A collection of ancient and modern Scottish ballads, etc

19
There on a He, quhair stands a cross
Set up for monument.
Thousands full fierce, that summer's day,
Fill'd kene waris black intent.
Let Scots, quhyle Scots, p-aise Hardyknute,
Let Norse the name ay dried ;
Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird,
Sal latest ages reid.
Loud and chill blew the westlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy showir.
Mirk grew the nicht eir Hardyknute
Wan * neir his stately towir :
His towir that us'd with torches bleise
To shyne sae far at nicht,
Seim'd now as black as mourning weid
Nae marvel sair he sich'd.
" Thair's nae licht in my lady's bowir,
Thair's nae licht in my hall
: ;
Nae blink shynes round my Fairly fair.
Nor ward stands on my wall.
Quhat bodes it ? Robert, Thomas, say !'*
Nae answer fits their dreid.
" Stand back, my sons, I'll be zour gyde ;"
But by they past with speid.
" As fast I haif sped owre Scotland's faes"—
There ceist his brag of weir,
Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his dame.
And maiden Fairly fair.
Black feir he felt, but quhat to feir,
He wist not zit with dreid
Sair schuke his body^ sair his limbs.
And all the warrior fled.
* Arrived.
;