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Thanks for permission to include poems and extracts are due to the following :
Mr. T. Fisher Unwin for A. M. F. Robinson's A Ballad of Orleans.
Mr. Henry Newbolt for Drake's Drum, from 'The Island Race', published by Elkin Mathews.
Mr. T. Watts-Dunton for extracts from Swinburne's Mary Stuart and The Armada.
The Scots under Douglas invaded England as far as Newcastle, where they met Henry Percy (Hotspur), who swore to redeem in three days his lance, which Douglas had taken in a skirmish. The English came upon the Scots by moonlight at Otterburn, and gave battle at once. Douglas rushed into the middle of their army and was killed, though the battle went on till morning, when Percy was taken prisoner. The result of the battle is a matter of dispute. This version, taken from Scott's Minstrelsy of the Border, naturally relates the event with a Scottish bias. The English versions tell the story just as much in favour of the English. Froissart says that despite the disasters on both sides the Scotch remained masters of the field; but he gives both armies great credit for their desperate valour.
The Douglas was not buried at a bracken bush', but in Melrose Abbey.
IT fell about the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
He chose the Gordons and the Græmes,
And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne,
And part of Bambrough shire;
And three good towers on Roxburgh fells,
1. Lammas] August 1.
And he march'd up to Newcastle,
And rode it round about; 'O wha's the lord of this castle,
Or wha's the lady o't?'
But up spake proud Lord Percy, then,
I am the lord of this castle,
My wife's the lady gay.'
'If thou 'rt the lord of this castle,
For, ere I cross the border fells,
He took a long spear in his hand,
And for to meet the Douglas there
But O how pale his lady look'd
Frae aff the castle wa',
When down before the Scottish spear,
She saw proud Percy fa'.
'Had we twa been upon the green,
And never an eye to see,
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
And, if I come not ere three dayis end,
The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;
But there is nought at Otterbourne
To feed my men and me.
'The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
But there is neither bread nor kale