When he came to a wounded knight 'Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, By treacherie's false guiles; Witless I was that e'er ga faith To wicked woman's smiles.' 115 120 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, Her maids a dead of night; And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear, XVII. Arise young knight, and mount your stead, Full lowns the shynand day: Choose frae my menzie whom ye please With smileless look, and visage wan 125 130 The wounded knight reply'd, 'Kind chieftain, your intent pursue, 135 For here I maun abyde. XVIII. To me nae after day nor night Can e'er be sweet or fair, But soon beneath some draping tree, 140 With fairest words, and reason strong, XIX. Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er Lord Chattan's land sae wide; That lord a worthy wight was ay, When faes his courage sey'd: Of Pictish race by mother's side, When Picts rul'd Caledon, 145 150 Lord 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, Norss menzie lay in sicht. 'Yonder, my valiant sons and feirs, Our raging revers wait On the unconquert Scottish sward XXI. Make orisons to him that sav'd Our sauls upon the rude; Syne bravely shaw your veins are fill'd With Caledonian blude.' Then furth he drew his trusty glave, While thousands all around Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun; And loud the bougles sound. 155 160 165 XXII. To joyn his king adoun the hill In hast his merch he made, 170 While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit Afore him stately strade. "Thrice welcome, valiant stoup of weir, Thy nations shield and pride; Thy king nae reason has to fear When thou art by his side.' 175 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 the tree. Lang 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 brook'd The 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.' 'Haste up my merry men,' cry'd the king, As he rode on before. 180 185 190 XXV. The king of Norse he sought to find, With him to mense the faught, But on his forehead there did light A sharp unsonsie shaft; As he his hand put up to feel The wound, an arrow keen, O waefu' chance! there pinn'd his hand XXVI. 'Revenge, revenge,' cry'd Rothsay's heir, The strength and sharpness of my dart:' It pierc'd his neck in twa, His hands then quat the silver reins, He low as earth did fa'. XXVII. 'Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleeds!' Again wi' might he drew 195 200 205 210 And gesture dread his sturdy bow, Fast the braid arrow flew: Wae to the knight he ettled at; High dames, too, wail your darling's fall, 215 Lament now, queen Elgreed; His youth and comely meed. XXVIII. 'Take aff, take aff his costly jupe (Of gold well was it twin'd, Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk, His steelly harness shin'd) Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid Him venge the blood it bears; 220 Say, if he face my bended bow, XXIX. Proud Norse with giant body tall, Braid shoulders and arms strong, Cry'd, 'Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd, Tho' Britons tremble at his name, I soon shall make him wail, That 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: 225 230 'I'm Hardyknute; this day,' he cry'd, "To Scotland's king I heght 235 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 his body bleed. XXXI. Norss' een like gray gosehawk's stair'd wyld, That left thee power to strike:' 240 245 |