
      Who brooked no equal here.
    And ever for the townsman’s rights
      Stood up ’gainst prince and peer.
    And he had seen the Scottish host
      March from the Borough-muir,
    With music-storm and clamorous shout,
      And all the din that thunders out
    When youth’s of victory sure.
      But yet a dearer thought had he,--
      For, with a father’s pride,
    He saw his last remaining son
      Go forth by Randolph’s side,
    With casque on head and spur on heel
      All keen to do and dare;
    And proudly did that gallant boy
      Dunedin’s banner bear.
    Oh! woful now was the old man’s look,
      And he spake right heavily--
    “Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings,
      However sharp they be!
    Woe is written on thy visage,
      Death is looking from thy face:
    Speak!--though it be of overthrow,
      It cannot be disgrace!”

    Right bitter was the agony
      That wrung that soldier proud:
    Thrice did he strive to answer,
      And thrice he groaned aloud.
    Then he gave the riven banner
      To the old man’s shaking hand,
    Saying--“That is all I bring ye
      From the bravest of the land!
    Ay! ye may look upon it--
      It was guarded well and long,
    By your brothers and your children,
      By the valiant and the strong.

    One by one they fell around it,
      As the archers laid them low,
    Grimly dying, still unconquered,
      With their faces to the foe.
    Ay! ye may well look upon it--
      There is more than honor there,
    Else, be sure, I had not brought it
      From the field of dark despair.
    Never yet was royal banner
      Steeped in such a costly dye;
    It hath lain upon a bosom
      Where no other shroud shall lie.
    Sirs! I charge you, keep it holy,
      Keep it as a sacred thing,
    For the stain you see upon it
      Was the life-blood of your King!”

    Woe, and woe, and lamentation!
      What a piteous cry was there!
    Widows, maidens, mothers, children,
      Shrieking, sobbing in despair!
   