“The history of Northumberland is essentially a drum and trumpet
history, from the time when the _buccina_ of the Batavian cohort
first rang out over the moors of Procolitia down to the
proclamation of James III. at Warkworth Cross”—_Cadwallader J
Bates_.
This sentence of the historian of Northumberland sums up the story
of our northern county no less admirably than tersely, and it would
be difficult to find one which should more clearly bring before us
the whole atmosphere of north-country history and north-country
doings for many centuries.
Within the limits of this chapter it is impossible to go into the
details of every “foughten field” within the county; the most that
can be done is to indicate the many and treat in detail only the
few. A goodly number have already been alluded to in connection
with the place where each occurred.
After the Roman campaigns, from those of Agricola to those of
Theodosius the elder and Maximus, and the legion sent by Stilicho,
the earliest battle story is that of the one in Glendale fought by
King Arthur. Then the forming of the kingdom of Bernicia with the
advent of Ida at Bamburgh was the beginning of a long-protracted
struggle between the various little states, each fighting for its
life, and surrounded by others equally determined to take every
advantage that offered against it. The sons of Ida fought against
the celebrated Urien, a Keltic chief, who almost succeeded in
dispossessing them of their kingdom of Bernicia. Hussa, one of
Ida’s sons, ultimately vanquished Urien’s son Owen, “chief of the
glittering West”; and after Hussa’s death Ethelric of Bernicia, as
we have seen, overcame the neighbouring chieftain of Deira, thus
forming the kingdom of Northumbria. His successor, Ethelfrith, in
the year 603 gained a great victory over a large force of northern
Britons under a leader named Aedan at a place called Daegsanstan,
which is thought to be Dissington, near Newcastle. His further
victories were gained outside the limits of our present survey.
After the long and glorious reign of Edwin, his successor,
Ethelfrith’s sons came back to Bamburgh; the eldest, Eanfrid, was
slain within a year, and his brother Oswald carried on the struggle
against Penda of Mercia. We have seen how he fought against Penda
and Cadwallon on the Heavenfield near Chollerford, and gained a
victory which obtained for him many years of peace. Penda was
finally slain by Oswald’s successor Oswy in a great battle which is
supposed to have taken place on the banks of the Tweed.
Many years afterwards, Sitric, grandson of that Prince Guthred who
was once a slave at Whittingham, married a sister of King
Athelstan, grandson of Alfred the Great. When Sitric died,
Athelstan came northward to claim Northumbria for himself. He
captured Bamburgh—the first time that stronghold of the Bernician
kings had ever been taken—and arranged for two earls to govern
Northumbria for him. They attempted unsuccessfully to oppose a
force of Scots under Anlaf the Red, who was joined by two earls of
Bretland (Cumbria); and the whole force encamped near a place
called Weondune, supposed to be Wandon near Chatton. Athelstan
advanced against them and challenged them to a pitched battle on
this ground. They agreed, and with much deliberation the course was
staked out with hazel wands between a wood and a river (Chillingham
woods and the Till). The Scots greatly outnumbered Athelstan’s men,
who set up their tents at the narrowest part of the plain, giving
their king time to reach a little “burg” (Old Bewick) in the
neighbourhood. A running fight followed, which was carried on the
next day, and with the help of two brothers, Egil and Thorold, who
were Norsemen, it ended in a complete victory for Athelstan. While
in the north, King Athelstan gave the well-known rhyming charter to
a certain Paulan of Roddam;
“I kyng Adelstan giffs hier to Paulan Oddam and Roddam als gud and
als fair als evyr thai myne war, and thar to wytness Mald my Wiffe.”
Shortly after this, at the Battle of Brunanburh, Athelstan
vanquished Anlaf Sitricsson and Constantine, king of the Scots. The
site of this battle would seem to have been in Northumbria, as it
was into the Humber that Anlaf and Constantine sailed with their
large fleet; but the precise spot has never been determined.
In the reign of Knut the Dane, the Scots obtained the whole of
Lothian from the Saxon earl of Northumberland, and the vast
possessions of St. Cuthbert beyond the Tweed seemed about to be
lost to the church of Durham. Accordingly, the clergy called upon
all the people of St. Cuthbert from the Tees to the Tweed—all
those, that is, who dwelt on lands granted by various donors to the
church of St. Cuthbert—to rise and march northward to fight for
their lands. This great company set out, in the autumn of 1018, and
reached Carham on the Tweed, where they were met by Malcolm king of
the Scots. A comet had been seen in the sky for some weeks and the
fears inspired by this dread visitant seem to have had more effect
upon the Northumbrians than upon the Scots. From whatever cause it
arose, when the two forces joined in battle a panic spread among
the followers of St. Cuthbert. They were utterly routed, and most
of the leading Northumbrians as well as eighteen priests were
slain—thus curiously repeating the experience of the earlier battle
of Carham.
For the next three hundred years Northumberland was swept by
successive waves of raid and reprisal, in the course of which
occurred the two well-known events, the attack of William the Lion
of Scotland on Alnwick Castle, and the more famous affair still,
the struggle between Percy and Douglas known as the battle of
Otterburn, which was fought in “Chevy Chase” (Cheviot Forest). More
important poetically than politically, it stands out more vividly
in the records of the time than many other conflicts of larger
import. The personal element in the fight, the deeds of gallantry
recorded, the sounding roll of the chief knights’ names, and the
high renown of the two leaders, throw a glamour around this
particular contest which is kept alive by the ballads that chant
the praises of Percy or Douglas according as the singer was Scot or
Saxon. Sir Philip Sidney, that “verray parfit gentil knight” and
discriminating _litterateur_, said “I never heard the old song of
Percie and Douglas that I found not my hart mooved more than with a
trumpet: and yet it is sung but by some blynd Crowder,[11] with no
rougher voyce than rude stile! which beeing so evill apparelled in
the dust and cobweb of that uncivill age, what wolde it work
trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare!”
[11] Crowder = fiddler.
In the endless warfare of the Borders the second of two short-lived
periods of truce had just expired, and an organised raid on a large
scale was arranged by the Scots. The main body was to ravage
Cumberland; and a smaller, but picked force led by Earls Douglas,
Moray, and March came southward by way of Northumberland. But
Northumbrian towers and towns knew nothing of their passing; they
marched rapidly and by stealth into Durham, having crossed the Tyne
between Corbridge and Bywell, and began to harry and lay waste the
greener pastures and richer villages of the southern county, the
smoke of whose burning homesteads was the first intimation to the
unlucky English of the fact that a Scottish host was in their
midst.
The Earl of Northumberland remained at Alnwick in the hope that he
might be able to attack the Scots on their homeward journey; but he
despatched his sons Henry Hotspur and Ralph in all haste to defend
Newcastle. The Scots in due time appeared before the walls.
And he marched up to Newcastel And rode it round about; “O wha’s the
lord o’ this castel? Or wha’s the lady o’t?”
But up spake proud Lord Percy then, And O but he spake hie! “I am the
lord o’ this castel, My wife’s the lady gay.”
Douglas challenged Percy to meet him in single combat, and Percy
promptly accepted. In the duel Percy was unhorsed, and Douglas
captured his pennon and his gauntlet gloves, embroidered with the
Percy lion in pearls. This trophy Douglas vowed he would carry off
to Scotland with him, and set it in the topmost tower of his castle
of Dalkeith, that it might be seen from afar. “By heaven! that you
never shall,” replied Percy; “you shall not carry it out of
Northumberland.” “Come and take it, then,” was Douglas’ answer; and
Hotspur would have attempted its recovery there and then, but he
was restrained by his knights. Douglas, however, said he would give
Percy a chance to recover it, and agreed to await him at Otterburn.
“Yet I will stay at Otterbourne, Where you shall welcome be; And if
ye come not at three dayis end, A fause lord I’ll call thee”
Next day the Scots left Newcastle and marched northward. They took
Sir Aymer de Athol’s castle of Ponte-land, and the good knight Sir
Aymer himself, and went on their way, harrying and burning as they
went. At Otterburn they halted, and rested all night, making huts
for themselves of boughs and branches. The spot they had chosen was
a strong one, on the site of a former British camp; and not only
was it surrounded by trees, but was near marshy ground as well.
Next day they attempted to take Otterburn tower, but without
success.
Meanwhile word was brought to Hotspur that the Scots would spend
the night at Otterburn; and he, without waiting for Walter de
Skirlaw, Bishop of Durham, who was expected that evening with a
strong force, at once set off with 600 spearmen, and a force on
foot which is variously given as anything from 800 to 8,000. They
covered the thirty-odd miles by the time evening fell: and as the
Scots were at supper in their little huts, they were startled by a
tumult amongst their grooms and camp-followers, and cries of “a
Percy! a Percy!” and the Englishmen were among them. The Scottish
leaders had placed their camp-followers and servants at the
outermost; part of their encampment, facing the Newcastle road; and
Hotspur’s force, ignorant of this, mistook it for the main camp.
While they were thus engaged, the Scottish knights were enabled to
make a detour around the scene of the first attack, and take the
English in the rear. With loud shouts of “Douglas! Douglas!” they
fell upon them, and a fierce hand-to-hand struggle began. The moon
rose clear and bright, and the quiet evening air was filled with
the din of battle, the ring of steel on steel, the crash of axe on
armour, the groans of the wounded, and the battle-cries of the
combatants on each side. Sir Ralph Percy, pressing too rashly
forward, was captured by a newly-made Scottish knight, Sir John
Maxwell. The battle was turning in favour of Hotspur, when Douglas
sent his silken banner to the front and with renewed shouts of
“Douglas!” the Scots pressed forward and overbore their foes.
According to Froissart, there was not a man there, knight, squire,
or groom, who played the coward. “This bataylle was one of the
sorest and best foughten without cowards or faynte hearts; for
there was neither knight nor I squire but that did his devoyre and
foughte hande to hande.” Great deeds were done, and the fame of
none amongst them is greater than that of the gallant Widdrington;
“For Witherington my heart is woe, That ever he slaine sholde be! For
when his legs were hewn in two He knelt and fought on his knee”
Douglas rushed into the thickest of the fray, and Hotspur tried to
find him, but in the dim light that was difficult, especially as
Douglas had, in his haste, come to the fight without helmet or
breastplate. Presently he was borne to the ground by three English
spears; and as he lay guarded by his faithful chaplain, Sir John
and Sir Walter Sinclair, with Sir James Lindsay, came upon him.
“How fare you, cousin?” asked Sir John. “But poorly, I thank God,”
answered Douglas; “for few of my ancestors died in bed or chamber.
I count myself dead, for my heart beats slow. Think now to avenge
me. Raise my banner and shout ‘Douglas!’ and let neither my friends
nor my foes know of my state, lest the one rejoice and the other be
discomforted.” His dying commands were obeyed; and while his
battle-cry was raised anew, his dead body was laid by a “bracken
bush,” and the fact of his death concealed from friend and foe
alike. The furious onslaught of the Scots now carried all before
them; and Hotspur fell a captive to the sword of Sir Hugh
Montgomery, a nephew of Douglas, after a fierce hand-to-hand
encounter. The two chief English leaders being captured, the day,
or rather the night, was with the Scots, in fulfilment of an old
prophesy that “a dead Douglas should win a field.”
“This deed was done at Otterbourne At the breaking of the day; Earl
Douglas was buried at the braken bush, And the Percy led captive
away.”
When the fray was over, the two sides treated their captives with
knightly courtesy, many being allowed to go to their homes until
they recovered from their wounds, on giving their word of honour to
send the amount of their ransom, or themselves return to their
captors.
The Bishop of Durham, immediately after having had some refreshment
at Newcastle, had set out to join the Percies; but as he and his
men neared Otterburn, they met so many fugitives who gave them
anything but reassuring accounts of the fortunes of their friends,
that half of his force melted away, and the Bishop had perforce to
return to Newcastle; it was scarcely to be expected, indeed, that
everyone should have that thirst for hard blows which distinguished
the knights and their immediate followers. The Bishop, however,
made one capture—Sir James Lindsay, who had ridden so far in
pursuit of Sir Matthew Redman that he found himself amongst the
force advancing under the leadership of the warlike prelate.
When the Scots retired from their camp, they took the body of
Douglas from the “bracken bush” where it lay, and carried it away
for burial in Melrose Abbey; and Hotspur, as the price of his
ransom, built a castle for Sir Hugh Montgomery.
After this there was peace on the Borders for the next ten years or
so, when the game began again as merrily as ever. When Sir Thomas
Gray was absent from his castle of Wark-on-Tweed, attending
Parliament, the Scots came down upon it and carried off his
children and servants. Sir Robert Umfraville met and checked
another company that were harrying Coquetdale. In the year 1400,
Henry Bolingbroke himself led an army to Edinburgh; but a guerilla
band of Scots, avoiding his line of march, stole behind him and
ravaged Bamburghshire.
Two years after this, a party of Scots under the next Douglas rode
into Northumberland, coming nearly as far south as Newcastle.
Hotspur set off from Bamburgh, of which castle he was Constable at
the time, to intercept them. He awaited them on the banks of the
Glen, near Wooler; and the archers of his force went out for forage
meanwhile. When the Scots arrived, they found themselves in the
presence of an enemy whom they had imagined to be behind them, and
they immediately occupied Homildon Hill. The archers, returning,
saw the Scottish force on the hill, and began the attack forthwith,
letting fly their arrows upon the foe with deadly precision. Flight
after flight fell upon the Scots, who were completely bewildered,
and seemed incapable of action. A Scottish knight, Sir John
Swinton, implored the leaders to charge, passionately exclaiming,
“What madness has seized you, my brave countrymen, that you stand
here like deer to be shot down? Follow me, those who will! We will
either gain the victory, or die like men of courage.”
On hearing these brave words, Adam de Gordon, Swinton’s deadly foe,
felt his hatred turn to admiration, and kneeling before Swinton,
begged that he might receive the honour of knighthood from so
valiant a hand. The two gallant knights then charged the enemy,
followed by a number of the Scots; but the showers of arrows forced
them to retreat towards the river, and thither also moved the whole
Scottish force, followed still by that grim and deadly hail from
the English bows. Hotspur would now have charged, but the Earl of
March, his former antagonist, now his friend, restrained his
impetuous leader, and persuaded him to let the archers continue
their effective work.
The event proved his wisdom; the Scots were utterly routed by the
archers alone. The unfortunate Archibald Douglas added another to
his long list of reverses; he was taken prisoner, sorely wounded,
as was also Sir Hugh Montgomery, and over four-score others of
importance. It was in connection with these prisoners, whom Hotspur
refused to deliver up to Bolingbroke, that the quarrel took place
which eventually led Northumberland and his son Hotspur openly to
throw off their allegiance to Henry Bolingbroke and join in the
rebellion of Owen Glendower. Not only did Hotspur refuse to give up
Douglas and the others to King Henry, but he wished Henry to ransom
his brother-in-law Mortimer.
_K. Henry_. But sirrah, henceforth Let me not hear you speak of
Mortimer. Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, Or you
shall hear in such a kind from me As will displease you.—My lord
Northumberland, We licence your departure with your son.— Send us
your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it.
(_Exeunt_ K. Henry, Blunt, _and train_)
_Hotspur_. And if the devil come and roar for them I will not send
them:—I will after, straight, And tell him so.
_Worcester_. These same noble Scots That are your prisoners—
_Hotspur_. I’ll keep them all; By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of
them; No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not; I’ll keep
them, by this hand.
_Worcester_. You start away, And lend no ear unto my purposes. Those
prisoners you shall keep.—
_Hotspur_. Nay, I will, that’s flat:— He said he would not ransom
Mortimer; Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer; But I will find him
when he lies asleep, And in his ear I’ll holla “Mortimer!” Nay, I’ll
have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but “Mortimer,” and
give it him To keep his anger still in motion.
_The First Part of_ KING HENRY IV., _Act I., Scene 3_.
The fight at Homildon Hill took place on a Monday in August, 1402,
and the memory of it is kept alive by the name of the “Monday
Clough” near Wooler, where the archers commenced the fight.
More than a hundred years after this, the last, and in many
respects the greatest, battle ever fought on Northumbrian soil took
place at Flodden. King James IV. of Scotland had several grievances
against England, which had rankled in his mind for some time; he
had not yet received the full amount of the dowry which had been
promised with his wife, Margaret Tudor, sister of Henry VIII.,
although they had been married for many years; a Scottish noble,
Sir Robert Ker, had been killed in Northumberland, and the slayer
could not be found to be brought to justice—he was outlawed, but
that seemed to King James very insufficient; a Border raid on a
large scale, led by Lord Hume, had met with disastrous defeat on
Milfield Plain at the hands of Sir William Bulmer; and Andrew
Barton, a notable sea-captain, whom James was looking forward to
seeing as one of the best leaders of his new navy, had been killed
in a sea-fight by Thomas Howard, Lord Admiral of England. Added to
all this, France had appealed to him to invade England in order to
force Henry VIII. to abandon his French war; the English monarch
was just then conducting the siege of Terouenne, and the Queen of
France sent a romantic appeal to James (together with a large sum
of money) begging him to march “three feet on to English ground”
for her sake.
