THE British Minstrel. HARDYKNUTE. PART I. STATELY Stept he east the ha, II. Hie on a hill his castle stude, Full thirtein sons to him she bare, 9 Four yit remaind; lang mote they live Hie was their fame, hie was their micht, Greit luve they bare to Fairly fair, The king of Norse, in summer tide, "To horse, to horse, my royal liege! A trustier beist in all the land, " A Scots king nevir seyd. Gae, little page, tell Hardyknute, "Wha lives on hill sae hie, "To draw his sword, the dreid of faes, "And haste and follow me." The little page flew swift as dart, Flung by his master's arm; 'Cum down, cum down, lord Hardyknute, 'And red your king frae harm. Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown cheiks Sae did his dark-brown brow; His luiks grew kene, as they were wont In danger grit to do. He has tane a horn as green as grass, His sons in manly sport and glie That horn,' quoth they, ́neir sounds in peace, 'We have other sport to bide;' And sune they hied them up the hill, And sune were at his side. *Late, late yestrene, I weind in peace "It's neir be said of Hardyknute, "He feird to ficht or fall. "Robin of Rothsay bend thy bow, "Thy arrows shute sae leil, "That mony a comely countenance They've turn'd to deidly pale. "Braive Thomas taike ye but your lance, "Ye neid nae weapons mair; "Gif ye fecht wi't, as ye did anes, "Gainst Westmoreland's ferce heir. "And Malcolm, licht of fute as stag "That runs in forest wilde, "Get me my thousands thrie of men "Weil bred to sword and shield: Bring me my horse and harnisine, If faes but kend the hand it bare, "Farewell my dame sae peirless gude," And first she wet her comely cheiks, Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, And he has ridden owre muir and moss, When he cam to a wounded knicht, 'Here maun I lye, here maun I dye • Witless I was that eir gave faith 'To wicked woman's smyles.' "Sir knicht, gin ye were in my bouir, "To lean on silken seat, 66 My ladies kindlie care you'd pruve "Wha neir kend deidly hate; "Hirsell wald watch ye all the day, "Hir maids at deid of night; "And Fairly fair your heart would cheir, "As she stands in your sicht. "Arise young knicht, and mount your steid, "Bricht lows the shynand day; "Chuse frae my menzie wham ye pleise, Wi smyless luik, and visage wan "For heir I maun abide. pursue, 'To me nae after day nor nicht "I will return wi speid to bide, "Your plaint and mend your wae: "But private grudge maun neir be quelled, "Before our countries fae. "Mordac, thy eild may best be spaird "The fields of stryfe fraemang; Convey Sir knicht to my abode, Syne he has gane far hynd, out ower Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid Now with his ferce and stalwart train He recht a rising hicht, Whare brad encampit on the dale, |