"Now darts flew wavering through slaw speed,Scarce could they reach their aim;Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew,'Twas all but shot in vain:Right strengthy arms forfeebled grew,Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils:E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace,And curs'd war's cruel broils."Yet still wars horns sounded to charge,Swords clash'd and harness rang;But saftly sae ilk blaster blewThe hills and dales fraemang.Nae echo heard in double dints,Nor the lang-winding horn,Nae mair she blew out brade as sheDid eir that summers morn."
"Now darts flew wavering through slaw speed,Scarce could they reach their aim;Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew,'Twas all but shot in vain:Right strengthy arms forfeebled grew,Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils:E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace,And curs'd war's cruel broils.
"Yet still wars horns sounded to charge,Swords clash'd and harness rang;But saftly sae ilk blaster blewThe hills and dales fraemang.Nae echo heard in double dints,Nor the lang-winding horn,Nae mair she blew out brade as sheDid eir that summers morn."
[Elizabeth Halket, second daughter of Sir Charles Halket of Pitfirrane, Fife, and wife of Sir Henry Wardlaw of Pitrivie, Fife and Balmulie near Dunfermline, who was born in the year 1677, married in 1696, and died in 1727, is now known to have been the authoress ofHardyknute, although it was many years before the question of the authorship was finally settled.Mr. David Laing once possessed a copy of this ballad printed in a duodecimo of eight pages without date, which is supposed to be the original edition. Besides various differences, some important and others minute, it does not contain stanzas 27, 28 and 40, which are printed in the folio of 1719. It was reprinted several times before Percy included it in his book, and its antiquity does not seem to have been doubted, for the editor of the edition of 1740 speaks of it as a specimen of the true sublime, and believes that "it can only be the work of an author highly smitten with the fury of a poetical genius." Allan Ramsay'sEvergreen, 1724, vol. ii. contains this ballad with the twelve additional stanzas noted above by Percy.When Percy first printed the ballad suspicions of its authenticity had been expressed, which soon led to the discovery of the writer, but after having stated who was the real author, he threw doubts upon his statement on account of Pinkerton's truthless report. Pinkerton was never to be depended upon, and he had previously affirmed that the common people of Lanarkshire "repeat scraps ofboth parts," although the second was his own composition. Sir John Hope Brucehad nothing to do with the composition of the ballad, and it is even doubtful whether his supposed letter to Lord Binning ever had any existence. If it had, it was merely a mystification. On the second of December, 1785, Lord Hailes wrote to Pinkerton as follows, "You mistook if you suppose that I reckoned Sir John Bruce to be the author ofHardyknute. It is his sister-in-law, Lady Wardlaw, who is said to have been the author." Yet Pinkerton made Percy believe that Bruce was the author. Great difference of opinion has been expressed as to the merit of the ballad by various critics. Mathias was fascinated with it, and printed it privately with an encomiastic criticism. Scott wrote on the fly-leaf of his copy of Ramsay'sEvergreen, "Hardyknutewas the first poem I ever learnt—the last that I shall forget," and in hisMinstrelsyof the Borderhe terms it "a most spirited and beautiful imitation of the ancient ballad." Thomas Warton was deceived by it, and describes it as genuine in the first edition of hisObservationson Spenser. In the second edition he assigns the ballad to its true author, but adds, "I am apt to think that the first stanza is old and gave the hint for writing the rest." On the other side Dr. Johnson considered it to have "no great merit," and Aytoun esteemed it a very poor performance. It has not been popular with the ordinary devourers of ballads, and Mr. James Maidment never had the good luck to pick up a stall copy—he writes, "The flying stationers, the best judges of what suited their customers, not considering it an eligible republication." The ballad is supposed to refer to the battle of Largs, fought on the second of October, 1263, between the invading force led by Haco, King of Norway, and the Scottish army commanded in person by Alexander III., but it would, in fact, suit any conflict between Scots and Northmen. The effect of this battle was the loss to Scandinavia of the Hebrides and the Isle of Man, which dependencies were relinquished to Alexander III. by terms of a treaty concluded in 1266, with Magnus, the successor of Haco. The victory was largely due to the Lord High Steward of Scotland, who is supposed to be represented by Hardyknute. Mr. Gilfillan notes that "Fairly Castle, the residence of Hardyknute, stands three miles south of the battle field. It is a single square tower, by the side of a wild stream tumbling over a rock into a deep ravine."]
