When lo! down in a graffy dale,

They heard their father's horn.

That born, quoth they, ne'er founds in peace,
We have other Sport to byde;

And foon they hey'd them up the hill,
And foon were at his fyde.

X.

Late, late yeftreen I weind in peace,
To end my lengthned life,
My age might weil excufe my arm,
Frae manly feats of ftrife;
But now that Norfe does proudly boast
Fair Scotland to enthrall,

Its ne'er be faid of Hardyknute,
He fear'd to fight or fall.

XI.

Robin of Rothfay, bend thy bow,
Thy arrow fhoot so leil,

Mony a comely countenance

They have turn'd to deidly pale: Brade Thomas, tak ye but your lance, Ye neid nae weapons mair,

Gif ye fight weit as ye

did anes

"Gainft Weftmorland's fierce heir.

XII.

Malcom, light of foot as ftag
That runs in forest wyld,
Get me my thousands three of men
Well bred to word and shield:
Bring me my horse and harnifine,
My blade of metal cleir.

If faes kend but the hand it bare,
They foon had fled for fear.

XIII.

Farerueil, my dame, fae pierlefs good,

And took her by the hand, Fairer to me in age you feem, Than maids for beauty fam'd:

My youngest fon fall here remain
To guard thefe ftately towirs,
And fhut the filver bolt that keips
Sae faft your painted bowirs.

XIV.

And firft fhe wet her comely cheiks,
And then her boddice green,
Hir filken cords of twirtle twist,
Weil plett with filver sheen;
And apron fet with mony a dyce
Of needle-wark fae rare,

Wove by nae hand, as ye may guefs,
Save that of Fairly fair.

XV.

And he has ridden owre muir and mofs,
Owre hills and mony a glen,
When he came to a wounded knight
Making a heavy mane;

Here maun I lye, here maun I dye,
By treacherous falfe Gyles;
Witless I was that e'er gave faith
To wicked woman's myles.

XVI.

Sir Knight, gin ye were in my bowir,
To lean on filken feat,

My lady's kindly care you'd prove,

Wha neir kend deidly hate; Hirfelf wald watch ye all the day,

Her maids a deid of nicht;

·And Fairly fair your heart wald cheir,

As fhe ftands in your fight...

XVII.

Arife, young knight, and mount your fteid,
Full lowns the fynand day;

Chufe frae my menzie whom ye please
To lead ye on the way.

With fmylefs look and visage wan,
The wounded knight reply'd,

Kind chiftain, your intent purfue,

For heir I maun abyde.

XVIII.

To me nae after day nor night
Can eir be feit or fair,

But foon beneath some drapping trie,
Cauld death fall end my care.
With him nae pleading might prevail,
Brave Hardyknute to gain,

With faireft words and reason ftrang,
Strave courteously in vain.

Syne he has

XIX.

gane far hynd attowre,
Lord Chattan's land fae wyde,
That lord a worthy wight was ay,
When faes his courage fey'd:
Of Pictish race by mother's fyde,
When Pics rul'd Caledon,

Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid,
When he fav'd Pictish crown.

XX.

Now with his fierce and stalwart train,
He reach'd a rifing height,

Whair braid encampit on the dale,

Norfe army lay in fight;

Yonder, my valiant fons and feirs,

Our raging ravers wait

On the unconquer'd Scottish fwaird,
To try with us their fate.

XXI.

Mak orifons to him that fav'd

Our fauls upon the rude,

Syne bravely fhaw your veins are fill'd

With Caledonian blude.

Then furth he drew his trufty glaive,
While thousands all around,

Drawn frae their fheaths glanc'd in the sun,
And loud the bougils found.

To

XXII.

To join his king adoun the hill

In hafte his march he made,

Whyle, playand pibrochs minstralls meit,
Afore him ftately strade.

Thryfe welcome valiant ftoup of weir,
Thy nation's fhield and pryde;
Thy king nae reafon has to feir
When thou art by his fyde.

XXIII.

When bows were bent and darts were thrawn,
For thrang scarce could they flie,

The darts clove arrows as they met,

The arrows dart the trie.

Lang did they rage and fight full fierce,

With little fkaith to man,

But bluddy, bluddy was the field,

Or that lang day was dane.

XXIV.

The king of Scots that findle bruik'd

The war that look'd like play,

Drew his braid fword, and brake his bow,

Sen bows feimt but delay :

Quoth noble Rothfay, Myne I'll keip,
Iwate its bled a feore.

Hafe up, my merry men, cry'd the king,
As he rade on before.

XXV.

The king of Norfe he fought to find,
With him to menfe the fight,
But on his forehead there did light
A fharp unfonfie shaft;

As he his hand put up to find

The wound, an arrow keen,

O waefou chance! there pinn'd his hand

In midft between his een.

XXVI.

Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothfay's heir, -
Your mail-coat fall nocht byde

The

The ftrength and sharpnes of my dart ;
Then fent it through his fyde:
Another arrow weil he mark'd,
It pierc'd his neck in twa,

His hands then quat the filver reis,
He laigh as eard did fa.

XXVII.

Sair blieds my liege, fair, fair he blieds.
Again with might he drew
And gefture dreid his sturdy bow,
Faft the braid arrow flew.

Wae to the knight he ettled at,

I.ament now, Quene Elgried;
Hie dames too wail your darling's fall,
His youth and comely meid.

XXVIII.

Take aff, take aff his coftly jupe;
(Of gold weil was it twin'd,

Knit lyke the fowlers net, through which
His fteilly harness shyn'd);
Take, Norfe, that gift frae me, and bid

Him venge the blude it beirs;

Say, if he face my bended bow,
He fure nae weapon fears.

XXIX.

Proud Norfe, with giant body tall,
Braid fhoulders and arms ftrong,
Cry'd, Where is Hardyknute fae fam'd,
And feir'd at Britain's throne?

The Britons tremble at his name,

I foon fhall make him wail

That eir my word was made fae fharp,

Sae faft his coat of mail.

XXX.

That brag his ftout heart could na byde,

It lent him youthful might:

I'm Hardyknute this day, he cry'd,
To Scotland's king I height,
Voi. 'I.

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