Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/139

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,