695
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.—­
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard,
  With ten pick’d archers of my train;
With England if the day go hard,
  To Berwick speed amain.—­ 700
But if we conquer, cruel maid,
My spoils shall at your feet be laid,
  When here we meet again.’ 
He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid’s despair, 705
  Nor heed the discontented look
From either squire; but spurr’d amain,
And, dashing through the battle-plain,
His way to Surrey took.

XXIV.

’—­The good Lord Marmion, by my life! 710
  Welcome to danger’s hour!—­
Short greeting serves in time of strife :-
  Thus have I ranged my power: 
Myself will rule this central host,
  Stout Stanley fronts their right, 715
My sons command the vaward post,
  With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight;
  Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light,
  Shall be in rear-ward of the fight,
And succour those that need it most. 720
  Now, gallant Marmion, well I know,
  Would gladly to the vanguard go;
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there,
With thee their charge will blithely share;
There fight thine own retainers too, 725
Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.’—­
‘Thanks, noble Surrey!’ Marmion said,
Nor farther greeting there he paid;
But, parting like a thunderbolt,
First in the vanguard made a halt, 730
  Where such a shout there rose
Of ‘Marmion!  Marmion!’ that the cry,
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high,
Startled the Scottish foes.

XXV.

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 735
With Lady Clare upon the hill;
On which, (for far the day was spent,)
The western sunbeams now were bent. 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view:  740
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
’Unworthy office here to stay! 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day.—­
But see! look up—­on Flodden bent
The Scottish foe has fired his tent.’ 745
  And sudden, as he spoke,
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, 750
The cloud enveloped Scotland’s war,
  As down the hill they broke;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet blown, 755
  At times a stifled hum,
Told England, from his mountain-throne
  King James did rushing come.—­
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,