he 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: