish ships, and slain their captain, Sir Andrew Barton. James, who was fond of Barton, demanded redress, but Henry insolently replied that kings should not quarrel about pirates.

But the immediate cause was the friendship between France and Scotland. Henry was preparing for war with France, and James stood by his ally, declaring that if Henry warred with France, he would lead an army into England. The Queen of France sent James a turquoise ring, asking him to carry out his threat to serve her interests.

James had been warned that his action would have terrible consequences. A man appeared to him at Linlithgow, clad in a long blue gown, with bare head, and carrying a pikestaff, and having told the king that his dead mother had sent him to warn him not to go to war against England, he disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

Also at the dead of night a voice had been heard proclaiming aloud at the market Cross in Edinburgh the names of those who, within forty days, would be no more. It was thought at the time that these happenings were instigated by Queen Margaret, but the king still persisted in his policy, and led his army across the Border, in spite of the warnings of his counsellors and his queen.

A fine description of his army is given by Sir Walter Scott, when Lord Marmion watches the scene from Blackford Hill.

"Thousand pavilions, white as snow,Spread all the Borough-moor below,Upland, and dale, and down:—A thousand, did I say? I ween,Thousands and thousands, there were seen,That chequer'd all the heath betweenThe streamlet and the town;In crossing ranks extending far,Forming a camp irregular;Oft giving way, where still there stoodSome relics of the old oak wood,That darkly huge did intervene,And tamed the glaring white with green,In these extended lines there lay,A martial kingdom's vast array.For from Hebudes, dark with rain,To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,And from the southern Redswire edge,To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,From west to east, from south to north,Scotland sent all her warriors forth,Marmion might hear the mingled hum,Of myriads up the mountain come;The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,And charger's shrilling neigh;And see the shifting lines advanceWhilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,The sun's reflected ray.* * * * *They saw, slow rolling on the plain,Full many a baggage-cart and wain,And dire artillery's clumsy car.By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;* * * * *Nor mark'd they less, where in the airA thousand streamers flaunted fair,Various in shape, device, and hue,Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] thereO'er the pavilions flew.Highest and midmost, was descriedThe royal banner floating wide;The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,Which still in memory is shown,Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,And gave to view the dazzling field,Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold."

"Thousand pavilions, white as snow,

Spread all the Borough-moor below,

Upland, and dale, and down:—

A thousand, did I say? I ween,

Thousands and thousands, there were seen,

That chequer'd all the heath between

The streamlet and the town;

In crossing ranks extending far,

Forming a camp irregular;

Oft giving way, where still there stood

Some relics of the old oak wood,

That darkly huge did intervene,

And tamed the glaring white with green,

In these extended lines there lay,

A martial kingdom's vast array.

For from Hebudes, dark with rain,To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,And from the southern Redswire edge,To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,From west to east, from south to north,Scotland sent all her warriors forth,Marmion might hear the mingled hum,Of myriads up the mountain come;The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,And charger's shrilling neigh;And see the shifting lines advanceWhilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,The sun's reflected ray.* * * * *They saw, slow rolling on the plain,Full many a baggage-cart and wain,And dire artillery's clumsy car.By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;* * * * *Nor mark'd they less, where in the airA thousand streamers flaunted fair,Various in shape, device, and hue,Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] thereO'er the pavilions flew.Highest and midmost, was descriedThe royal banner floating wide;The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,Which still in memory is shown,Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,And gave to view the dazzling field,Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold."

For from Hebudes, dark with rain,

To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,

And from the southern Redswire edge,

To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,

From west to east, from south to north,

Scotland sent all her warriors forth,

Marmion might hear the mingled hum,

Of myriads up the mountain come;

The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,

Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,

And charger's shrilling neigh;

And see the shifting lines advance

Whilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,

The sun's reflected ray.* * * * *

The sun's reflected ray.

* * * * *

They saw, slow rolling on the plain,

Full many a baggage-cart and wain,

And dire artillery's clumsy car.

By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;

* * * * *

Nor mark'd they less, where in the air

A thousand streamers flaunted fair,

Various in shape, device, and hue,Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,

Various in shape, device, and hue,

Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,

Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,

Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] there

O'er the pavilions flew.

