Legends of the isles and Highland Gatherings :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE EVE OF FLODDEN.

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[“In the church of Linlithgow is shown the aisle where an apparition burst upon the sight of James IV., to warn him against the expedition, and which, as Lindsay of Pitscottie relates, as soon as it had delivered its message, ‘vanished like a blink of the sun, or a whip of the whirlwind.’ When the invading army was encamped upon the Boroughmuir, numberless midnight apparitions did squeak and gibber upon the streets of Edinburgh, threatening woe to the kingdom, and there was a spectral procession of heralds, who advanced to the Cross, and summoned the king and a long list of nobility to their final doom.”]

I

Who are these so dim and wan,
Haggard, gaunt, and woe-begone!
Who in suits of silvery mail
Wander in the moonlight pale,
Through Dunedin's narrow street,
Sad and slow,
And with mournful voice repeat,
Singing low—
“Dim the night, but dark the morrow—
Long shall last the coming sorrow,—
Woe to Scotland, woe!”

II

Helm on head and sword in hand,
Whence this melancholy band?
Even the banner that they bear
Droops dejected on the air,

As they walk with noiseless tread
To and fro,
And the sleeper from his bed
Rises slow,
Listening to that chant of sorrow—
“Dim the night, but dark the morrow—
Woe to Scotland, woe!”

III

What they are, and their intent—
Whence they come, and whither bent—
If they come from kirkyard cold,
Or are men of mortal mould,
No one knows;—but all night long,
As they go,
There is heard a doleful song,
Clear, but low,—
“Deep the grief that's now beginning,
Scotland's loss is England's winning—
Woe to Scotland, woe!”

IV

Never yet Dunedin's street
Saw such ghastly warriors meet.
Now upon the Cross they stay;
And a radiance clear as day,
When the day is dim and chill,
Seems to glow
All around; and from the hill
Overflow

Gable, tower, and steeple-crosses,
And the lonely wynds and closes:—
“Woe to Scotland, woe!”

V

One steps forward from the rest,
Stately, gaunt, and richly dress'd;
And they form a circle round,
Sadly looking to the ground;
And a summons loud and shrill
Sounds below,
Downwards from the Calton Hill
Passing slow;
Then a trumpet-call to rally
Echoes over mount and valley—
“Woe to Scotland, woe!”

VI

Then the ling'ring echoes die
Faint and fainter on the sky,
And the spokesman of the band
Raises high his mail'd right hand,
And exclaims with earnest voice,
Speaking slow:
“Long will Scotland's foes rejoice:—
Hearts shall glow
At recital of our story,
And of Scotland's faded glory.
Woe to Scotland, woe!”

VII

“Nought shall bravely avail;
Dust before the wild March gale
Flies not faster than shall fly
Scotland's proudest chivalry,
Royal Stuart, when thy might
Stricken low,
Shall be scatter'd in the fight
By the foe,
And thy fairest ranks be trodden
On the bloody field of Flodden.
Woe to Scotland, woe!

VIII

“Crawford, Huntley, and Montrose!
Loud your shrill war-trumpet blows;—
Home and Bothwell! high in air
Flaunt your banners free and fair;—
Lennox! well your stalwart men
Wield the bow;—
Fierce and fleet from hill and glen
On the foe,
From wild Cowal to the Grampians,
Rush, Argyll! your stoutest champions;—
Woe to Scotland, woe!

IX

“But in vain shall they unite;
And in vain their swords shall smite;

And in vain their chiefs shall lead;
Vainly, vainly shall they bleed;—
England's hosts shall smite them down
At a blow,
And our country's ancient crown
Be laid low;
And for warrior's death-cold sleeping
Long shall last the wail and weeping—
Woe to Scotland woe!”

X

Thus he speaks, and glides away,
Melting in the moonlight gray:
And the pale knights follow on
Through the darkness, and are gone.
But all night is heard the wail
Rising slow,
As the pauses of the gale
Come and go,—
“Dim the night and dark the morrow;
Long shall last the coming sorrow—
Woe to Scotland, woe!”