With all their banners bravely spread,
  And all their armour flashing high,
Saint George might waken from the dead,
To see fair England’s standards fly.’—­ 635
‘Stint in thy prate,’ quoth Blount, ’thou’dst best,
And listen to our lord’s behest.’—­
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,—­
’This instant be our band array’d;
The river must be quickly cross’d, 640
That we may join Lord Surrey’s host. 
If fight King James,—­as well I trust,
That fight he will, and fight he must,—­
The Lady Clare behind our lines
Shall tarry, while the battle joins.’ 645

XXII.

Himself he swift on horseback threw,
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu;
Far less would listen to his prayer,
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he drew, 650
And mutter’d as the flood they view,
’The pheasant in the falcon’s claw,
He scarce will yield to please a daw: 
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe,
  So Clare shall bide with me.’ 655
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep,
Where to the Tweed Leat’s eddies creep,
  He ventured desperately: 
And not a moment will he bide,
Till squire, or groom, before him ride; 660
Headmost of all he stems the tide,
  And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse,
  Old Hubert led her rein,
Stoutly they braved the current’s course, 665
And, though far downward driven per force,
  The southern bank they gain;
Behind them, straggling, came to shore,
  As best they might, the train: 
Each o’er his head his yew-bow bore, 670
A caution not in vain;
Deep need that day that every string,
By wet unharm’d, should sharply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion staid,
And breathed his steed, his men array’d, 675
  Then forward moved his band,
Until, Lord Surrey’s rear-guard won,
He halted by a Cross of Stone,
That, on a hillock standing lone,
Did all the field command. 680

XXIII.

Hence might they see the full array
Of either host, for deadly fray;
Their marshall’d lines stretch’d east and west,
  And fronted north and south,
And distant salutation pass’d 685
  From the loud cannon mouth;
Not in the close successive rattle,
That breathes the voice of modern battle,
  But slow and far between.—­
The hillock gain’d, Lord Marmion staid:  690
‘Here, by this Cross,’ he gently said,
  ’You well may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare: 
O! think of Marmion in thy prayer!—­
Thou wilt not?—­well, no less my care