116 SCOTT
What checks the fiery soul of James? Why sits that champion of the dames
Inactive on his steed, And sees between him and his land, Between him and Tweed's southern strand,
His host Lord Surrey lead? What 'vails the vain knight-errant' s brand? O, Douglas, for thy leading wand !
Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! O for one hour of Wallace wight, Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight, And cry 'Saint Andrew and our right! ' Another sight had seen that morn, From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, And Flodden had been Bannockburn ! The precious hour has passed in vain, And England's host has gained the plain; Wheeling their march, and circling still, Around the base of Flodden hill.
��THE ATTACK
'Bur see ! look up on Flodden bent The Scottish foe has fired his tent. '
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, The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;
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