Highest and midmost, was descried

The royal banner floating wide;

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,

Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,

Which still in memory is shown,

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.

Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,

With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,

And gave to view the dazzling field,

Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,

The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold."

[#] Each feudal ensign intimated the rank of those who displayed them.

Marmion wondered that with such a glorious army at his back anyone should try to dissuade James from battle, yet Sir David Lindesay of the Mount answered him,

"'twere goodThat Kings would think withal,When peace and wealth their land has bless'd,'Tis better to sit still at rest,Than rise, perchance to fall."

"'twere good

That Kings would think withal,

When peace and wealth their land has bless'd,

'Tis better to sit still at rest,

Than rise, perchance to fall."

Men-at-arms were there, sheathed in plate armour, with battle-axe and spear, and mounted on Flemish steeds. Young knights and squires practised their chargers on the plain. Hardy burghers marched on foot, armed with long pikes and two-handed swords and bright bucklers.

The yeoman, too, was on foot, dressed in steel-jack quilted well with iron, and bearing at his back, provisions for forty days. He seemed sad of cheer, and loth to leave his humble cottage, wondering who would till the land during his absence.

There, too, was the Borderer:—

"bred to war,He knew the battle's din afar,And joy'd to hear it swell.His peaceful day was slothful ease,Nor harp nor pipe his ear could pleaseLike the loud slogan yell."

"bred to war,

He knew the battle's din afar,

And joy'd to hear it swell.

His peaceful day was slothful ease,

Nor harp nor pipe his ear could please

Like the loud slogan yell."

for

"War's the Borderer's game,Their gain, their glory, their delight,To sleep the day, maraud the night,O'er mountain, moss, and moor."

"War's the Borderer's game,

Their gain, their glory, their delight,

To sleep the day, maraud the night,

O'er mountain, moss, and moor."

[image]Flodden Field

[image]

Flodden Field

There, too, were the Celts, with savage eyes looking out wildly through red and sable hair, with sinewy frames and legs bare above the knees, their chiefs known by the eagle's plumage. They wore the skin of the red deer, a graceful bonnet, and a plaid hung from the shoulders, and carried as weapons a broadsword, a dagger, and quivers, bows, and shafts.

The Isles-men, too, were there, carrying the ancient Danish battle-axe. While the army was mustering together, James feasted the chiefs in Holyrood Palace, for at dawn they were to march southward.

"Well loved that splendid monarch ayeThe banquet and the song,By day the tourney, and by nightThe merry dance, traced fast and light,The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,The revel loud and long.This feast outshone his banquets past;It was his blithest and his last."And hazel was his eagle eye,And auburn of the darkest dye,His short curl'd beard and hair.Light was his footstep in the dance,And firm his stirrup in the lists;And oh! he had that merry glance,That seldom lady's heart resists."

"Well loved that splendid monarch aye

The banquet and the song,

By day the tourney, and by night

The merry dance, traced fast and light,

The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,

The revel loud and long.

This feast outshone his banquets past;

It was his blithest and his last."

And hazel was his eagle eye,And auburn of the darkest dye,His short curl'd beard and hair.Light was his footstep in the dance,And firm his stirrup in the lists;And oh! he had that merry glance,That seldom lady's heart resists."

And hazel was his eagle eye,

And auburn of the darkest dye,

His short curl'd beard and hair.

Light was his footstep in the dance,

And firm his stirrup in the lists;

And oh! he had that merry glance,

That seldom lady's heart resists."

Yet no fair lady was as dear to James as his own Queen Margaret, who sat alone in the tower of Linlithgow weeping for the war against her native country, and for the danger of her lord.

On the morrow, James marched south, crossed the Tweed, and encamped on the banks of the Till, near Twisel Bridge. The Scottish army moved down the side of the Tweed to Flodden Hill taking Norham Castle, and the Border towns of Etal, Wark, and Ford. Much time was wasted in these petty enterprises, time which should have been spent in marching to Newcastle before the English were prepared to offer resistance. When the castle of Ford was stormed, Lady Heron, wife of Sir William Heron, then a prisoner in Scotland, was taken, and this beautiful and artful woman induced James to idle away his time until all chance was lost of defeating the enemy.

