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* RETURN, return, ye men of bluid,
“ And bring me back my chylde !" A dolefu voice fráe mid the ha
Reculd, wi' echoes wylde.
Had Hardyknute at a';
And thrise he let it fa.
“O haly God, for his deir sake,
" Wha savd us on the rudeHe tint his praier, and drew his glaive,
Yet reid wi' Norland bluid. • Brayd on, brayd on, my stalwart sons, “ Grit cause we hae to feir;
• Return, return, ye men of bluid,
* And bring me back my chylde! The dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd, wi echoes wylde.
The rattling thunder rang,
Their harnisine alang.
What feir possest their boding breests
Whan, by the gloomy glour,
They saw was filled out owre !
“ The Norse had wan the day,
“ Thilk bluidy feats to stay.”
Wi' speid they past, and syne they recht
The base-courts sounding bound,
Lukd wistfully around.
Wi' sudden twinkle shane,
The gude Sir Mordac layn.
Was the trew-heartit knicht;
Muv'd wi’ the heavy sicht.
“ His sawman in the ha, “ What hatefu chance could hae the pouir
“ To lay thy cild sae law !"
Returnd a piteous mane,
Claucht streitly in his ain:
• Frae Mordac ye maun say, • Lord Draffan's treasoun to confute
• He usd his steddiest fay.' He micht nae mair, for cruel dethe
Forbad him to proceid; “ I vow to God, I winna sleip
« Till I see Draffan bleid. “ My sons your sister was owre fair :
“ But bruik he sall na lang “ His gude betide; my last forbode
“ He'll trow belyve nae sang. “ Bown ye my eydent friends to kyth
“ To me your luve sae deir ; “ The Norse' defeat mote weill persuade
“Nae riever ye neid feir."
The speirmen wi' a michty shout
Cryd • Save our master deir ! • While he dow beir the sway bot care
• Nae riever we sall feir.' ' Return, return, ye men of bluid
And bring me back my chylde!' The dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd wi' echoes wylde.
And to the ha they ran,
Wi' iron boltis thrie they fand.
Wi' waddin iron boltis thrie, Richt sune his might can eithly gar
Frae aff its hinges flie. * Whar ha ye
dochter deir ? « Mair wold I see her deid " Than see her in your bridal bed
* For a your portly meid. “ What thouch my gude and valiant lord
" Lye strecht on the cauld clay? “ My sons the dethe may ablins spair
« To wreak their sisters wae. Sae did she crune wi' heavy cheir,
Hyt luiks, and bleirit eyne;
And snawy baird bedeene.
leil lord you see; . May hiest harm betide his life
• Wha brocht sic harm to thee! Gin anes ye may beleive my word,
• Nor am I usd to lie, • By day-prime he or Hardyknute
The bluidy dethe shall die.'
The ha, whare late the linkis bricht
Sae gladsum shind at een,
Our knichts and ladys shene,
Nocht mote they wein to see
Let fa a blinkand glie.
Nae mair she doucht to say, But swounit on his harnest neck
Wi' joy and tender fay.
Revived his selcouth feirs;
And saw his fa'ing tears.
“ Grit cause ye ha I dreid; “ Hae a' our sons their lives redemd
“ Frae furth the dowie feid?” • Saif are our valiant sons, ye see,
• But lack their sister deir; When she's awa, bot any doubt,
• We hae grit cause to feir.' “ Of a' our wrangs, and her depart,
“ Whan ye the suith sall heir, * Nae marvel that ye hae mair cause,
“ Than ye yit weit, to feir. “ O wharefore heir yon feignand knicht “ Wi' Mordac did
send ? “ Ye suner wald hae perced his heart
ye his ettling kend." What
may ye mein my peirles dame ? • That knicht did muve my ruthe • We balefu mane; I did na doubt
• His curtesie and truthe.
· He maun hae tint wi' sma renown
· His life in this fell rief; • Richt sair it grieves me that he heir
• Met sic an ill relief.' Quoth she, wi' teirs that down her cheiks
Ran like a silver shouir, « May ill befa the tide that brocht
* That fause knicht to our touir: - Ken’d ye na Draffan's lordly port,
" Thouch cled in knichtly graith “ Tho hidden was his hautie luik
“ The visor black benethe? • Now, as I am a knicht of weir,
• I thocht his seeming trew; • But, that he sae deceived my ruthe,
* Full sairly he sall rue.' « Sir Mordac to the sounding ha
“ Came wi' his cative fere;" My sire has sent this wounded knicht To
pruve your kyndlic care. • Your sell maun watch him a' the day,
• Your maids at deid of night; • And Fairly fair his heart maun cheir
• As she stands in his sicht.' “ Nae suner was Sir Mordac gane,
“ Than up the featour sprang," The luve alse o' your dochtir deir
• I feil na ither pang. • Tho Hardyknute lord Draffan's suit
• Refus’d wi' mickle pryde; * By his gude dame and Fairly fair
• Let him not be deny’d.' “ Nocht muvit wi' the cative's speech,
“ Nor wi' his stern command; “ I treasoun ! cry'd, and Kenneth’s blade “ Was glisterand in his hand.