Mike Oldfield - Flowers of the Forest

In honor of the fallen at Flodden Field.

On September 9, 1513, the Scottish armies of King James IV, Scotland's monarch, and the brother-in-law to King Henry VIII, invaded Northumberland in retaliation for England's invasion of France.  Just before, King Louis XII had invoked with James the Auld Alliance, a mutual defense treaty against the aggression of English kings. 

James IV of Scotland                                                                                    Henry VIII of England

Battle of Flodden Field by Sir John Gilbert (1878)

Warriors of Flodden Field (Pinterest)

For a primer on the battle, go HERE.


The result was the largest single battle between Scotland and England.  It also resulted in the death of the last monarch in battle in English history.

News of Battle: Edinburgh after Flodden

Thomas Jones Baker (1815-1882)

Two hundred years after the battle, a poem entitled "The Flowers of the Forest" was written in memoriam of the Scottish dead of the battle, and later an air was composed and traditionally played on the great Highland pipes.   Today, the song is often played at the funerals of fallen soldiers, particularly those of Scotland. 

***

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, 
Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day; 
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning- 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, 
The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae; 
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, 
Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; 
At fair or at preaching, nae wooing nae fleeching- 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; 
But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie- 
The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. 

Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border! 
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; 
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, 
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 

We'll hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking; 
Women and bairns are heartless and wae; 
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning- 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.


-- Jean Elliot