Himself he swift on horseback threw, Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu; Far less would listen to his prayer, To leave behind the helpless Clare. Down to the Tweed his band he drew, And muttered, as the flood they view, “The pheasant in the falcon’s claw, He scarce will yield to please a daw: Lord Angus may the Abbot awe, So Clare shall bide with me.” Then on that dangerous ford, and deep, Where to the Tweed Leat’s eddies creep, He ventured desperately: And not a moment will he bide, Till squire, or groom, before him ride; Headmost of all he stems the tide, And stems it gallantly. Eustace held Clare upon her horse, Old Hubert led her rein, Stoutly they braved the current’s course, And though far downward driven per force, The southern bank they gain; Behind them straggling, came to shore, As best they might, the train; Each o’er his head his yew-bow bore, A caution not in vain; Deep need that day that every string, By wet unharmed, should sharply ring. A moment then Lord Marmion stayed, And breathed his steed, his men arrayed, Then forward moved his band, Until, Lord Surrey’s rear-guard won, He halted by a cross of stone, That, on a hillock standing lone, Did all the field command. XXIII. Hence might they see the full array Of either host, for deadly fray; Their marshalled lines stretched east and west, And fronted north and south, And distant salutation passed From the loud cannon mouth; Not in the close successive rattle, That breathes the voice of modern battle, But slow and far between. The hillock gained, Lord Marmion stayed: “Here, by this cross,” he gently said, “You well may view the scene. Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare: Oh! think of Marmion in thy prayer! Thou wilt not? well—no less my care Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, With ten picked archers of my train; With England if the day go hard, To Berwick speed amain. But if we conquer, cruel maid, My spoils shall at your feet be laid, When here we meet again.” He waited not for answer there, And would not mark the maid’s despair, Nor heed the discontented look From either squire; but spurred amain, And, dashing through the battle plain, His way to Surrey took. XXIV.