The army suffered severely from want of provisions, and many of the Highlanders and Isles-men returned home, many who had come only for booty, deserted, and the numbers were reduced to about thirty thousand.

Meanwhile, the Earl of Surrey had raised twenty-six thousand men, and received other enforcements as he came north from Durham. He therefore challenged James to fight, and charged him with violating the treaty of peace between the two kingdoms.

The Scottish nobles were unwilling to fight, and said it was impossible to remain in a country so plundered; also, if fight the king must, he would fight to much greater advantage in his own country, to whose welfare the loss of this battle would be fatal; while he had sufficiently indicated his honour by crossing the Border.

James would not listen to the counsel of his nobles, though even the aged Earl of Angus expostulated with him. To this old warrior he angrily said, "Angus, if you are afraid, you may go home," at which insult the aged Earl burst into tears.

The English army crossed the Till by Twisel Bridge and pressed on while the Scottish army stood idly by, the Scottish nobles in vain entreating the king to attack the English while they were crossing.

When the English army had drawn up in order of battle on the left bank of the river, the Scots, setting fire to their temporary huts, came down the ridge of Flodden. The clouds of smoke from the burning huts were driven into the face of the English, so that the Scots had got to within a quarter of a mile of them before they perceived them.

"No 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 foesUntil at weapon-point they close."

"No 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."

With clanging blows and arrows that fell like rain, with yelling and clamour and sword-sway and lance-thrust, the battle continued until the evening, and when even fell, the Scots still fought in an unbroken ring round their king. But when darkness came, and Surrey withdrew his men, the flower of Scotland's chivalry had fallen, and the king lay dead on the field.

"Afar, the royal standard flies,And round it toils and bleeds and dies.Our Caledonian pride!"* * * * *But yet, though thick the shafts as now,Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,Though billmen ply the ghastly bow,Unbroken was the ring.The stubborn spearmen still made goodTheir dark impenetrable wood,Each stepping where his comrade stoodThe instant that he fell.No thought was there of dastard flight:Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,As fearlessly and well;Till utter darkness closed her wingO'er their thin host and wounded King.Then skilful Surrey's sage commandsLed back from strife his shattered bands;And from the charge they drew,As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,Sweep back to ocean blue.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 blowDissolves in silent dew.* * * * *Still from the sire the son shall hearOf the stern fight and carnage drearOf Flodden's fatal field,Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,And broken was her shield!* * * * *And well in death his trusty brand,Firm clench'd within his manly handBeseem'd the Monarch slain."

"Afar, the royal standard flies,

And round it toils and bleeds and dies.

Our Caledonian pride!"

* * * * *

But yet, though thick the shafts as now,

Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,

Though billmen ply the ghastly bow,

Unbroken was the ring.

The stubborn spearmen still made good

Their dark impenetrable wood,

Each stepping where his comrade stood

The instant that he fell.

No thought was there of dastard flight:

Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,

Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,

As fearlessly and well;

Till utter darkness closed her wing

O'er their thin host and wounded King.

Then skilful Surrey's sage commands

Led back from strife his shattered bands;

And from the charge they drew,

As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,

Sweep back to ocean blue.

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.* * * * *

Dissolves in silent dew.

* * * * *

Still from the sire the son shall hear

Of the stern fight and carnage drear

Of Flodden's fatal field,

Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,

And broken was her shield!* * * * *

And broken was her shield!

* * * * *

And well in death his trusty brand,

Firm clench'd within his manly hand

Beseem'd the Monarch slain."

Chapter XX

After Flodden

So deeply did the tragic result of Flodden touch the hearts of the Scottish people that no Scot could for many a long day hear it mentioned without a heart-thrill.

