From the crown of Blackford, Marmion gazed on the martial scene. It was
a Kingdom's vast array. Thousands on thousands of pavilions, white as
snow, dotted the upland, dale, and down, and checkered the heath between
town and forest. The relics of the old oaks softened the glaring white
with a background of restful green.

From north, from south, from east, from west, had gathered Scotland's
warriors. All between the ages of sixteen and sixty, from king to
vassal, stood ready to fight for the beloved land. Marmion heard the
mingled hum of myriads of voices float up the mountain side. He saw the
shifting lines, and marked the flashing of shield and lance. Nor did he
mark less that in the air,

"A thousand streamers flaunted fair,
Various in shape, device and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there
O'er the pavilions flew.
Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;
The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight
Whene'er the western wind unroll'd,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling field,
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,
The ruddy lion ramped in gold.