[Elizabeth Halket, second daughter of Sir Charles Halket of Pitfirrane, Fife, and wife of Sir Henry Wardlaw of Pitrivie, Fife and Balmulie near Dunfermline, who was born in the year 1677, married in 1696, and died in 1727, is now known to have been the authoress ofHardyknute, although it was many years before the question of the authorship was finally settled.
Mr. David Laing once possessed a copy of this ballad printed in a duodecimo of eight pages without date, which is supposed to be the original edition. Besides various differences, some important and others minute, it does not contain stanzas 27, 28 and 40, which are printed in the folio of 1719. It was reprinted several times before Percy included it in his book, and its antiquity does not seem to have been doubted, for the editor of the edition of 1740 speaks of it as a specimen of the true sublime, and believes that "it can only be the work of an author highly smitten with the fury of a poetical genius." Allan Ramsay'sEvergreen, 1724, vol. ii. contains this ballad with the twelve additional stanzas noted above by Percy.
When Percy first printed the ballad suspicions of its authenticity had been expressed, which soon led to the discovery of the writer, but after having stated who was the real author, he threw doubts upon his statement on account of Pinkerton's truthless report. Pinkerton was never to be depended upon, and he had previously affirmed that the common people of Lanarkshire "repeat scraps ofboth parts," although the second was his own composition. Sir John Hope Brucehad nothing to do with the composition of the ballad, and it is even doubtful whether his supposed letter to Lord Binning ever had any existence. If it had, it was merely a mystification. On the second of December, 1785, Lord Hailes wrote to Pinkerton as follows, "You mistook if you suppose that I reckoned Sir John Bruce to be the author ofHardyknute. It is his sister-in-law, Lady Wardlaw, who is said to have been the author." Yet Pinkerton made Percy believe that Bruce was the author. Great difference of opinion has been expressed as to the merit of the ballad by various critics. Mathias was fascinated with it, and printed it privately with an encomiastic criticism. Scott wrote on the fly-leaf of his copy of Ramsay'sEvergreen, "Hardyknutewas the first poem I ever learnt—the last that I shall forget," and in hisMinstrelsyof the Borderhe terms it "a most spirited and beautiful imitation of the ancient ballad." Thomas Warton was deceived by it, and describes it as genuine in the first edition of hisObservationson Spenser. In the second edition he assigns the ballad to its true author, but adds, "I am apt to think that the first stanza is old and gave the hint for writing the rest." On the other side Dr. Johnson considered it to have "no great merit," and Aytoun esteemed it a very poor performance. It has not been popular with the ordinary devourers of ballads, and Mr. James Maidment never had the good luck to pick up a stall copy—he writes, "The flying stationers, the best judges of what suited their customers, not considering it an eligible republication." The ballad is supposed to refer to the battle of Largs, fought on the second of October, 1263, between the invading force led by Haco, King of Norway, and the Scottish army commanded in person by Alexander III., but it would, in fact, suit any conflict between Scots and Northmen. The effect of this battle was the loss to Scandinavia of the Hebrides and the Isle of Man, which dependencies were relinquished to Alexander III. by terms of a treaty concluded in 1266, with Magnus, the successor of Haco. The victory was largely due to the Lord High Steward of Scotland, who is supposed to be represented by Hardyknute. Mr. Gilfillan notes that "Fairly Castle, the residence of Hardyknute, stands three miles south of the battle field. It is a single square tower, by the side of a wild stream tumbling over a rock into a deep ravine."]
I.
