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The Scots beheld the English host Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post,
And heedful watched them as they crossed The Till by Twisel bridge.
High sight it is, and haughty, while
Beneath the castle's airy wall.
Where flows the sullen Till,
In slow succession still,
To gain the opposing hill.
And many a chief of birth and rank,
And why stands Scotland idly now,
Inactive on his steed,
His host Lord Surrey lead ?
Fierce Randolph, for thy speed !
And Flodden had been Bannockburn !
The precious hour had passed in vain, And England's host has gained the plain ; Wheeling their march, and circling still, Around the base of Flodden hill.
The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Lady of the Lake.
And faint, from farther distance borne,
As chief who hears his warder call,
Yelled on the view the opening pack,