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 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 broken 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. VI.