When, doff'd his casque, he felt free air,
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare:--
'Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where?
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! 875
Redeem my pennon,--charge again!
Cry-"Marmion to the rescue!"--Vain!
Last of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again!--
Yet my last thought is England's--fly, 880
To Dacre bear my signet-ring:
Tell him his squadrons up to bring.--
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie;
Tunstall lies dead upon the field,
His life-blood stains the spotless shield: 885
Edmund is down;--my life is reft;
The Admiral alone is left.
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,--
With Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full upon Scotland's central host, 890
Or victory and England's lost.--
Must I bid twice?--hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone--to die.'
They parted, and alone he lay;
Clare drew her from the sight away, 895
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmur'd,--'Is there none,
Of all my halls have nurst,
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water from the spring, 900
To slake my dying thirst!'