Stately stept he east the wa',[468]And stately stept he west,Full seventy years he now had seen,Wi' scarce seven years of rest.He liv'd when Britons breach of faith5Wrought Scotland mickle wae:And ay his sword tauld to their cost,He was their deadlye fae.
Stately stept he east the wa',[468]And stately stept he west,Full seventy years he now had seen,Wi' scarce seven years of rest.He liv'd when Britons breach of faith5Wrought Scotland mickle wae:And ay his sword tauld to their cost,He was their deadlye fae.
II.
High on a hill his castle stood,With ha's[469]and tow'rs a height,10And goodly chambers fair to se,Where he lodged mony a knight.His dame sae peerless anes and fair,For chast and beauty deem'd,Nae marrow[470]had in all the land,15Save Elenor[471]the queen.
High on a hill his castle stood,With ha's[469]and tow'rs a height,10And goodly chambers fair to se,Where he lodged mony a knight.His dame sae peerless anes and fair,For chast and beauty deem'd,Nae marrow[470]had in all the land,15Save Elenor[471]the queen.
III.
Full thirteen sons to him she bare,All men of valour stout;In bloody fight with sword in handNine lost their lives bot[472]doubt:20Four yet remain, lang may they liveTo stand by liege and land;High was their fame, high was their might,And high was their command.
Full thirteen sons to him she bare,All men of valour stout;In bloody fight with sword in handNine lost their lives bot[472]doubt:20Four yet remain, lang may they liveTo stand by liege and land;High was their fame, high was their might,And high was their command.
IV.
Great love they bare to Fairly fair,25Their sister saft and dear,Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp,[473]And gowden glist[474]her hair.What waefu' wae her beauty bred?Waefu' to young and auld,30Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin,As story ever tauld.
Great love they bare to Fairly fair,25Their sister saft and dear,Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp,[473]And gowden glist[474]her hair.What waefu' wae her beauty bred?Waefu' to young and auld,30Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin,As story ever tauld.
V.
The king of Norse in summer tyde,Puff'd up with pow'r and might,Landed in fair Scotland the isle35With mony a hardy knight.The tydings to our good Scots kingCame, as he sat at dine,With noble chiefs in brave aray,Drinking the blood-red wine.40
The king of Norse in summer tyde,Puff'd up with pow'r and might,Landed in fair Scotland the isle35With mony a hardy knight.The tydings to our good Scots kingCame, as he sat at dine,With noble chiefs in brave aray,Drinking the blood-red wine.40
VI.
"To horse, to horse, my royal liege,Your faes stand on the strand,Full twenty thousand glittering spearsThe king of Norse commands."Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray,45Our good king rose and cry'd,A trustier beast in a' the landA Scots king nevir try'd.
"To horse, to horse, my royal liege,Your faes stand on the strand,Full twenty thousand glittering spearsThe king of Norse commands."Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray,45Our good king rose and cry'd,A trustier beast in a' the landA Scots king nevir try'd.
VII.
Go little page, tell Hardyknute,That lives on hill sae hie,50To draw his sword, the dread of faes,And haste and follow me.The little page flew swift as dartFlung by his master's arm,"Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute,55And rid your king frae harm."
Go little page, tell Hardyknute,That lives on hill sae hie,50To draw his sword, the dread of faes,And haste and follow me.The little page flew swift as dartFlung by his master's arm,"Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute,55And rid your king frae harm."
VIII.
Then red red grew his dark-brown cheeks,Sae did his dark-brown brow;His looks grew keen, as they were wontIn dangers great to do;60He's ta'en a horn as green as grass,And gi'en five sounds sae shill,[475]That trees in green wood shook thereat,Sae loud rang ilka hill.
Then red red grew his dark-brown cheeks,Sae did his dark-brown brow;His looks grew keen, as they were wontIn dangers great to do;60He's ta'en a horn as green as grass,And gi'en five sounds sae shill,[475]That trees in green wood shook thereat,Sae loud rang ilka hill.
