?

- children?

Where are they who went to battle,
Randolph Murray, sworn to you
Where are they, our brothers
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.

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 shouts,
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!"

V

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 mailèd 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.

And

up

VI

then rose the Provost

A brave old man was he,

Of ancient name, and knightly fame,

And chivalrous degree.

He ruled our city like a Lord
Who brooked no equal here,
And ever for the townsman's rights
Stood up 'gainst prince and peer.
And he had seen the Scottish host
March from the Borough-muir,
With music-storm and clamorous shout,
And all the din that thunders out
When youth's of victory sure.
But yet a dearer thought had he,-
For, with a father's pride,

He saw his last remaining son

Go forth by Randolph's side,
With casque on head and spur on heel,
All keen to do and dare ;

And proudly did that gallant boy
Dunedin's 1 banner bear.

Oh! woful now was the old man's look,

And he spake right heavily

"Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings, However sharp they be!

1 Edinburgh's.

Woe is written on thy visage,

Death is looking from thy face: Speak! though it be of overthrow It cannot be disgrace!'

VII

Right bitter was the agony

That wrung that soldier proud: Thrice did he strive to answer,

And thrice he groaned aloud. Then he gave the riven banner To the old man's shaking hand, Saying "That is all I bring ye

From the bravest of the land! Ay! ye may look upon it

It was guarded well and long, By your brothers and your children, By the valiant and the strong. One by one they fell around it, As the archers laid them low, Grimly dying, still unconquered, With their faces to the foe. Ay! ye may well look upon it There is more than honour there, Else, be sure, I had not brought it From the field of dark despair. Never yet was royal banner

Steeped in such a costly dye;

It hath lain upon a bosom

Where no other shroud shall lie.

Sirs! I charge you, keep it holy,

Keep it as a sacred thing,

For the stain ye see upon it

Was the life-blood of your King!"

LAMENT FOR FLODDEN FIELD

JANE ELLIOTT

WHEN night fell at last on Flodden Field, ten thousand Scots lay dead upon the hillside.

1

I've heard them lilting 1 at our ewe-milking,

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day;

But now they are moaning on ilka2 green loaning 3. The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,5

Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae;7

8

Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglin 10 and hies her away.

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
Bandsters 11 are lyart, 12 and runkled, 13 and grey;
At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching 14
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle 15 to play;