Many are the songs written about it, the most famous perhaps, being the "Flowers of the Forest," written two centuries later, though partly founded upon an older and almost forgotten song.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST

I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking,Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day;But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning[#]The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking,

Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day;

But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning[#]

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

[#] a broad grassy lane used as milking-ground.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;[#]The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;Wae daffing,[#] nae gabbing,[#] but sighing and sabbing;Ilk ane lifts her leglin,[#] and hies her away.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;[#]

The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;

Wae daffing,[#] nae gabbing,[#] but sighing and sabbing;

Ilk ane lifts her leglin,[#] and hies her away.

[#] rallying.[#] joking.[#] chatting.[#] milking-pail.

In hair'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,The bandsters[#] are runkled,[#] and lyart[#] or gray;At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;[#]The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

In hair'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,

The bandsters[#] are runkled,[#] and lyart[#] or gray;

At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;[#]

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

[#] sheaf-binders.[#] wrinkled.[#] inclining to grey.[#] coaxing.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play;But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary—The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.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.JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play;But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary—The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming

'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play;

But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary—

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:

The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,

The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.

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.JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).

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.JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).

The following poem also gives eloquent and touching expression to the deep gloom which descended upon the Border after the fatal battle, and tells of the despair felt in almost every Ettrick home:—

SELKIRK AFTER FLODDEN

(A WIDOW'S DIRGE, OCTOBER 1513)

It's but a month the mornSin' a' was peace and plenty;Oor hairst was halflins shorn,Eident men and lasses denty.But noo it's a' distress—Never mair a merry meetin ';For half the bairns are faitherless,And a' the women greetin'.O Flodden Field!Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,Where forest flow'rs are fairest,Ilka lassie's stricken doun,Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.A' the lads they used to meetBy Ettrick braes or YarrowLyin' thrammelt head and feetIn Brankstone's deadly barrow!O Flodden Field!Frae every cleuch and clanThe best o' the braid BorderRose like a single manTo meet the royal order.Oor Burgh toun itsel'Sent its seventy doun the glen;Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!O Flodden Field!

It's but a month the morn

Sin' a' was peace and plenty;

Oor hairst was halflins shorn,

Eident men and lasses denty.

But noo it's a' distress—

Never mair a merry meetin ';

For half the bairns are faitherless,

And a' the women greetin'.O Flodden Field!

And a' the women greetin'.

O Flodden Field!

Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,Where forest flow'rs are fairest,Ilka lassie's stricken doun,Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.A' the lads they used to meetBy Ettrick braes or YarrowLyin' thrammelt head and feetIn Brankstone's deadly barrow!O Flodden Field!

Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,

Where forest flow'rs are fairest,

Ilka lassie's stricken doun,

Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.

A' the lads they used to meet

By Ettrick braes or Yarrow

Lyin' thrammelt head and feet

In Brankstone's deadly barrow!O Flodden Field!

In Brankstone's deadly barrow!

O Flodden Field!

Frae every cleuch and clanThe best o' the braid BorderRose like a single manTo meet the royal order.Oor Burgh toun itsel'Sent its seventy doun the glen;Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!O Flodden Field!

Frae every cleuch and clan

The best o' the braid Border

Rose like a single man

To meet the royal order.

Oor Burgh toun itsel'

Sent its seventy doun the glen;

Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,

Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!O Flodden Field!

Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!

O Flodden Field!

[#] This was the man who brought an English flag back to Selkirk from Flodden. Four brothers of that name are said to have perished in the battle.