IX.
His sons in manly sport and glee,65Had past that summer's morn,When low down in a grassy dale,They heard their father's horn.That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace,We've other sport to bide.70And soon they hy'd them up the hill,And soon were at his side.
His sons in manly sport and glee,65Had past that summer's morn,When low down in a grassy dale,They heard their father's horn.That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace,We've other sport to bide.70And soon they hy'd them up the hill,And soon were at his side.
X.
"Late late the yestreen[476]I ween'd in peaceTo end my lengthened life,My age might well excuse my arm75Frae manly feats of strife;But now that Norse do's proudly boastFair Scotland to inthrall,It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute,He fear'd to fight or fall.80
"Late late the yestreen[476]I ween'd in peaceTo end my lengthened life,My age might well excuse my arm75Frae manly feats of strife;But now that Norse do's proudly boastFair Scotland to inthrall,It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute,He fear'd to fight or fall.80
XI.
"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bowThy arrows shoot sae leel,[477]That mony a comely countenanceThey've turnd to deadly pale.Brade[478]Thomas take you but your lance,85You need nae weapons mair,If you fight wi't as you did anes'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir.
"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bowThy arrows shoot sae leel,[477]That mony a comely countenanceThey've turnd to deadly pale.Brade[478]Thomas take you but your lance,85You need nae weapons mair,If you fight wi't as you did anes'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir.
XII.
"And Malcolm, light of foot as stagThat runs in forest wild,90Get me my thousands three of menWell bred to sword and shield:Bring me my horse and harnisine,[479]My blade of mettal clear.If faes but ken'd the hand it bare,95They soon had fled for fear.
"And Malcolm, light of foot as stagThat runs in forest wild,90Get me my thousands three of menWell bred to sword and shield:Bring me my horse and harnisine,[479]My blade of mettal clear.If faes but ken'd the hand it bare,95They soon had fled for fear.
XIII.
"Farewell my dame sae peerless good,(And took her by the hand),Fairer to me in age you seem,Than maids for beauty fam'd.100My youngest son shall here remainTo guard these stately towers,And shut the silver bolt that keepsSae fast your painted bowers."
"Farewell my dame sae peerless good,(And took her by the hand),Fairer to me in age you seem,Than maids for beauty fam'd.100My youngest son shall here remainTo guard these stately towers,And shut the silver bolt that keepsSae fast your painted bowers."
XIV.
And first she wet her comely cheiks,105And then her boddice green,Her silken cords of twirtle twist,[480]Well plett with silver sheen;And apron set with mony a diceOf needle-wark sae rare,110Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess,Save that of Fairly fair.
And first she wet her comely cheiks,105And then her boddice green,Her silken cords of twirtle twist,[480]Well plett with silver sheen;And apron set with mony a diceOf needle-wark sae rare,110Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess,Save that of Fairly fair.
XV.
And he has ridden o'er muir and moss,O'er hills and mony a glen,When he came to a wounded knight115Making a heavy mane;"Here maun I lye, here maun I dye,By treacherie's false guiles;Witless I was that e'er ga faithTo wicked woman's smiles."120
And he has ridden o'er muir and moss,O'er hills and mony a glen,When he came to a wounded knight115Making a heavy mane;"Here maun I lye, here maun I dye,By treacherie's false guiles;Witless I was that e'er ga faithTo wicked woman's smiles."120
XVI.
"Sir knight, gin you were in my bower,To lean on silken seat,My lady's kindly care you'd prove,Who ne'er knew deadly hate:Herself wou'd watch you a' the day,125Her maids a dead of night;And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear,As she stands in your sight.
"Sir knight, gin you were in my bower,To lean on silken seat,My lady's kindly care you'd prove,Who ne'er knew deadly hate:Herself wou'd watch you a' the day,125Her maids a dead of night;And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear,As she stands in your sight.
XVII.
