A Mirror of Faith :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Ye know that wives beside the hearth,
and maidens at the wheel,
And Priests upon the Altar steps,
have felt the Scottish steel:
Ye know that he who falleth now,
for Holy Church he dies;
Ye know that he who sleepeth here
shall wake in Paradise;
Meet absolution have ye had
for every sin confess'd:
Go forth, then, sons of Holy Church,
to victory, or to rest!”

Then out and spake the noblest twain
that followed at his beck,
Sir Oliver of Albemarle,
Sir Walter de l'Espec:
“Perish the man that fears to die
as the brave have died before;
Our knightly troth that we return
or victors, or no more!”
And straight a herald, shrill of voice,
proclaim'd throughout the host,
“The Scots are at Northallerton!
each captain to his post!”

And high above the battle-field
three pennons gleam'd afar,
All three made fast to one ship's mast,
and fixed upon one car.

Saint Wilfrid there for Ripon
had his standard fair to see:
For York, Saint Peter, Prince of Saints,
Saint John for Beverley;
All in a silver Crucifix
to console the dying eye,
They hid the Blessed Sacrament,
and set it up on high;
Then up stood Orkney's Bishop,
and blessed the kneeling host,
In the Name of Father, bless'd he them,
of Son, and Holy Ghost.
Look on the army, and be sure
each man will do his best:
Look on the Bishop,—who can doubt
that Heav'n will do the rest?

Dashed on the men of Galloway,
with Malise of Stratherne;
And Hexham tramples Galloway,
as the wild ox tramples fern;

Dashed on the men of Teviotdale,
all at Prince Henry's feet;
And Ripon winnows Teviotdale,
as the barn-flail winnows wheat:
Then Lothian and the Isles fell on,
and few shall be their smiles
Who welcome back the battle-rack
of Lothian and the Isles:
“Look on your standard, lords and knights,
think, yeomen, on your vow!
Press on! Press on! for good Saint John!
there is but Moray now!”

The Priests and Bishops weep and pray
with mickle care and pain,
The Quare fremuerunt?
was the burden of their strain.
The Priests and Bishops look abroad,
the Scottish Dragon flies;
Te Deum and Non Nobis
in notes of triumph rise.
For warriors bold in days of old
deem'd fields were won by prayer;

Their fond belief we laugh to scorn,
who trusted in God's care:
To Him their spoils were dedicate,
the day of battle o'er:
And we our “Gates of Somnauth”
to an idol-shrine restore.