Ye wist not, that ye press the spot
Where, with his eagle eye,
King James, and all his gallant train,
To Flodden-field swept by.
The queen was weeping in her bower,
Amid her maids that day,
And on her cradled nursling's face
Those tears like pearl-drops lay.
For madly 'gainst her native realm
Her royal husband went,
And led his flower of chivalry
As to a tournament;
He led them on, in power and pride,
But ere the fray was o'er,
They on the blood-stained heather slept,
And he returned no more.
Graze on, graze on, there's many a rill
Bright sparkling through the glade,
Where you may freely slake your thirst,
With none to make afraid.
There's many a wandering stream that flows
From Cheviot's terraced side,
Yet not one drop of warrior's gore
Distains its crystal tide,
Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/139
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126
SHEEP AMONG THE CHEVIOTS.