When King James saw that the English army by its skilful countermarch had separated him from his base of supplies, and from his own country, he resolved upon battle at once. Setting fire to his tents, he descended, and the two armies, one facing north, the other south, met almost without seeing each other.
"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, The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, As down the hill they broke; Nor mortal shout, nor minstrel tone, Announced their march; their tread alone Told England, from his mountain-throne King James did rushing come.
Scarce could they hear or see their foes, Until at weapon-point they close.
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust; And such a yell was there, Of sudden and portentous birth, As if men fought upon the earth, And fiends in upper air; Oh, life and death were in the shout, Recoil and rally, charge and rout, And triumph and despair.
Long look'd the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness naught descry."
At length the breeze threw aside the shroud of battle, and there might be seen ridge after ridge of spears. Pennon and plume floated like foam on the crest of the wave. Spears shook; falchions flashed; arrows fell like rain; crests rose, and stooped, and rose again.
"Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew With wavering flight, while fiercer grew Around the battle-yell.
The Border slogan rent the sky!
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry: Loud were the clanging blows; Advanced--forced back--now low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose; As bends the barque's mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It waver'd 'mid the foes.
No longer Blount the view could bear: 'By heaven and all its saints! I swear, I will not see it lost; Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare May bid your beads, and patter prayer,-- I gallop to the host.'"
To the fray he rode, followed by the archers. At the next moment, fleet as the wind, Marmion's steed riderless flew by, the housings and saddle dyed crimson. Eustace mounted and plunged into the fight, resolved to rescue the body of his fallen lord.
Alone, in that dreadful hour, a courage not her own armed the gentle girl with strength to play a noble part. She was thinking only of De Wilton, when two horsemen drenched with human gore, rode up, bearing a wounded knight, his shield bent, his helmet gone. He yet bore in his hand a broken brand. Could this be Marmion? Blount unlaced the armor; Eustace removed the casque; revived by the free air, Marmion cried:
"Fitz-Eustace, Blount,
"'Redeem my pennon,--charge again!
Cry,--"Marmion to the rescue!"
'Must I bid twice?--hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone,--to die.'
They parted, and alone he lay; Clare drew her from the sight away, Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, And half he murmur'd--'Is there none, Of all my halls have nursed, Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring Of blessed water from the spring, To slake my dying thirst!'"
"O Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
Scarce were the piteous accents said, When, with the baron's casque, the maid To the nigh streamlet ran: Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; The plaintive voice alone she hears, Sees but the dying man."
She stooped by the side of the rill, but drew back in horror,--it ran red with the best blood of two kingdoms. Near by, a fountain played, the well of Sybil Grey. At this, the helmet was quickly filled, and accompanied by a monk, who was present to shrive the dying or to bless the dead, the Lady Clare hurried to the side of Marmion. Deep he drank, saying:
"Is it the hand of Constance or of Clare that bathes my brow? Speak not to me of shrift and prayer; while the spark of life lasts, I must redress the wrongs of Constance."
Between broken sobs the Lady Clare replied:
"'In vain for Constance is your zeal; She--died at Holy Isle.'"
Lord Marmion started from the ground, but fainting fell, supported by the monk.
The din of war ceased for a moment, then there swelled upon the gale the cry, "Stanley! Stanley!"
"A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glazing eye: With dying hand, above his head, He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted 'Victory!
Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!'
Were the last words of Marmion."
The monk gently placed the maid on her steed, and led her to the fair Chapel of Tilmouth. The night was spent in prayer, and at dawn she was safely given to her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.
All day, till darkness drew her wing over the ghastly scene, more desperate grew the deadly strife. When night had fallen, Surrey drew his shattered bands from the fray. Then Scotland learned her loss.
"Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, They melted from the field as snow, Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless splash While many a broken band, Disorder'd, through her currents dash, To gain the Scottish land; To town and tower, to down and dale, To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song, Shall many an age that wail prolong: Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife, and carnage drear.
Of Flodden's fatal field, Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear, And broken was her shield!
"Day dawns upon the mountain's side:-- There, Scotland! lay thy bravest pride, Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one: The sad survivors all are gone.
View not that corpse mistrustfully, Defaced and mangled-though it be; He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; Reckless of life, he desperate fought, And fell on Flodden plain: And well in death his trusty brand, Firm clench'd within his kingly hand, Beseem'd the monarch slain."
Little remains to be told. Fitz-Eustace, faithful to the last, bore "To Litchfield's lofty pile," what he believed to be the pierced and mangled body of his once proud master. Here was reared a Gothic tomb; carved tablets were set in fretted niche; around were hung his arms and armor, and the walls were blazoned with his deeds of valor; but Lord Marmion's body lay not there. Midst the din and roar of battle, a poor dying peasant had dragged himself to the fountain where died the Lord of Fontenaye, the Lord of Tamworth tower and town. Spoilers stripped and mutilated both bodies and the lowly woodsman was carried to the proud baron's tomb.
Through the long and dreadful fight, Wilton was in the foremost and thickest. When Surrey's horse was slain, it was De Wilton's horse on which the noble leader was again mounted. It was Wilton's brand that hewed down the spearsmen. He was the living soul of all.
In that battle, he won back rank and lands, adding to his crest bearings bought on Flodden Field. King and kinsman blessed fair Clara's constancy. As he reads, each must paint for himself the bridal scene, and imagine that,
"Bluff King Hal the curtain drew, And Catherine's hand the stocking threw; And afterwards, for many a day, That it was held enough to say, In blessing to a wedded pair, 'Love they like Wilton and like Clare.'"