The Union: Or, Select Scots And English Poems Part 16

VIII.

"Ovirsilit ar with cloudis odious "The goldin skyis of the orient, "Changeing in sorrow our sing melodious, "Quhilk we had wont to sing with gude intent, "Resoundand to the hevinnis firmament, "But now our day is changed into the nicht,"

With that they rose and flew forth of my sicht.

HARDYKNUTE.

A FRAGMENT.

I.

Stately stept he east the wa, And stately stept he west, Full seventy zeirs he now had sene, With skerss sevin zeirs of rest.

He livit quhen Britons breach of faith Wroucht Scotland meikle wae.

And ay his sword told to their cost, He was their deidly fae.

II.

Hie on a hill his castle stude, With halls and touris a hicht, And guidly chambers fair to se, Quair he lodgit mony a knicht.

His Dame sa peirless anes and fair, For chast and bewtie deimt, Nae marrow had in all the land, Saif ELENOR the queen.

III.

Full thirtein sons to him scho bare, All men of valour stout; In bluidy ficht with sword in hand, Nyne lost their lives bot doubt; Four zit remain, lang may they live To stand my liege and land: Hie was their fame, hie was their micht, And hie was their command.

IV.

Great luve they bare to FAIRLY fair, Their sister saft and deir, Her girdle shawd her middle gimp; And gowden glist her hair.

Quhat waefou wae hir bewtie bred?

Waefou to zung and auld, Waefou I trow to kyth and kin, As story ever tauld.

V.

The king of Norse in summer tyde, Puft up with power and micht, Landed in fair Scotland the yle, With mony a hardy knicht: The tydings to our gude Scots king Came, as he sat at dyne, With n.o.ble chiefs in braif aray, Drinking the blude-reid wyne.

VI.

"To horse, to horse, my ryal liege, "Zour faes stand on the strand, "Full twenty thousand glittering spears "The king of Norse commands.

Bring me my steed Mage dapple grey, Our gude king raise and cryd, A trustier beast in all the land A Scots king nevir seyd.

VII.

Go little page, tell HARDYKNUTE, That lives on hill so 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, c.u.m down, c.u.m down lord HARDYKNUTE, And rid zour king frae harm.

VIII.

Then reid, reid grow his dark-brown cheiks, Sae did his dark-brown brow; His luiks grew kene, as they were wont, In dangers great to do; He hes tane a horn as grene as gla.s.s, And gien five sounds sae shrill, That treis in grene wode schuke thereat, Sae loud rang ilka hill.

IX.

His sons in manly sport and glie, Had pa.s.s'd the summer's morn, Quhen lo! down in a gra.s.sy dale, They heard their fatheris horn.

That horn, quod they, neir sounds in peace, We haif other sport to byde; And sune they heyd them up the hill, And sune were at his syde.

X.

Late, late the zestrene I weind in peace To end my lengthen'd lyfe, My age micht weil excuse my arm Frae manly feats of stryfe; But now that NORSE dois proudly boast Fair Scotland to inthrall, Its neir be said of HARDYKNUTE He feard to ficht or fall.

XI.

ROBIN of Rothsay, bend thy bow, Thy arrows shoute sae leil, Many a comely countenance They haif turnd to deidly pale: Brade THOMAS tak ze but zour lance, Ze need nae weapons mair, Gif ze ficht weit as ze did anes Gainst Westmorland's serfs heir.

XII.

MALCOM, licht of fute as stag That runs in forest wyld, Get me my thousands thrie of men Well bred to sword and schield: Bring me my horse and harnisine My blade of metal cleir; If faes kend but the hand it bare, They sune had fled for feir.

XIII.

Farewell my dame sae peirless gude, And take her by the hand, Fairer to me in age zou seim, Than maids for bewtie fam'd: My zoungest son sall here remain To guard these stately towirs, And shut the silver bolt that keips Sae fast zour painted bowirs.

XIV.

And first scho wet her comely cheiks, And then hir boddice grene, Hir silken cords of twirtle twist, Weil plett with silver schene; And ap.r.o.n set with mony a dice Of neidle-wark sae rare, Wove by nae hand, as ze may guess, Saif that of FAIRLY fair.

XV.

And he has ridden owre muir and moss, Owre hills and mony a glen, Quhen he came to a wounded knicht, Making a heavy mane; Here maun I lye, here maun I die, By treacheries false gyles; Witless I was that eir gaif faith To wicked womans smiles.

XVI.

Sir knicht, gin ze were in my bowir, To lean on silken seat, To ladyis kindly care zoud prove, Quha neir stend deidly hate; Hir self wald watch ze all the day, Hir maids a deid of nicht; And FAIRLY fair zour heart wald cheir, As scho stands in zour sicht.