"Arise young knight, and mount your stead,Full lowns the shynand day:[481]130Choose frae my menzie[482]whom ye pleaseTo lead you on the way."With smileless look, and visage wanThe wounded knight reply'd,"Kind chieftain, your intent pursue,135For here I maun abyde.
"Arise young knight, and mount your stead,Full lowns the shynand day:[481]130Choose frae my menzie[482]whom ye pleaseTo lead you on the way."With smileless look, and visage wanThe wounded knight reply'd,"Kind chieftain, your intent pursue,135For here I maun abyde.
XVIII.
To me nae after day nor nightCan e're be sweet or fair,But soon beneath some draping tree,Cauld death shall end my care."140With him nae pleading might prevail;Brave Hardyknute to gainWith fairest words, and reason strong,Strave courteously in vain.
To me nae after day nor nightCan e're be sweet or fair,But soon beneath some draping tree,Cauld death shall end my care."140With him nae pleading might prevail;Brave Hardyknute to gainWith fairest words, and reason strong,Strave courteously in vain.
XIX.
Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er[483]145Lord Chattan's land sae wide;That lord a worthy wight was ay,When faes his courage sey'd:[484]Of Pictish race by mother's side,When Picts rul'd Caledon,150Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid,When he sav'd Pictish crown.
Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er[483]145Lord Chattan's land sae wide;That lord a worthy wight was ay,When faes his courage sey'd:[484]Of Pictish race by mother's side,When Picts rul'd Caledon,150Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid,When he sav'd Pictish crown.
XX.
Now with his fierce and stalwart train,He reach'd a rising hight,Quhair braid encampit on the dale,155Norss menzie[485]lay in sicht."Yonder my valiant sons and feirs[486]Our raging revers[487]waitOn the unconquert Scottish swardTo try with us their fate.160
Now with his fierce and stalwart train,He reach'd a rising hight,Quhair braid encampit on the dale,155Norss menzie[485]lay in sicht."Yonder my valiant sons and feirs[486]Our raging revers[487]waitOn the unconquert Scottish swardTo try with us their fate.160
XXI.
"Make orisons to him that sav'dOur sauls upon the rude;[488]Syne[489]bravely shaw your veins are fill'dWith Caledonian blude."Then furth he drew his trusty glave,[490]165While thousands all aroundDrawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun;And loud the bougles sound.
"Make orisons to him that sav'dOur sauls upon the rude;[488]Syne[489]bravely shaw your veins are fill'dWith Caledonian blude."Then furth he drew his trusty glave,[490]165While thousands all aroundDrawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun;And loud the bougles sound.
XXII.
To joyn his king adoun the hillIn hast his merch he made,170While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit[491]Afore him stately strade."Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir,[492]Thy nations shield and pride;Thy king nae reason has to fear175When thou art by his side."
To joyn his king adoun the hillIn hast his merch he made,170While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit[491]Afore him stately strade."Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir,[492]Thy nations shield and pride;Thy king nae reason has to fear175When thou art by his side."
XXIII.
When bows were bent and darts were thrawn;For thrang scarce cou'd they flee;The darts clove arrows as they met,The arrows dart[493]the tree.180Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce,With little skaith to mon,But bloody bloody was the field,Ere that lang day was done.
When bows were bent and darts were thrawn;For thrang scarce cou'd they flee;The darts clove arrows as they met,The arrows dart[493]the tree.180Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce,With little skaith to mon,But bloody bloody was the field,Ere that lang day was done.
XXIV.
The king of Scots, that sindle[494]brook'd185The war that look'd like play,Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow,Sin bows seem'd but delay.Quoth noble Rothsay, "Mine I'll keep,I wat it's bled a score."190Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king,As he rode on before.
The king of Scots, that sindle[494]brook'd185The war that look'd like play,Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow,Sin bows seem'd but delay.Quoth noble Rothsay, "Mine I'll keep,I wat it's bled a score."190Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king,As he rode on before.
XXV.
