214
PRIZE POEMS.
Now gleams the flashing sword athwart the eye,
Now blends the death-shriek with the battle cry;
Now sinks the rider 'mid the reckless fray,
Now speeds the madden'd steed his headlong way:
Here breathes the fainting knight his feeble prayer,
The dying soldier screams his war-cry there;
Unnumber'd arms th' insatiate weapon wield,
And rank on rank bestrews the crimson'd field.
England's stout archers ply th' unerring string,
And missile show'rs their fatal errand wing:
But brief their victory—the thoughtful skill
Of Scotland's chief had met the pending ill:
Forth from the lines the mail-clad horsemen bound,
The thund'ring tramp re-echoes o'er the ground:
On, on they come! the torrent's wild career
Were nought to theirs; a shriek of frenzied fear—
A rending shock—and England's stalwart train,
One trampled mass besmears the reeking plain.
Oh! 'twas a sight might quench the kindling flame
That breathes its vigour thro' the warrior's frame:
Pale terror rush'd amid the yielding band,
Chill'd ev'ry heart, unnerved each iron hand.
The Scottish champion mark'd the wild dismay,
And eager rush'd to win the dubious day:
Swift at his word careers the gallant troop,
As drops the soaring hawk in headlong swoop;
With reckless hoof they spurn the trampled dead,
A moment's pause—and England's army fled.
O Death! stern tyrant of our fleeting hours,
In thousand shapes thou trick'st thine antic pow'rs;
Youth, manhood, age, are all alike to thee,
Creation bends beneath the stern decree:
All dread thou art, but in the battle-field
Supreme thou reign'st, in majesty reveal'd:
Thy arm triumphant rules the ghastly day,
While vanquish'd armies sink amid the fray.
Now blends the death-shriek with the battle cry;
Now sinks the rider 'mid the reckless fray,
Now speeds the madden'd steed his headlong way:
Here breathes the fainting knight his feeble prayer,
The dying soldier screams his war-cry there;
Unnumber'd arms th' insatiate weapon wield,
And rank on rank bestrews the crimson'd field.
England's stout archers ply th' unerring string,
And missile show'rs their fatal errand wing:
But brief their victory—the thoughtful skill
Of Scotland's chief had met the pending ill:
Forth from the lines the mail-clad horsemen bound,
The thund'ring tramp re-echoes o'er the ground:
On, on they come! the torrent's wild career
Were nought to theirs; a shriek of frenzied fear—
A rending shock—and England's stalwart train,
One trampled mass besmears the reeking plain.
Oh! 'twas a sight might quench the kindling flame
That breathes its vigour thro' the warrior's frame:
Pale terror rush'd amid the yielding band,
Chill'd ev'ry heart, unnerved each iron hand.
The Scottish champion mark'd the wild dismay,
And eager rush'd to win the dubious day:
Swift at his word careers the gallant troop,
As drops the soaring hawk in headlong swoop;
With reckless hoof they spurn the trampled dead,
A moment's pause—and England's army fled.
O Death! stern tyrant of our fleeting hours,
In thousand shapes thou trick'st thine antic pow'rs;
Youth, manhood, age, are all alike to thee,
Creation bends beneath the stern decree:
All dread thou art, but in the battle-field
Supreme thou reign'st, in majesty reveal'd:
Thy arm triumphant rules the ghastly day,
While vanquish'd armies sink amid the fray.
