Flodden, by Sir Walter Scott

From Flodden ridge,

The Scots beheld the English host

Leave Barmoor Wood, their evening post

And headful watched them as they crossed

The Till by Twizell Bridge.

High sight it is, and haughty, while

They dive into the deep defile;

Beneath the cavern'd cliff they fall,

Beneath the castle's airy wall.

By rock, by oak, by Hawthorn tree,

Troop after troop are disappearing;

Troop after troop their banners rearing

Upon the eastern bank you see.

Still pouring down the rocky glen,

Where flows the sullen Till,

And rising from the dim-wood glen,

Standards on standards, men on men,

In slow procession still,

And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch,

And pressing on in ceaseless march,

To gain the opposing hill.