Round about their gallant king,For country and for croun,Stude the dauntless Border ring,Till the last was hackit doun.I blame na what has been—They maun fa' that canna flee—But oh, to see what I hae seen,To see what now I see!O Flodden Field!The souters a' fu' croose,O'er their leather and their lingle,Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,Sat contentit round the ingle.Noo there's naething left but dool,—Never mair their work will cheer them;In Flodden's bluidy poolThey'll neither wait nor wear them!O Flodden Field!Whar the weavers used to meet,In ilka bieldy corner,Noo there's nane in a' the street,Savin' here and there a mourner,Walkin' lonely as a wraith,Or if she meet anither,Just a word below their braithO' some slauchtered son or brither!O Flodden Field!There stands the gudeman's loomThat used tae gang sae cheerie,Untentit noo, and toom,Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,Till the sicht I canna dree;For the shuttles lyin' dumbSpeak the loudlier to meO' him that wunna come.O Flodden Field!Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,Just to haud it frae my een,But I haena yet the pow'rTo forget what it has been;And I listen through the hooseFor the chappin o' the lay,Till the scrapin' o' a mooseTak's my very braith away.O Flodden Field!Then I turn to sister Jean,And my airms aboot her twine,And I kiss her sleepless een,For her heart's as sair as mine,—A heart ance fu' o' fun,And hands that ne'er were idle,Wi' a' her cleedin' spunAgainst her Jamie's bridal.O Flodden Field!Noo we've naether hands nor hairt—In oor grief the wark's forgotten,Though it's wantit every airt,And the craps are lyin' rotten.War's awsome blast's gane bye,And left a land forlorn;In daith's dool hairst they lie,The shearers and the shorn.O Flodden Field.Wi' winter creepin' near us,When the nichts are drear and lang,Nane to help us, nane to hear us,On the weary gate we gang!Lord o' the quick an' deed,Sin' oor ain we canna see,In mercy mak gude speed,And bring us whar they be,Far, far, frae Flodden Field!"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.

Round about their gallant king,

For country and for croun,

Stude the dauntless Border ring,

Till the last was hackit doun.

I blame na what has been—

They maun fa' that canna flee—

But oh, to see what I hae seen,

To see what now I see!O Flodden Field!

To see what now I see!

O Flodden Field!

The souters a' fu' croose,O'er their leather and their lingle,Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,Sat contentit round the ingle.Noo there's naething left but dool,—Never mair their work will cheer them;In Flodden's bluidy poolThey'll neither wait nor wear them!O Flodden Field!

The souters a' fu' croose,

O'er their leather and their lingle,

Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,

Sat contentit round the ingle.

Noo there's naething left but dool,—

Never mair their work will cheer them;

In Flodden's bluidy pool

They'll neither wait nor wear them!O Flodden Field!

They'll neither wait nor wear them!

O Flodden Field!

Whar the weavers used to meet,In ilka bieldy corner,Noo there's nane in a' the street,Savin' here and there a mourner,Walkin' lonely as a wraith,Or if she meet anither,Just a word below their braithO' some slauchtered son or brither!O Flodden Field!

Whar the weavers used to meet,

In ilka bieldy corner,

Noo there's nane in a' the street,

Savin' here and there a mourner,

Walkin' lonely as a wraith,

Or if she meet anither,

Just a word below their braith

O' some slauchtered son or brither!O Flodden Field!

O' some slauchtered son or brither!

O Flodden Field!

There stands the gudeman's loomThat used tae gang sae cheerie,Untentit noo, and toom,Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,Till the sicht I canna dree;For the shuttles lyin' dumbSpeak the loudlier to meO' him that wunna come.O Flodden Field!

There stands the gudeman's loom

That used tae gang sae cheerie,

Untentit noo, and toom,

Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,

Till the sicht I canna dree;

For the shuttles lyin' dumb

Speak the loudlier to me

O' him that wunna come.O Flodden Field!

O' him that wunna come.

O Flodden Field!

Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,Just to haud it frae my een,But I haena yet the pow'rTo forget what it has been;And I listen through the hooseFor the chappin o' the lay,Till the scrapin' o' a mooseTak's my very braith away.O Flodden Field!

Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,

Just to haud it frae my een,

But I haena yet the pow'r

To forget what it has been;

And I listen through the hoose

For the chappin o' the lay,

Till the scrapin' o' a moose

Tak's my very braith away.O Flodden Field!

Tak's my very braith away.

O Flodden Field!

Then I turn to sister Jean,And my airms aboot her twine,And I kiss her sleepless een,For her heart's as sair as mine,—A heart ance fu' o' fun,And hands that ne'er were idle,Wi' a' her cleedin' spunAgainst her Jamie's bridal.O Flodden Field!

Then I turn to sister Jean,

And my airms aboot her twine,

And I kiss her sleepless een,

For her heart's as sair as mine,—

A heart ance fu' o' fun,

And hands that ne'er were idle,

Wi' a' her cleedin' spun

Against her Jamie's bridal.O Flodden Field!

