XXXII.

Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body,

His bow he marvell'd sair,

Sin blows till then on him but darr'd

As touch of Fairly fair:

Norse marvell'd too as sair as he

To see his stately look;

250

Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae,

255

Sae soon his life he took.

XXXIII.

Where like a fire to heather set,
Bauld Thomas did advance,
Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'd

Up toward him did prance;

He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks

The hardy youth to quell,

Wha stood unmov'd at his approach

6

His fury to repell.

XXXIV.

260

That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd, 265

Looks like poor Scotlands

gear,

But dreadfull seems the rusty point!'

And loud he leugh in jear.

Oft Britons blood has dimm'd its shine;

This point cut short their vaunt:'

Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek;
Nae time he took to taunt.

270

XXXV.

Short while he in his saddle

swang,

His stirrup was nae stay,

Sae feeble hang his unbent knee
Sure taiken he was fey:
Swith on the harden't clay he fell,
Right far was heard the thud:
But Thomas look't nae as he lay
All waltering in his blud:

XXXVI.

With careless gesture, mind unmov't,
On rode he north the plain;

His seem in throng of fiercest strife,

When winner ay the same:

275

280

Nor yet his heart dames dimplet cheek
Could mease soft love to bruik,

285

Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn,

Then languid grew his luik.

XXXVII.

In thraws of death, with walowit cheik

All panting on the plain,

The fainting corps of warriours lay,
Ne're to arise again;

Ne're to return to native land,

Nae mair with blithsome sounds

To boast the glories of the day,
And shaw their shining wounds.

XXXVIII.

On Norways coast the widowit dame
May wash the rocks with tears,
May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas

Befor her mate appears.
Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain;
Thy lord lyes in the clay;

290

295

300

The valiant Scots nae revers thole

To carry life away.

XXXIX.

Here on a lee, where stands a cross

Set up for monument,

Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day
Fill'd keen war's black intent.

Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute,
Let Norse the name ay dread,

Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd,

Shall latest ages read.

XL.

Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind,

Sair beat the heavy shower,

Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute

Wan near his stately tower.

His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze

To shine sae far at night,

Seem'd now as black as mourning weed,
Nae marvel sair he sigh'd.

XLI.

"There's nae light in my lady's bower,
There's nae light in my ha';

Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,
Nor ward stands on my wa',

'What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say;'-
Nae answer fitts their dread.

Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide;'
But by they past with speed.

305

310

315

320

325

XLII.

'As fast I've sped owre Scotland's faes,'-
There ceas'd his brag of weir,

Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame,
And maiden Fairly fair.

Black fear he felt, but what to fear

He wist nae yet; wi' dread

Sair shook his body, sair his limbs,

And a' the warrior fled.

* * * * *

**

*

330

335

*** In an elegant publication, intitled, 'Scottish Tragic Ballads, printed by and for J. Nichols, 1781, 8vo.' may be seen a continuation of the Ballad of 'Hardyknute,' by the addition of a Second Part, which hath since been acknowledged to be his own composition, by the ingenious Editor.-To whom the late Sir D. Dalrymple communicated (subsequent to the account drawn up above in p. 78.) extracts of a letter from Sir John Bruce, of Kinross, to Lord Binning, which plainly proves the pretended discoverer of the fragment of 'Hardyknute' to have been Sir John Bruce himself. His words are, 'To perform my promise, I send you a true copy of the manuscript I found some weeks ago in a vault at Dumferline. It is written on vellum in a fair Gothic character, but so much defaced by time, as you'll find that the tenth part is not legible.' He then gives the whole fragment as it was first published in 1719, save one or two stanzas, marking several passages as having perished by being illegible in the old MS. Hence it appears, that Sir John was the author of Hardyknute,' but afterwards used Mrs. Wardlaw to be the midwife of his poetry, and suppressed the story of the vault; as is well observed by the Editor of the ‘Tragic Ballads,' &c. of ‘Maitland's Scot. Poets,' vol. I. p. cxxvii.

To this gentleman we are indebted for the use of the copy, whence the second edition was afterwards printed, as the same was prepared for the press by John Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh, an intimate companion of Lord President Forbes.

The title of the first edition was, 'Hardyknute, a Fragment. Edinburgh, printed for James Watson, &c. 1719,' folio, 12 pages.

Stanzas not in the first edition are, Nos. 17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42.

In the present impression the orthography of Dr. Clerk's copy has been preserved, and his readings carefully followed, except in a few instances, wherein the common edition appeared preferable: viz. He had in ver. 20. but.—v. 50. of harm.-v. 64. every.-v. 67. lo down.-v. 83. That omitted.-v. 89. And omitted.- -v. 143. With argument but vainly strave Lang.-v. 148. say'd.—v. 155. incampit on the plain.-v. 156. Norse squadrons.-v. 158. regand revers. -v. 170. his strides he bent.— .-v. 171. minstrals playand Pibrochs fine.-v. 172. stately went.-v. 182. mon.-v. 196. sharp and fatal.-v. 219. which.

v. 241. stood wyld.-Stanza 39 preceded stanza 38.-v. 305. There.-v. 313. blew westling.—v. 336. had originally been, He fear'd a' cou'd be fear'd.

The Editor was also informed, on the authority of Dr. David Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh (son of the aforesaid Dr. John Clerk), that between the present stanzas 36 and 37, the two following had been intended, but were on maturer consideration omitted, and do not now appear among the MS. additions: Now darts flew wavering through slaw speed, Scarce could they reach their aim;

Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew,
'Twas all but shot in vain:

Right strengthy arms forfeebled grew,

Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils:

E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace,

And curs'd war's cruel broils.

Yet still wars horns sounded to charge,
Swords clash'd and harness rang;

But saftly sae ilk blaster blew

The hills and dales fraemang.

Nae echo heard in double dints,

Nor the lang-winding horn,
Nae mair she blew out brade as she
Did eir that summers morn.

THE END OF BOOK THE FIRST.