XXXV.

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; Nor to yon Border castle high, Look northward with upbraiding eye; Nor cherish hope in vain, That, journeying far on foreign strand, The royal pilgrim to his land May yet return again. 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 clenched within his manly hand, Beseemed the monarch slain. But, oh! how changed since yon blithe night! Gladly I turn me from the sight, Unto my tale again.