Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 490 And I could trace each step they trode: Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone, Lies on the path to me unknown. Much might if boast of storied lore; But, passing such digression o'er, 495 Suffice it that their route was laid Across the furzy hills of Braid. They pass'd the glen and scanty rill, And climb'd the opposing bank, until They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill. 500 XXIV. Blackford! on whose uncultured breast, Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, A truant-boy, I sought the nest, Or listed, as I lay at rest, While rose, on breezes thin, 505 The murmur of the city crowd, And, from his steeple jangling loud, Saint Giles's mingling din. Now, from the summit to the plain, Waves all the hill with yellow grain; 510 And o'er the landscape as I look, Nought do I see unchanged remain, Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. To me they make a heavy moan, Of early friendships past and gone. 515 XXV. But different far the change has been, Since Marmion, from the crown Of Blackford, saw that martial scene Upon the bent so brown: Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 520 Spread all the Borough-moor below, Upland, and dale, and down:-- A thousand did I say? I ween, Thousands on thousands there were seen That chequer'd all the heath between 525 The streamlet and the town; In crossing ranks extending far, Forming a camp irregular; Oft giving way, where still there stood Some relics of the old oak wood, 530 That darkly huge did intervene, And tamed the glaring white with green: In these extended lines there lay A martial kingdom's vast array. XXVI. For from Hebudes, dark with rain, 535 To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, And from the southern Redswire edge, To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge: From west to east, from south to north, Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 540 Marmion might hear the mingled hum Of myriads up the mountain come; The horses' tramp, and tingling clank, Where chiefs review'd their vassal rank, And charger's shrilling neigh; 545 And see the shifting lines advance, While frequent flash'd, from shield and lance, The sun's reflected ray. XXVII. Thin curling in the morning air, The wreaths of failing smoke declare 550 To embers now the brands decay'd, Where the night-watch their fires had made. They saw, slow rolling on the plain, Full many a baggage-cart and wain, And dire artillery's clumsy car, 555 By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war; And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven, And culverins which France had given. Ill-omen'd gift! the guns remain The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 560 XXVIII.