'T were better that in fiery flame
The roofs should thunder down,
Than that the foot of foreign foe
Should trample in the town!”

Then in came Randolph Murray, -
His step was slow and weak,

And, as he doffed his dinted helm,
The tears ran down his cheek:
They fell upon his corslet

And on his mailèd hand,

As he gazed around him wistfully,
Leaning sorely on his brand;

And none who then beheld him

But straight were smote with fear, For a bolder and a sterner man Had never couched a spear. They knew so sad a messenger

Some ghastly news must bring;

And all of them were fathers,

And their sons were with the King.

And

up then rose the Provost

A brave old man was he,

Of ancient name, and knightly fame,

And chivalrous degree.

He ruled our city like a Lord

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 ye see upon it

Was the life-blood of your King!"

Woe, woe, and lamentation,

What a piteous cry was there !

Widows, maidens, mothers, children,

Shrieking, sobbing in despair!