Woe, woe, and lamentation! 
    What a piteous cry was there! 
  Widows, maidens, mothers, children,
    Shrieking, sobbing in despair! 
  Through the streets the death-word rushes,
    Spreading terror, sweeping on—­
  “Jesu Christ! our King has fallen—­
    O great God, King James is gone! 
  Holy Mother Mary, shield us,
    Thou who erst did lose thy Son! 
  O the blackest day for Scotland
    That she ever knew before! 
  O our King—­the good, the noble,
    Shall we see him never more? 
  Woe to us and woe to Scotland,
    O our sons, our sons and men! 
  Surely some have ’scaped the Southron,
    Surely some will come again!”
  Till the oak that fell last winter
    Shall uprear its shattered stem—­
  Wives and mothers of Dunedin—­
    Ye may look in vain for them!

  IX.

  But within the Council Chamber
    All was silent as the grave,
  Whilst the tempest of their sorrow
    Shook the bosoms of the brave. 
  Well indeed might they be shaken
    With the weight of such a blow: 
  He was gone—­their prince, their idol,
    Whom they loved and worshipped so! 
  Like a knell of death and judgment
    Rung from heaven by angel hand,
  Fell the words of desolation
    On the elders of the land. 
  Hoary heads were bowed and trembling,
    Withered hands were clasped and wrung: 
  God had left the old and feeble,
    He had ta’en away the young.

  X.

  Then the Provost he uprose,
    And his lip was ashen white,
  But a flush was on his brow,
    And his eye was full of light. 
  “Thou hast spoken, Randolph Murray,
    Like a soldier stout and true;
  Thou hast done a deed of daring
    Had been perilled but by few. 
  For thou hast not shamed to face us,
    Nor to speak thy ghastly tale,
  Standing—­thou, a knight and captain—­
    Here, alive within thy mail! 
  Now, as my God shall judge me,
    I hold it braver done,
  Than hadst thou tarried in thy place,
    And died above my son! 
  Thou needst not tell it:  he is dead. 
    God help us all this day! 
  But speak—­how fought the citizens
    Within the furious fray? 
  For, by the might of Mary,
    ’T were something still to tell
  That no Scottish foot went backward
    When the Royal Lion fell!”

  XI.

  “No one failed him!  He is keeping
    Royal state and semblance still;
  Knight and noble lie around him,
    Cold on Flodden’s fatal hill. 
  Of the brave and gallant-hearted,
    Whom ye sent with prayers away,
  Not a single man departed
    From his monarch yesterday. 
  Had you seen them, O my masters! 
    When the night began to fall,
  And the English spearmen gathered
    Round a grim and ghastly wall! 
  As the wolves in winter circle