"My son, lord Draffan heir you see,
"Wha means your sister's fay
"To win by guile, when Hardyknute
"Strives in the irie fray."

Turn thee! thou riever Baron, turn!' "Bauld Kenneth cryd aloud;

"But, sune as Draffan spent his glaive, My son lay in his bluid.”

66

'I did nocht grein that bluming face That dethe sae sune sold pale; 'Far less that my trew luve, throuch me, 'Her brither's dethe sold wail.

'But syne ye sey our force to prive, Our force we sall you shaw!'

Syne the shrill-sounding horn bedeen "He tuik frae down the wa.

"Ere the portculie could be flung,
"His kyth the base-court fand;
"When scantly o their count a teind
"Their entrie micht gainstand.
"Richt sune the raging rievers stude
"At their fause master's syde,
"Wha, by the haly maiden, sware
"Nae harm sold us betide.

"What syne befell

ye

well may guess,

"Reft o our eilds delicht."

'We sall na lang be reft, by morne 'Sall Fairly glad your sicht. 'Let us be gane, my sons, or now Our menzie chide our stay; 'Fareweil my dame; your dochter's luve Will sune cheir your effray.'

Then pale pale grew heir teirfu cheik; "Let ane o my sons thrie

"Alane gyde this emprize, your eild

66

May ill sic travel drie.

"O whare were I, were my deir lord,
"And a' my sons, to bleid!
"Better to bruik the wrang than sae
"To wreak the hie misdede."

The gallant Rothsay rose bedeen
His richt of age to pleid;

And Thomas shawd his strenthy speir;
And Malcolm mein'd his speid.
My sons your stryfe I gladly see,
But it sall neir be sayne,
That Hardyknute sat in his ha,
'And heird his son was slayne.

My lady deir, ye neid na feir;

The richt is on our syde:'
Syne rising with richt frawart haste
Nae parly wald he byde.
The lady sat in heavy mude,
Their tunefu march to heir,
While, far ayont her ken, the sound
Na mair mote roun her eir.

O hae ye sein sum glitterand touir,
Wi' mirrie archers crownd,
Wha vaunt to see their trembling fae
Keipt frae their countrie's bound?
Sic ausum strenth shawd Hardyknute;
Sic seimd his stately meid;
Sic pryde he to his menzie bald,
Sic feir his faes he gied.

Wi' glie they past our mountains rude,
Owre muirs and mosses weit;

Sune as they saw the rising sun,

On Draffan's touirs it gleit.

O Fairly bricht I marvel sair

That featour eer ye lued,

Whase treasoun wrocht your father's bale, And shed your brither's blude!

The ward ran to his youthfu lord,
Wha sleipd his bouir intill :
'Nae time for sleuth, your raging faes
'Fare doun the westlin hill.
And, by the libbard's gowden low
In his blue banner braid,
'That Hardyknute his dochtir seiks,
'And Draffans dethe, I rede.'

"Say to my bands of matchless micht,
"Wha camp low in the dale,
"To busk their arrows for the fecht,
" And streitly gird their mail.
"Syne meit me here, and wein to find
"Nae just or turney play;

"Whan Hardyknute braids to the field, "War bruiks na lang delay."

His halbrik bricht he brac'd bedeen;
Frae ilka skaith and harm

Securit by a warloc auld,
Wi' mony a fairy charm.
A seimly knicht cam to the ha:
'Lord Draffan I thee braive,
'Frae Hardyknute my worthy lord,
To fecht wi speir or glaive.'

"Your hautie lord me braives in vain
"Alane his micht to prive,

"For wha, in single feat of weir,

"Wi' Hardyknute may strive?

"But sith he meins our strength to sey,

"On case he sune will find,

"That thouch his bands leave mine in ire,

"In force they're far behind.

"Yet cold I wete that he wald yield

"To what bruiks nae remeid,

"I for his dochtir wald nae hain "To ae half o my steid.

Sad Hardyknute apart frae a'
Leand on his birnist speir;
And, whan he on his Fairly deimd,
He spar'd nae sich nor teir.

"What meins the felon cative vile?
"Bruiks this reif na remeid?
"I scorn his gylefu vows ein thouch
They recht to a' his steid."

Bownd was Lord Draffan for the fecht,
Whan lo! his Fairly deir

Ran frae her hie bouir to the ha
Wi' a' the speid of feir.

Ein as the rudie star of morne
Peirs throuch a cloud of dew,
Sae did she seim, as round his neck
Her snawy arms she threw.
'O why, O why, did Fairly wair
'On thee her thouchtless luve?
'Whase cruel heart can ettle aye
• Her father's dethe to pruve!'

And first he kissd her bluming cheik,
And syne her bosom deir;
Than sadly strade athwart the ha,
And drapd ae tendir teir.

" My menzie heid my words wi' care, "Gin ony weit to slay

"Lord Hardyknute, by hevin I sweir "Wi' lyfe he sall nae gae."

'My maidens bring my

bridal

I little trewd yestrene,

gowne,

'To rise frae bonny Draffan's bed,

'His bluidy dethe to sene.'

Syne up to the hie balconie

She has gane wi' a' her train,

And sune she saw her stalwart lord

Attein the bleising plain.

Owre Nethan's weily streim he fared
Wi' seeming ire and pride;
His blason, glisterand owr his helm,
Bare Allan by his syde.

Richt sune the bugils blew, and lang
And bludy was the fray;

Eir hour of nune, that elric tyde,
Had hundreds tint their day.

Like beacon bricht at deid of night,
The michty chief muv'd on;
His basnet, bleising to the sun,
Wi deidly lichtning shone.
Draffan he socht, wi' him at anes
To end the cruel stryfe;

But aye his speirmen thranging round
Forfend their leider's lyfe.

The winding Clyde wi' valiant bluid
Ran reiking mony a mile;
Few stude the faucht, yet dethe alane
Cold end their irie toil.

'Wha flie, I vow, sall frae my speir
'Receive the dethe they dreid!"
Cryd Draffan, as alang the plain
He spurd his bluid-red steid.

Up to him sune a knight cam prance,

A' graith'd in silver mail:

"Lang have I socht thee throuch the field, "This lance will tell my tale."

Rude was the fray, till Draffan's skill
Oercame his youthfu micht;
Perc'd throuch the visor to the eie
Was slayne the comely knicht.

The visor on the speir was deft,

And Draffan Malcolm spied; "Ye should your vaunted speid this day, "And not your strenth, ha sey'd.'