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XVII.

HARDYKNUTE.

A SCOTTISH FRAGMENT.

As this fine morsel of heroic poetry hath generally past for ancient, it is here thrown to the end of our earliest pieces; that such as doubt of its age, may the better compare it with other pieces of genuine antiquity. For after all, there is more than reason to suspect, that it owes most of its beauties (if not its whole existence) to the pen of a lady, within the present century. The following particulars may be depended on. Mrs. Wardlaw, whose maiden name was Halket (aunt to the late Sir Peter Halket, of Pitferran, in Scotland, who was killed in America, along with General Bradock, in 1755), pretended she had found this poem, written on shreds of paper, employed for what is called the bottoms of clues. A suspicion arose that it was her own composition. Some able judges asserted it to be modern. The lady did in a manner acknowledge it to be so. Being desired to shew an additional stanza, as a proof of this, she produced the two last beginning with 'There's nae light,' &c. which were not in the copy that was first printed. The late Lord President Forbes, and Sir Gilbert Elliot, of Minto (late Lord Justice Clerk for Scotland) who had believed it ancient, contributed to the expence of publishing the first edition in folio, 1719. This account was transmitted from Scotland by Sir David Dalrymple, the late Lord Hailes, who yet was of opinion, that part of the ballad may be ancient; but retouched and much enlarged by the lady abovementioned. Indeed he had been informed, that the late William Thompson, the Scottish musician, who published the 'Orpheus Caledonius,' 1733, 2 vols. 8vo. declared he had heard fragments of it repeated in his infancy, before Mrs. Wardlaw's copy was heard of.

The poem is here printed from the original edition, as it was prepared for the press with the additional improvements. (See below, at the end of the ballad.')

I.

STATELY stept he east the wa',

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 faith
Wrought Scotland mickle wae:
And ay his sword tauld to their cost,

He was their deadlye fae.

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1 This ballad refers to the battle of Largs, fought between the Scotch and the Norwegians, on 2d October 1263. 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.-ED.

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II.

High on a hill his castle stood,
With ha's and tow'rs a height,
And 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 had in all the land,

Save ELENOR the queen.

III.

Full thirteen sons to him she bare,
All men of valour stout;

In bloody fight with sword in hand

Nine lost their lives bot doubt:

Four yet remain, lang may they live
To 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,

Their sister saft and dear,

Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp,

And gowden glist her hair.

What waefu' wae her beauty bred!

Waefu' to young and auld,

Waefu' 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,

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Landed in fair Scotland the isle

With mony a hardy knight.
The tydings to our good Scots king
Came, as he sat at dine,
With noble chiefs in brave aray,

Drinking the blood-red wine.

VI.

To horse, to horse, my royal liege,
Your faes stand on the strand,
Full twenty thousand glittering spears

The king of Norse commands.'

'Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray,'

Our good king rose and cry'd,

A trustier beast in a' the land
A Scots king nevir try'd.

VII.

'Go, little page, tell Hardyknute,
That lives on hill sae hie,

To draw his sword, the dread of faes,
And haste and follow me.'

The little page flew swift as dart

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Flung by his master's arm,

Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute,
And 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 wont

In dangers great to do;

He's ta'en a horn as green as glass,

And gi'en five sounds sae shill,

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That trees in green wood shook thereat,
Sae loud rang ilka hill.

IX.

His sons in manly sport and glee,
Had 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.'

And soon they hy'd them up the hill,

And soon were at his side.

X.

'Late, late yestreen I ween'd in peace

To end my lengthened life,

My age might well excuse my arm

Frae manly feats of strife;

But now that Norse do's proudly boast

Fair Scotland to inthrall,

It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute,

He fear'd to fight or fall.

XI.

Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow,
Thy arrows shoot sae leel,

That mony a comely countenance

They've turnd to deadly pale.

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Brade Thomas, take you but your lance,
You need nae weapons mair,

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If

you fight wi't as you did anes

'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir.

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XII.

And Malcolm, light of foot as stag
That runs in forest wild,
Get me my thousands three of men
Well bred to sword and shield:

Bring me my horse and harnisine

My blade of mettal clear.

If faes but ken'd the hand it bare,
They 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.
My youngest son shall here remain
To guard these stately towers,
And shut the silver bolt that keeps
Sae fast your painted bowers.'

XIV.

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And first she wet her comely cheiks,

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And then her boddice green,

Her silken cords of twirtle twist,

Well plett with silver sheen;

And apron set with mony a dice

Of needle-wark sae rare,

Wove 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,

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