Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FIELD OF PINKIE, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FIELD OF PINKIE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A lovely eve! As loath to quit a scene
Last Line: And all shall walk in light—the light from heaven!
Alternate Author Name(s): Delta
Subject(s): Death; Fields; Peace; Pinkie, Battle Of (1547); Scotland; Warwickshire, England; Dead, The; Pastures; Meadows; Leas


I.

A LOVELY eve! as loath to quit a scene
So beautiful, the parting sun smiles back
From western Pentland's summits, all between
Bearing the impress of his glorious track;
His last, long, level ray fond Earth retains;
The Forth a sheet of gold from shore to shore;
Gold on the Esk, and on the ripened plains,
And on the boughs of yon broad sycamore.

II.

Long shadows fall from turret and from tree;
Homeward the labourer thro' the radiance goes;
Calmly the mew floats downward to the sea;
And inland flock the rooks to their repose:
Over the ancient farmstead wreathes the smoke,
Melting in silence 'mid the pure blue sky;
And sings the blackbird, cloistered in the oak,
His anthem to the eve, how solemnly!

III.

On this green hill—yon grove—the placid flow
Of Esk—and on the Links that skirt the town—
How differently, three hundred years ago,
The same sun o'er this self-same spot went down!
Instead of harvest wealth, the gory dead
In many a mangled heap lay scattered round;
Where all is tranquil, anguish reigned and dread,
And for the blackbird wailed the bugle's sound.

IV.

Mirror'd by fancy's power, my sight before
The past revives with panoramic glow;
Scotland resumes the cold rough front of yore,
And England, now her sister, scowls her foe:
Two mighty armaments, for conflict met,
Darken the hollows and the heights afar—
Horse, cannon, standard, spear, and burgonet,
The leaders, and the legions, mad for war.

V.

Shrilly uprises Warwick's battle-cry,
As from Falsyde his glittering columns wheel;
Hark to the rasp of Grey's fierce cavalry
Against the bristling hedge of Scotland's steel!
As bursts the billow foaming on the rock,
That onset is repelled, that charge is met;
Flaunting, the banner'd thistle braves the shock,
And backward bears the might of Somerset.

VI.

Horseman and horse, dash'd backwards without hope,
Vainly that wall of serried steel oppose.
But now the musketeers rush down the slope,
And thrice five hundred archers twang their bows.
The iron shower descends—they reel—they turn—
Doth Arran flinch! can Douglas but deplore?
Hushed are the cheers that rang thro' Otterburn,
Blunted the blades that crimson'd Ancrum-Moor!

VII.

They bend—they break—they flee—a panic rout
Ensues; with dying and with dead the plain
Is cumber'd; England whoops her victor shout,
And Scotland's bravest fight, to fall in vain.
And Esk from Roslin famed, and Hawthornden,
Gliding in peace by rock and spreading tree,
Checked by the mass of horses and of men,
Dashed o'er them red and reeking to the sea.

VIII.

A fearful day was that! since Flodden's day,
Like storm of blood hath darkened not the north;
By thousands sword and shield were thrown away,
Up on the hills, and down beside the Forth:
Through Musselburg, and past St Michael's fane,
Westward the ravage and the rout was sped;
And, thick as cattle pasture on a plain,
Lay round Loretto's hermitage the dead.

IX.

And thou, sweet burn of Pinkie, darkly clear,
Wimpling where water-flags and wild-flowers weave,
'Tween hoof-indented banks, with slaughter drear,
Curdled with blood, beneath the shades of eve—
Oh! from this scene how many a maiden fair
Looked—languished for her warrior-love in vain,
Till Beauty's roses, blighted by despair,
Paled on the cheeks that ne'er knew bloom again!

X.

And oh! the breaking hearts of widowed wife,
Of sire and sister, as with dirgeful moan,
Passing like whirlwind from that field of strife,
From shire to shire, the news went wailing on—
Went wailing on—and wrapped alike in woe
Cottage and castle—and, by every hearth,
Saddened the cheer—bade Woman's tears to flow,
And crushed the patriot's towering hopes to earth!

XI.

Three hundred years have passed—three centuries,
Even to the reckoning of a single night—
Where stood the hosts I stand: there Pinkie lies
Beneath, and yon is Falsyde on the height.
Victors and vanquished—where are either now
Who shone that day in plume and steel arrayed?
Ask of the white bones scattered by the plough—
Read in the sculptures on grey tombs decayed!

XII.

Sated with blood, and glad his prey to leave,
Five hours in hot pursuit and carnage spent,
In yon green clump, by Inveresk, at eve,
Proud Somerset, the victor, pitched his tent:
There, 'mid its circle grey of mossy stone,
A time-worn fleur-de-lis still marks the spot,
Which else had to the searcher been unknown;
For of that field one other trace is not.

XIII.

Oh, Nature! when abroad we look at thee,
In beauty aye revolving, yet the same,
In sun, moon, stars, the air, the earth, the sea,
Of God's great universe the goodly frame,—
Why is it thus we set His laws at nought,
Eschew the truth, and crouch in Error's den,
Forgetting Him, that died and lives, who brought
The message—"Peace on earth, goodwill to men!"

XIV.

Speed Heaven the time, tho' distant still it be,
When each his pleasure shall in duty find,
When knowledge shall from prejudice set free,
Hearts throb to hearts, and mind respond to mind!
O! for the dawning of that purer day,
Only as yet to Aspiration given,
When clouds no more shall darken o'er our way,
And all shall walk in light—the light from Heaven!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net