No time could have been more favourable in James’ eyes for the
enterprise; and in a very short space of time he had an army of
100,000 men collected, and marched from Edinburgh to the Tweed,
which he crossed near Coldstream. He laid siege to Norham, and
captured it after a week’s investment; and thereafter Wark, Ford,
Etal, Duddo and Chillingham fell before him. He took up his
quarters at Ford Castle, and on marching later to meet Surrey, left
it almost in ruins.
Surrey meantime had gathered a large force from the northern
counties, much to James’ surprise, for he had taken it for granted
that nearly every English fighting man would be with Henry in
Flanders. There were bowmen and billmen from Cheshire and
Lancashire under the Stanley banner; and James Stanley, Bishop of
Ely, brought the banner of St. Etheldreda, the Northumbrian queen
who founded the monastery of Ely. Admiral Sir Thomas Howard brought
a band of sailors to join his father at Alnwick. Dacre came with a
strong contingent from the western Marches, men from Alston Moor,
Gilsland, and Eskdale, and also some from Tynemouth and Bamburgh;
and Sir Brian Tunstall with Sir William Bulmer led the men of the
Bishopric under the banner of St. Cuthbert.
From Alnwick Surrey sent a letter pledging himself to meet James by
September 9th, and challenging him to battle, a challenge which was
promptly accepted by the Scottish king. Marching from Alnwick
towards the Scottish army, Surrey encamped on September 6th on
Wooler Haughs. James had formed his camp on Flodden Hill, and all
Surrey’s devices could not induce him abandon this strong position.
Many of his own nobles advised him not to risk a battle, but to
withdraw while there was yet time; and some were ready to leave the
camp and return home, which thousands of the more undisciplined in
his army had done already, being more anxious to carry off their
plunder safely than to stay and fight. But James was eager for the
contest, and felt himself bound in honour to give battle to Surrey;
he answered haughtily those who counselled retreat, and scornfully
told Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, that he might go home if he
were afraid. The old man sorrowfully left the field, but his two
sons remained with their rash but gallant king, and were both
slain.
On the day before the battle took place, Surrey, that “auld crooked
carle,” as James called him, marched his men northward across the
Till and encamped for the night near Barmoor Wood. To the Scots
this looked as though they had gone off towards Berwick, to repeat
James’ own manoeuvre, and invade the country in the absence of its
king; and they must have thought that there would be little chance
of the battle for which James had punctiliously waited taking place
on the morrow. But Surrey’s purpose proved to be quite otherwise.
On the following morning he sent the vanguard of his army, with the
artillery, to make a detour of several miles round by Twizell
bridge, where they re-crossed to the south bank of the Till; and
coming south-eastward towards Flodden, they were joined by the rest
of the army, which had plunged through the stream, swollen by
continuous rains, at two points near Crookham. The two divisions
met at Branxton, after having waded through a marsh which extended
from Branxton nearly to the Till, and which the Scots had thought
impassable.
Seeing that the English were about to occupy Branxton Hill, which
would entirely cut him off from communication with Scotland, James
was forced to abandon his advantageous position; he gave orders for
the camp-refuse to be fired, and under cover of the dense clouds of
smoke marched down to forestall Surrey and occupy Branxton ridge.
The two armies suddenly found themselves within a few spears’
length of each other, and the battle was begun by the artillery on
both sides.
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 vast, and rolling far, The cloud enveloped
Scotland’s war As down the hill they broke; Nor martial shout,
nor minstrel tone Announced their march; their tread alone, At
times one 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.
