"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 mortal shout, nor minstrel tone, Announced their march; their tread alone 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 look'd the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness naught descry." At length the breeze threw aside the shroud of battle, and there might be seen ridge after ridge of spears. Pennon and plume floated like foam on the crest of the wave. Spears shook; falchions flashed; arrows fell like rain; crests rose, and stooped, and rose again. "Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew With wavering flight, while fiercer grew Around the battle-yell. The Border slogan rent the sky! A Home! a Gordon! was the cry: Loud were the clanging blows; Advanced--forced back--now low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose; As bends the barque's mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It waver'd 'mid the foes. No longer Blount the view could bear: 'By heaven and all its saints! I swear, I will not see it lost; Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare May bid your beads, and patter prayer,-- I gallop to the host.'" To the fray he rode, followed by the archers. At the next moment, fleet as the wind, Marmion's steed riderless flew by, the housings and saddle dyed crimson. Eustace mounted and plunged into the fight, resolved to rescue the body of his fallen lord. Alone, in that dreadful hour, a courage not her own armed the gentle girl with strength to play a noble part. She was thinking only of De Wilton, when two horsemen drenched with human gore, rode up, bearing a wounded knight, his shield bent, his helmet gone. He yet bore in his hand a broken brand. Could this be Marmion? Blount unlaced the armor; Eustace removed the casque; revived by the free air, Marmion cried: "Fitz-Eustace, Blount,