The king of Norse he sought to find,With him to mense[495]the faught,But on his forehead there did light195A sharp unsonsie[496]shaft;As he his hand put up to feelThe wound, an arrow keen,O waefu' chance! there pinn'd his handIn midst between his een.200
The king of Norse he sought to find,With him to mense[495]the faught,But on his forehead there did light195A sharp unsonsie[496]shaft;As he his hand put up to feelThe wound, an arrow keen,O waefu' chance! there pinn'd his handIn midst between his een.200
XXVI.
"Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothsay's heir,Your mail-coat sha' na bideThe strength and sharpness of my dart:"Then sent it through his side.Another arrow well he mark'd,205It pierc'd his neck in twa,His hands then quat[497]the silver reins,He low as earth did fa'.
"Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothsay's heir,Your mail-coat sha' na bideThe strength and sharpness of my dart:"Then sent it through his side.Another arrow well he mark'd,205It pierc'd his neck in twa,His hands then quat[497]the silver reins,He low as earth did fa'.
XXVII.
"Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleeds!"Again wi' might he drew210And gesture dread his sturdy bow,Fast the braid arrow flew:Wae to the knight he ettled at;[498]Lament now queen Elgreed;High dames too wail your darling's fall,215His youth and comely meed.
"Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleeds!"Again wi' might he drew210And gesture dread his sturdy bow,Fast the braid arrow flew:Wae to the knight he ettled at;[498]Lament now queen Elgreed;High dames too wail your darling's fall,215His youth and comely meed.
XXVIII.
"Take aff, take aff his costly jupe[499](Of gold well was it twin'd,Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk,His steelly harness shin'd)220Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bidHim venge the blood it bears;Say, if he face my bended bow,He sure nae weapon fears."
"Take aff, take aff his costly jupe[499](Of gold well was it twin'd,Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk,His steelly harness shin'd)220Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bidHim venge the blood it bears;Say, if he face my bended bow,He sure nae weapon fears."
XXIX.
Proud Norse with giant body tall,225Braid shoulders and arms strong,Cry'd, "Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd,And fear'd at Britain's throne:Tho' Britons tremble at his name,I soon shall make him wail,230That e'er my sword was made sae sharp,Sae saft his coat of mail."
Proud Norse with giant body tall,225Braid shoulders and arms strong,Cry'd, "Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd,And fear'd at Britain's throne:Tho' Britons tremble at his name,I soon shall make him wail,230That e'er my sword was made sae sharp,Sae saft his coat of mail."
XXX.
That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide,It lent him youthfu' micht:"I'm Hardyknute; this day, he cry'd,235To Scotland's king I heght[500]To lay thee low, as horses hoof;My word I mean to keep."Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake,He garr'd[501]his body bleed.240
That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide,It lent him youthfu' micht:"I'm Hardyknute; this day, he cry'd,235To Scotland's king I heght[500]To lay thee low, as horses hoof;My word I mean to keep."Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake,He garr'd[501]his body bleed.240
XXXI.
Norss' een like gray gosehawk's stair'd wyld,He sigh'd wi' shame and spite;"Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd armThat left thee power to strike:"Then ga' his head a blow sae fell,245It made him doun to stoup,As laigh as he to ladies us'dIn courtly guise to lout.[502]
Norss' een like gray gosehawk's stair'd wyld,He sigh'd wi' shame and spite;"Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd armThat left thee power to strike:"Then ga' his head a blow sae fell,245It made him doun to stoup,As laigh as he to ladies us'dIn courtly guise to lout.[502]
XXXII.
Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body,His bow he marvell'd sair,250Sin blows till then on him but darr'd[503]As touch of Fairly fair:Norse marvell'd too as sair as heTo see his stately look;Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae,255Sae soon his life he took.
Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body,His bow he marvell'd sair,250Sin blows till then on him but darr'd[503]As touch of Fairly fair:Norse marvell'd too as sair as heTo see his stately look;Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae,255Sae soon his life he took.
XXXIII.