Many of the raw levies on the English side fled at the first sound
of the Scottish cannon; but the master of the ordnance, Lord
Sinclair, was killed, and his guns silenced. Then the battle
joined, and the first result was that the English right wing under
Sir Edmund Howard was scattered and broken before the impetuous
charge of the Gordons and Highlanders under the Earl of Huntley and
Lord Home. Sir Edmund narrowly escaped with his life; but Lord
Dacre bringing up his reserve of horsemen at that moment checked
the further advance of the Scots. The two central divisions of the
armies engaged each other fiercely, the Earl of Surrey, with his
son Sir Thomas Howard commanding the English centre, and King
James, with the Earls of Crawford and Montrose that of the Scots.
Sir Thomas, after having been so hard pressed as to send the _Agnus
Dei_ he wore to his father as a signal for help, afterwards with
Sir Marmaduke Constable defeated the Earl of Crawford, whose
division was opposed to him. Dacre and Sir Thomas now charged Lord
Home and drove him some little way back, but could not dislodge his
men entirely from their position. The Earl of Bothwell, who
commanded the Scottish reserves, now came up to the help of the
king, and the day seemed about to be decided in favour of the
Scots, when Lord Stanley, on the English left, exactly reversed the
fortunes of the right wing, and scattered and routed the
Highlanders led by the Earls of Lennox and Argyle. Then with his
Lancashire lads he attacked the rear of the Scottish position, as
did also Dacre and Sir Thomas Howard.
“They saw Lord Marmion’s falcon fly, And stainless Tunstall’s banner
white And Edmund Howard’s lion bright All bear them bravely in the
fight, Although against them come Of gallant Gordons many a one, And
many a stubborn Highlandman, And many a rugged Border clan With
Huntly and with Home. Far on the left, unseen the while, Stanley
broke Lennox and Argyle.”
Nothing now remained for the Scottish centre, hemmed in on all
sides, but to make a stubborn last stand; and gallantly did they do
it. The flower of Scotland’s chivalry surrounded their brave
monarch, and in the falling dusk fought desperately to guard their
king.
“No thought was there of dastard flight; Linked in that serried
phalanx tight, Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, As
fearlessly and well. The stubborn spearmen still made good Their dark
impenetrable wood, Each stepping where his comrade stood The instant
that he fell.”
As night fell, the fierce struggle continued until the darkness
made it impossible to see friend or foe, but the fate of Scotland’s
bravest was sealed. The king lay dead, covered with wounds, and
around him a heap of slain; those who were able made their way in
haste from the field, while the English host encamped where it
stood. The more lawless in each army plundered both sides
impartially, and when the king’s body was found next day, it too
was stripped like many others around it.
“Then did their loss his foemen know, Their king, their lords, their
mightiest low, They melted from the field as snow Dissolves in silent
dew. Tweed’s echoes heard the ceaseless plash While many a broken
band, Disordered, through its 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.”
The tragic effects of that terrible day were long felt in Scotland.
Every family of note in the land lost one or more of its members on
the fatal field, besides the thousands of humbler beings who fell
at the same time. Scotland did not recover from the crushing blow
for more than a hundred years; and for many a day the people could
not believe that their gallant king was really slain, but continued
to hope that he had escaped in the darkness, and would one day
return.
There has recently been erected on Flodden Field a simple cross of
stone as a memorial of that tragic day. It was unveiled on
September 27th, 1910, by Sir George Douglas, Bart. The inscription
on the stone is “To the Brave of both Nations.”
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
A LAMENT FOR FLODDEN.
I’ve heard the liltin’ at our ewe-milking, Lasses a’ liltin’ before
dawn o’ day; But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning— The
Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
At bughts,[12] in the mornin’, nae blythe lads are scornin’, Lasses
are lonely and dowie and wae; Nae daffin’, nae jabbin’, but sighin’
and sabbin’, Ilk ane lifts her leglin[13] and hies her away.
In harst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, Bandsters are
lyart,[14] and runkled, and gray; At fair or at preaching, nae
wooing, nae fleeching[15] The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
At e’en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming ’Bout stacks, with
the lasses at “bogle” to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting
her dearie— The Flowers of the Forest are weded away.
Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border! The English
for ance by guile wan the day; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought
aye the foremost, The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.
We’ll hear nae mair liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’; Women and bairns are
heartless and wae; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning— The
Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
[12] Bughts = sheep-pens.
[13] Leglin = milk-pail.
[14] Lyart = grizzled.
[15] Fleeching = coaxing.