Against her Jamie's bridal.

O Flodden Field!

Noo we've naether hands nor hairt—In oor grief the wark's forgotten,Though it's wantit every airt,And the craps are lyin' rotten.War's awsome blast's gane bye,And left a land forlorn;In daith's dool hairst they lie,The shearers and the shorn.O Flodden Field.

Noo we've naether hands nor hairt—

In oor grief the wark's forgotten,

Though it's wantit every airt,

And the craps are lyin' rotten.

War's awsome blast's gane bye,

And left a land forlorn;

In daith's dool hairst they lie,

The shearers and the shorn.O Flodden Field.

The shearers and the shorn.

O Flodden Field.

Wi' winter creepin' near us,When the nichts are drear and lang,Nane to help us, nane to hear us,On the weary gate we gang!Lord o' the quick an' deed,Sin' oor ain we canna see,In mercy mak gude speed,And bring us whar they be,Far, far, frae Flodden Field!"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.

Wi' winter creepin' near us,

When the nichts are drear and lang,

Nane to help us, nane to hear us,

On the weary gate we gang!

Lord o' the quick an' deed,

Sin' oor ain we canna see,

In mercy mak gude speed,

And bring us whar they be,Far, far, frae Flodden Field!"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.

And bring us whar they be,

Far, far, frae Flodden Field!"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.

Far, far, frae Flodden Field!

"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).

By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.

Another lyric, relating to the fatal battle of Flodden, refers to the gallantry of the Souters, or shoemakers of Selkirk, who, to the number of eighty, and headed by their town-clerk, joined the army as it entered England. They distinguished themselves greatly, and few returned. The "yellow and green" are the liveries of the house of Home, taxed by some with being the cause of the defeat.

THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,And doun wi' the Earl of Home;And up wi' a' the braw ladsThat sew the single-soled shoon.Fye upon yellow and yellow,And fye upon yellow and green,But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,And up wi' the single-soled sheen.Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,For they are baith trusty and leal;And up wi' the men o' the Forest,And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,And doun wi' the Earl of Home;And up wi' a' the braw ladsThat sew the single-soled shoon.

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,

And doun wi' the Earl of Home;

And up wi' a' the braw lads

That sew the single-soled shoon.

Fye upon yellow and yellow,And fye upon yellow and green,But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,And up wi' the single-soled sheen.

Fye upon yellow and yellow,

And fye upon yellow and green,

But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,

And up wi' the single-soled sheen.

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,For they are baith trusty and leal;And up wi' the men o' the Forest,And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,

For they are baith trusty and leal;

And up wi' the men o' the Forest,

And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.

In Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," the following well-known poem tells how the news of the disaster at Flodden Field was received in Edinburgh:—

EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN

News of battle! news of battle!Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:And the archways and the pavementBear the clang of hurrying feet.News of battle! Who hath brought it?News of triumph! Who should bringTidings from our noble army,Greetings from our gallant King?All last night we watched the beaconsBlazing on the hills afar,Each one bearing, as it kindled,Message of the opened war.All night long the northern streamersShot across the trembling sky:Fearful lights that never beckonSave when kings or heroes die.

News of battle! news of battle!

Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:

And the archways and the pavement

Bear the clang of hurrying feet.

News of battle! Who hath brought it?

News of triumph! Who should bring

Tidings from our noble army,

Greetings from our gallant King?

All last night we watched the beacons

Blazing on the hills afar,

Each one bearing, as it kindled,

Message of the opened war.

All night long the northern streamers

Shot across the trembling sky:

Fearful lights that never beckon

Save when kings or heroes die.

News of battle! Who hath brought it?All are thronging to the gate;"Warder—warder! open quickly!Man—is this a time to wait?"And the heavy gates are opened;Then a murmur long and loud,And a cry of fear and wonderBursts from out the bending crowd.For they see in battered harnessOnly one hard-stricken man;And his weary steed is wounded,And his cheek is pale and wan.Spearless hangs a bloody bannerIn his weak and drooping hand—God! can that be Randolph Murray,Captain of the city band?