Where like a fire to heather set,Bauld Thomas did advance,Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'dUp toward him did prance;260He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranksThe hardy youth to quell,Wha stood unmov'd at his approachHis fury to repell.
Where like a fire to heather set,Bauld Thomas did advance,Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'dUp toward him did prance;260He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranksThe hardy youth to quell,Wha stood unmov'd at his approachHis fury to repell.
XXXIV.
"That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd,265Looks like poor Scotlands gear,But dreadfull seems the rusty point!"And loud he leugh in jear.[504]"Oft Britons b[l]ood has dimm'd its shine;This point cut short their vaunt:"270Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek;Nae time he took to taunt.
"That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd,265Looks like poor Scotlands gear,But dreadfull seems the rusty point!"And loud he leugh in jear.[504]"Oft Britons b[l]ood has dimm'd its shine;This point cut short their vaunt:"270Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek;Nae time he took to taunt.
XXXV.
Short while he in his saddle swang,His stirrup was nae stay,Sae feeble hang his unbent knee275Sure taiken he was fey:[505]Swith[506]on the harden't clay he fell,Right far was heard the thud:But Thomas look't nae as he layAll waltering in his blud.
Short while he in his saddle swang,His stirrup was nae stay,Sae feeble hang his unbent knee275Sure taiken he was fey:[505]Swith[506]on the harden't clay he fell,Right far was heard the thud:But Thomas look't nae as he layAll waltering in his blud.
XXXVI.
With careless gesture, mind unmov't,On rode he north the plain;His seem in throng of fiercest strife,When winner ay the same:Not yet his heart dames dimplet cheek285Could mease[507]soft love to bruik,Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn,Then languid grew his luik.
With careless gesture, mind unmov't,On rode he north the plain;His seem in throng of fiercest strife,When winner ay the same:Not yet his heart dames dimplet cheek285Could mease[507]soft love to bruik,Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn,Then languid grew his luik.
XXXVII.
In thraws of death, with walowit[508]cheikAll panting on the plain,290The fainting corps of warriours lay,Ne're to arise again;Ne're to return to native land,Nae mair with blithsome soundsTo boast the glories of the day,295And shaw their shining wounds.
In thraws of death, with walowit[508]cheikAll panting on the plain,290The fainting corps of warriours lay,Ne're to arise again;Ne're to return to native land,Nae mair with blithsome soundsTo boast the glories of the day,295And shaw their shining wounds.
XXXVIII.
On Norways coast the widowit dameMay wash the rocks with tears,May lang luik ow'r the shipless seasBefor her mate appears.300Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain;Thy lord lyes in the clay;The valiant Scots nae revers thole[509]To carry life away.
On Norways coast the widowit dameMay wash the rocks with tears,May lang luik ow'r the shipless seasBefor her mate appears.300Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain;Thy lord lyes in the clay;The valiant Scots nae revers thole[509]To carry life away.
XXXIX.
Here on a lee, where stands a cross305Set up for monument,Thousands fu' fierce that summer's dayFill'd keen war's black intent.Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute,Let Norse the name ay dread,310Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd,Shall latest ages read.
Here on a lee, where stands a cross305Set up for monument,Thousands fu' fierce that summer's dayFill'd keen war's black intent.Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute,Let Norse the name ay dread,310Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd,Shall latest ages read.
XL.
Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind,Sair beat the heavy shower,Mirk[510]grew the night ere Hardyknute315Wan[511]near his stately tower.His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blazeTo shine sae far at night,Seem'd now as black as mourning weed,Nae marvel sair he sigh'd.320
Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind,Sair beat the heavy shower,Mirk[510]grew the night ere Hardyknute315Wan[511]near his stately tower.His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blazeTo shine sae far at night,Seem'd now as black as mourning weed,Nae marvel sair he sigh'd.320
XLI.
"There's nae light in my lady's bower,There's nae light in my ha';Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,Nor ward[512]stands on my wa'.""What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say;"—325Nae answer fitts their dread."Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide;"But by they past with speed.
