“The good Lord Marmion, by my life! Welcome to danger’s hour! Short greeting serves in time of strife: Thus have I ranged my power: Myself will rule this central host, Stout Stanley fronts their right, My sons command the vaward post, With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight: Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, Shall be in rearward of the fight, And succour those that need it most. Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, Would gladly to the vanguard go; Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there, With thee their charge will blithely share: There fight thine own retainers too, Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.” “Thanks, noble Surrey!” Marmion said, Nor farther greeting there he paid; But, parting like a thunderbolt, First in the vanguard made a halt, Where such a shout there rose Of “Marmion! Marmion!” that the cry Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, Startled the Scottish foes. XXV. Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still With Lady Clare upon the hill; On which, for far the day was spent, The western sunbeams now were bent. The cry they heard, its meaning knew, Could plain their distant comrades view: Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, “Unworthy office here to stay! No hope of gilded spurs to-day. But see! look up—on Flodden bent The Scottish foe has fired his tent.” And sudden, as he spoke, From the sharp ridges of the hill, All downward to the banks of Till, Was wreathed in sable smoke. Volumed and fast, and rolling far, The cloud enveloped Scotland’s war, As down the hill they broke; Nor 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. They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, With sword-sway, and with lance’s thrust; And such a yell was there, Of sudden and portentous birth, As if men fought upon the earth, And fiends in upper air; Oh, life and death were in the shout, Recoil and rally, charge and rout, And triumph and despair. Long looked the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness nought descry. XXVI.