The following poem also gives eloquent and touching expression to the deep gloom which descended upon the Border after the fatal battle, and tells of the despair felt in almost every Ettrick home:—
SELKIRK AFTER FLODDEN
(A WIDOW'S DIRGE, OCTOBER 1513)
It's but a month the morn
Sin' a' was peace and plenty;
Oor hairst was halflins shorn,
Eident men and lasses denty.
But noo it's a' distress—
Never mair a merry meetin ';
For half the bairns are faitherless,
And a' the women greetin'.
O Flodden Field!
Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,
Where forest flow'rs are fairest,
Ilka lassie's stricken doun,
Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.
A' the lads they used to meet
By Ettrick braes or Yarrow
Lyin' thrammelt head and feet
In Brankstone's deadly barrow!
O Flodden Field!
Frae every cleuch and clan
The best o' the braid Border
Rose like a single man
To meet the royal order.
Oor Burgh toun itsel'
Sent its seventy doun the glen;
Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,
Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!
O Flodden Field!
[#] This was the man who brought an English flag back to Selkirk from Flodden. Four brothers of that name are said to have perished in the battle.
Round about their gallant king,
For country and for croun,
Stude the dauntless Border ring,
Till the last was hackit doun.
I blame na what has been—
They maun fa' that canna flee—
But oh, to see what I hae seen,
To see what now I see!
O Flodden Field!
The souters a' fu' croose,
O'er their leather and their lingle,
Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,
Sat contentit round the ingle.
Noo there's naething left but dool,—
Never mair their work will cheer them;
In Flodden's bluidy pool
They'll neither wait nor wear them!
O Flodden Field!
Whar the weavers used to meet,
In ilka bieldy corner,
Noo there's nane in a' the street,
Savin' here and there a mourner,
Walkin' lonely as a wraith,
Or if she meet anither,
Just a word below their braith
O' some slauchtered son or brither!
O Flodden Field!
There stands the gudeman's loom
That used tae gang sae cheerie,
Untentit noo, and toom,
Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,
Till the sicht I canna dree;
For the shuttles lyin' dumb
Speak the loudlier to me
O' him that wunna come.
O Flodden Field!
Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,
Just to haud it frae my een,
But I haena yet the pow'r
To forget what it has been;
And I listen through the hoose
For the chappin o' the lay,
Till the scrapin' o' a moose
Tak's my very braith away.
O Flodden Field!
Then I turn to sister Jean,
And my airms aboot her twine,
And I kiss her sleepless een,
For her heart's as sair as mine,—
A heart ance fu' o' fun,
And hands that ne'er were idle,
Wi' a' her cleedin' spun
Against her Jamie's bridal.
O Flodden Field!
Noo we've naether hands nor hairt—
In oor grief the wark's forgotten,
Though it's wantit every airt,
And the craps are lyin' rotten.
War's awsome blast's gane bye,
And left a land forlorn;
In daith's dool hairst they lie,
The shearers and the shorn.
O Flodden Field.
Wi' winter creepin' near us,
When the nichts are drear and lang,
Nane to help us, nane to hear us,
On the weary gate we gang!
Lord o' the quick an' deed,
Sin' oor ain we canna see,
In mercy mak gude speed,
And bring us whar they be,
Far, far, frae Flodden Field!
"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).
By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.
Another lyric, relating to the fatal battle of Flodden, refers to the gallantry of the Souters, or shoemakers of Selkirk, who, to the number of eighty, and headed by their town-clerk, joined the army as it entered England. They distinguished themselves greatly, and few returned. The "yellow and green" are the liveries of the house of Home, taxed by some with being the cause of the defeat.
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK
Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,
And doun wi' the Earl of Home;
And up wi' a' the braw lads
That sew the single-soled shoon.
Fye upon yellow and yellow,
And fye upon yellow and green,
But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,
And up wi' the single-soled sheen.
Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,
For they are baith trusty and leal;
And up wi' the men o' the Forest,
And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.
In Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," the following well-known poem tells how the news of the disaster at Flodden Field was received in Edinburgh:—