"There's nae light in my lady's bower,There's nae light in my ha';Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,Nor ward[512]stands on my wa'.""What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say;"—325Nae answer fitts their dread."Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide;"But by they past with speed.
XLII.
"As fast I've sped owre Scotlands faes,"—There ceas'd his brag of weir,330Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame,And maiden Fairly fair.Black fear he felt, but what to fearHe wist nae yet; wi' dreadSair shook his body, sair his limbs,335And a' the warrior fled.* * * * *
"As fast I've sped owre Scotlands faes,"—There ceas'd his brag of weir,330Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame,And maiden Fairly fair.Black fear he felt, but what to fearHe wist nae yet; wi' dreadSair shook his body, sair his limbs,335And a' the warrior fled.* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:[468][wall or rampart of the castle.][469][halls.][470][match or equal.][471][Margaret was the name of the queen of Alexander III. Her mother was Eleanor, Queen of England.][472][without.][473][slender.][474][shone like gold.][475][so shrill.][476][yester even.][477][true.][478][broad.][479][armour.][480][twirled twist.][481][full calm the shining day becomes.][482][retinue.][483][gone far over the country.][484][tried.][485][the horse army.][486][companions.][487][spoilers or robbers.][488][cross.][489][then.][490][sword.][491][proper.][492][pillar of war.][493][hit.][494][seldom.][495][to measure or try the battle.][496][unlucky.][497][quitted.][498][aimed at.][499][upper garment.][500][promised.][501][made.][502][bend low.][503][hit.][504][in derision.][505][sure token he was doomed to death.][506][at once.][507][mollify.][508][faded.][509][suffer.][510][dark.][511][drew near.][512][warden.]
[468][wall or rampart of the castle.]
[468][wall or rampart of the castle.]
[469][halls.]
[469][halls.]
[470][match or equal.]
[470][match or equal.]
[471][Margaret was the name of the queen of Alexander III. Her mother was Eleanor, Queen of England.]
[471][Margaret was the name of the queen of Alexander III. Her mother was Eleanor, Queen of England.]
[472][without.]
[472][without.]
[473][slender.]
[473][slender.]
[474][shone like gold.]
[474][shone like gold.]
[475][so shrill.]
[475][so shrill.]
[476][yester even.]
[476][yester even.]
[477][true.]
[477][true.]
[478][broad.]
[478][broad.]
[479][armour.]
[479][armour.]
[480][twirled twist.]
[480][twirled twist.]
[481][full calm the shining day becomes.]
[481][full calm the shining day becomes.]
[482][retinue.]
[482][retinue.]
[483][gone far over the country.]
[483][gone far over the country.]
[484][tried.]
[484][tried.]
[485][the horse army.]
[485][the horse army.]
[486][companions.]
[486][companions.]
[487][spoilers or robbers.]
[487][spoilers or robbers.]
[488][cross.]
[488][cross.]
[489][then.]
[489][then.]
[490][sword.]
[490][sword.]
[491][proper.]
[491][proper.]
[492][pillar of war.]
[492][pillar of war.]
[493][hit.]
[493][hit.]
[494][seldom.]
[494][seldom.]
[495][to measure or try the battle.]
[495][to measure or try the battle.]
[496][unlucky.]
[496][unlucky.]
[497][quitted.]
[497][quitted.]
[498][aimed at.]
[498][aimed at.]
[499][upper garment.]
[499][upper garment.]
[500][promised.]
[500][promised.]
[501][made.]
[501][made.]
[502][bend low.]
[502][bend low.]
[503][hit.]
[503][hit.]
[504][in derision.]
[504][in derision.]
[505][sure token he was doomed to death.]
[505][sure token he was doomed to death.]
[506][at once.]
[506][at once.]
[507][mollify.]
[507][mollify.]
[508][faded.]
[508][faded.]
[509][suffer.]
[509][suffer.]
[510][dark.]
[510][dark.]
[511][drew near.]
[511][drew near.]
[512][warden.]
[512][warden.]
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.