News of battle! Who hath brought it?

All are thronging to the gate;

"Warder—warder! open quickly!

Man—is this a time to wait?"

And the heavy gates are opened;

Then a murmur long and loud,

And a cry of fear and wonder

Bursts from out the bending crowd.

For they see in battered harness

Only one hard-stricken man;

And his weary steed is wounded,

And his cheek is pale and wan.

Spearless hangs a bloody banner

In his weak and drooping hand—

God! can that be Randolph Murray,

Captain of the city band?

III

Round him crush the people, crying,"Tell us all—oh, tell us true!Where are they who went to battle,Randolph Murray, sworn to you?Where are they, our brothers—children?Have they met the English foe?Why art thou alone, unfollowed?Is it weal, or is it woe?"Like a corpse the grisly warriorLooks from out his helm of steel;But no word he speaks in answer—Only with his armèd heelChides his weary steed, and onwardUp the city streets they ride;Fathers, sisters, mothers, children,Shrieking, praying by his side."By the God that made thee, Randolph!Tell us what mischance hath come."Then he lifts his riven banner,And the asker's voice is dumb.

Round him crush the people, crying,

"Tell us all—oh, tell us true!

Where are they who went to battle,

Randolph Murray, sworn to you?

Where are they, our brothers—children?

Have they met the English foe?

Why art thou alone, unfollowed?

Is it weal, or is it woe?"

Like a corpse the grisly warrior

Looks from out his helm of steel;

But no word he speaks in answer—

Only with his armèd heel

Chides his weary steed, and onward

Up the city streets they ride;

Fathers, sisters, mothers, children,

Shrieking, praying by his side.

"By the God that made thee, Randolph!

Tell us what mischance hath come."

Then he lifts his riven banner,

And the asker's voice is dumb.

[image]"Tell us all—oh, tell us true!"

[image]

"Tell us all—oh, tell us true!"

The elders of the cityHave met within their hall—The men whom good King James had chargedTo watch the tower and wall."Your hands are weak with age," he said,"Your hearts are stout and true;So bide ye in the maiden town,While others fight for you.My trumpet from the Border-sideShall send a blast so clear,That all who wait within the gateThat stirring sound may hear.Or, if it be the will of HeavenThat back I never come,And if, instead of Scottish shout,Ye hear the English drum,Then let the warning bells ring out,Then gird you to the fray,Then man the walls like burghers stout,And fight while fight you may.'Twere better that in fiery flameThe roofs should thunder down,Than that the foot of foreign foeShould trample in the town!"

The elders of the city

Have met within their hall—

The men whom good King James had charged

To watch the tower and wall.

"Your hands are weak with age," he said,

"Your hearts are stout and true;

So bide ye in the maiden town,

While others fight for you.

My trumpet from the Border-side

Shall send a blast so clear,

That all who wait within the gate

That stirring sound may hear.

Or, if it be the will of Heaven

That back I never come,

And if, instead of Scottish shout,

Ye hear the English drum,

Then let the warning bells ring out,

Then gird you to the fray,

Then man the walls like burghers stout,

And fight while fight you may.

'Twere better that in fiery flame

The roofs should thunder down,

Than that the foot of foreign foe

Should trample in the town!"

Then in came Randolph Murray,His step was slow and weak,And, as he doffed his dinted helm,The tears ran down his cheek:They fell upon his corsletAnd on his mailed hand,As he gazed around him wistfully,Leaning sorely on his brand.And none who then beheld himBut straight were smote with fear,For a bolder and a sterner manHad never couched a spear.They knew so sad a messengerSome ghastly news must bring;And all of them were fathers,And their sons were with the King.

Then in came Randolph Murray,

His step was slow and weak,

And, as he doffed his dinted helm,

The tears ran down his cheek:

They fell upon his corslet

And on his mailed hand,

As he gazed around him wistfully,

Leaning sorely on his brand.

And none who then beheld him

But straight were smote with fear,

For a bolder and a sterner man

Had never couched a spear.

They knew so sad a messenger

Some ghastly news must bring;

And all of them were fathers,

And their sons were with the King.

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