Still the bells are tolling fiercely, And the cry comes louder in; Mothers wailing for their children, Sisters for their slaughtered kin. All is terror and disorder, Till the Provost rises up, Calm, as though he had not tasted Of the fell and bitter cup. All so stately from his sorrow, Rose the old undaunted Chief, That you had not deemed, to see him, His was more than common grief. "Rouse ye, Sirs!" he said; "we may not Longer mourn for what is done: If our King be taken from us, We are left to guard his son. We have sworn to keep the city From the foe, whate'er they be, And the oath that we have taken Never shall be broke by me. Death is nearer to us, brethren, Than it seemed to those who died, Fighting yesterday at Flodden, By their lord and master's side. Let us meet it then in patience, Not in terror or in fear; Though our hearts are bleeding yonder, Let our souls be steadfast here. Up, and rouse ye! Time is fleeting, And we yet have much to do; Up! and haste ye through the city, Stir the burghers stout and true! Gather all our scattered people, Fling the banner out once more,-- Randolph Murray! do thou bear it, As it erst was borne before: Never Scottish heart will leave it, When they see their monarch's gore!" XV. "Let them cease that dismal knelling! It is time enough to ring, When the fortress-strength of Scotland Stoops to ruin like its King. Let the bells be kept for warning, Not for terror or alarm; When they next are heard to thunder, Let each man and stripling arm. Bid the women leave their wailing,-- Do they think that woeful strain, From the bloody heaps of Flodden Can redeem their dearest slain? Bid them cease,--or rather hasten To the churches, every one; There to pray to Mary Mother, And to her anointed Son, That the thunderbolt above us May not fall in ruin yet; That in fire, and blood, and rapine, Scotland's glory may not set. Let them pray,--for never women Stood in need of such a prayer! England's yeomen shall not find them Clinging to the altars there. No! if we are doomed to perish, Man and maiden, let us fall; And a common gulf of ruin Open wide to whelm us all! Never shall the ruthless spoiler Lay his hot insulting hand On the sisters of our heroes, Whilst we bear a torch or brand! Up! and rouse ye, then, my brothers, But when next ye hear the bell Sounding forth the sullen summons That may be our funeral knell, Once more let us meet together, Once more see each other's face; Then, like men that need not tremble, Go to our appointed place. God, our Father, will not fail us In that last tremendous hour,-- If all other bulwarks crumble, HE will be our strength and tower: Though the ramparts rock beneath us, And the walls go crashing down,