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The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;

Nor marshal shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march, their tread alone,
At times their warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,

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 looked the anxious squires; their eye
Could in the darkness nought descry.

At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears;
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white seamew,
Then marked they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,

And plumèd crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave;

But nought distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;

Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.

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The war, that for a space did fail,

Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,
And-STANLEY! was the cry;—

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!"
These the last words of Marmion.

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The English shafts in volleys hailed,

In headlong charge their horse assailed; Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep, To break the Scottish circle deep,

That fought around their king.

But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,

13

Unbroken was the ring,

Each stepping where his comrade stood,
The instant that he fell.

No thought was there of dastard flight;-
Linked in the serried phalanx 14 tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well;

Till utter darkness closed her wing
O'er their thin host and wounded king.

Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
Led back from strife his shattered bands;
And from the charge they drew,

As mountain waves, from wasted lands,
Sweep back to ocean blue.

Then did their loss his foemen know;

Their king, their lords, their mightiest low

They melted from the fields as snow,

When streams are swoln and south winds blow,

Dissolves in silent dew.

Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
While many a broken band,
Disordered, 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 shivered 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.

The Baron. Marmion, an English
nobleman, was returning from the
court of James, when, on approach-
ing Flodden, he descried the two
armies making ready for battle.
2 Pavilions, properly large, hand-
some tents:

3 Champion of the dames. James

prided himself on his knightly gallantry. The poet, a few lines below, speaks slightingly of him as a" vain knight-errant." A "knighterrant " was a knight wandering about in search of adventures, and particularly with the design of fighting on behalf of any lady in need of a champion.

4 What 'vails, what avails; of what advantage is it.

5 Brand, often used in poetry for a sword.

6 Douglas, &c. All of these, except Wallace, were in command at Bannockburn. Wallace was the champion of Scotland a few years previously.

7 St. Andrew is the patron saint of Scotland, as St. George is of England.

8 Another sight, &c. That morn would have seen another sight.

9 Hap what hap, happen what

may.

10 Basnet, a helmet.
11 Lady Clare. This lady was ac-
companying Marmion from Scot-
land, and had been left by him,
on entering the battle, in charge

of his two squires, Blount and Fitz-Eustace. 12 Gilded spurs, worn only by knights. The two squires lament that no chance is given them of winning their spurs; that is, of

distinguishing themselves so as to gain the honour of knighthood. 13 Bill-men, men armed with the "bill," a hatchet with a curved point like a bird's bill. 14 Serried phalanx, a closely-packed body of soldiers.

ENGLISH CHARACTER.

[The following remarks on English character are taken from Oliver Goldsmith's "Letters from a Citizen of the World." They are supposed to be written by a Chinaman on a visit to England.] THE English seem as silent as the Japanese, yet vainer than the inhabitants of Siam. Upon my arrival I attributed that reserve to modesty, which I now find has its origin in pride. They bear hunger, cold, fatigue, and all the miseries of life without shrinking; danger only calls forth their fortitude; they even exult in calamity; but contempt is what they cannot bear. An Englishman fears contempt more than death; he often flies to death as a refuge from its presence; and dies when he fancies the world has ceased to esteem him.

Pride seems the source not only of their national vices, but of their national virtues also. The English in general seem fonder of gaining the esteem than the love of those they converse with: this gives a formality to their amusements; their gayest conversations have something too wise for innocent relaxation; though in company you are seldom disgusted with the absurdity of a fool, you are seldom lifted into rapture by those strokes of vivacity1 which give instant, though not permanent, pleasure.

What they want, however, in gaiety they make up in politeness. You smile at hearing me praise the English for their politeness, you who have heard very different

accounts from the missionaries at Pekin, and have seen such a different behaviour in their merchants and seamen at home. But I must still repeat it, the English seem more polite than any of their neighbours; their great art in this respect lies in endeavouring, while they oblige, to lessen the force of the favour. Other countries are fond of obliging a stranger, but seem desirous that he should be sensible of the obligation. The English confer their kindness with an appearance of indifference, and give away benefits with an air as if they despised them.

Walking, a few days ago, between an English and a French man into the suburbs of the city, we were overtaken by a heavy shower of rain. I was unprepared; but they each had great-coats, which defended them from what seemed to be a perfect inundation. The Englishman, seeing me shrink from the weather, accosted me thus: "Psha, man, what dost shrink at? Here, take this coat; I don't want it; I find it no way useful to me; I had as lief be without it." The Frenchman began to show his politeness in turn. "My dear friend," cries he, "why won't you oblige me by making use of my coat? You see how well it defends me from the rain; I should not choose to part with it to others, but to such a friend as you I could even part with my skin to do him service."

I know not whether it proceeds from their superior opulence that the English are more charitable than the rest of mankind. Whatever be the reason, they are not only the most charitable of all nations, but the most judicious in distinguishing the most suitable objects of compassion. In other countries the giver is generally influenced by the immediate impulse of piety; his generosity outflows as much to relieve his own uneasy

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