Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field in Six CantosScott, Walter
General
Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field in Six Cantos
Scott, Walter
Flodden, Battle of, England, 1513 -- Poetry
The green-sward way was smooth and good,
Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood;
A forest-glade, which, varying still, 70
Here gave a view of dale and hill,
There narrower closed, till over head
A vaulted screen the branches made.
'A pleasant path,' Fitz-Eustace said;
'Such as where errant-knights might see 75
Adventures of high chivalry;
Might meet some damsel flying fast,
With hair unbound, and looks aghast;
And smooth and level course were here,
In her defence to break a spear. 80
Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells;
And oft, in such, the story tells,
The damsel kind, from danger freed,
Did grateful pay her champion's meed.'
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind; 85
Perchance to show his lore design'd;
For Eustace much had pored
Upon a huge romantic tome,
In the hall-window of his home,
Imprinted at the antique dome 90
Of Caxton, or de Worde.
Therefore he spoke,--but spoke in vain,
For Marmion answer'd nought again.
V.
Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill,
In notes prolong'd by wood and hill, 95
Were heard to echo far;
Each ready archer grasp'd his bow,
But by the flourish soon they know,
They breathed no point of war.
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land, 100
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band,
Some opener ground to gain;
And scarce a furlong had they rode,
When thinner trees, receding, show'd
A little woodland plain. 105
Just in that advantageous glade,
The halting troop a line had made,
As forth from the opposing shade
Issued a gallant train.
VI.
First came the trumpets, at whose clang 110
So late the forest echoes rang;
On prancing steeds they forward press'd,
With scarlet mantle, azure vest;
Each at his trump a banner wore,
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore: 115
Heralds and pursuivants, by name
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came,
In painted tabards, proudly showing
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing,
Attendant on a King-at-arms, 120
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held,
That feudal strife had often quell'd,
When wildest its alarms.
VII.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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