KENNETH. I weird, I weird, hard-hearted lord, Thou leughst in scorn when puir men weep'd, This night ye drink the sparkly wine; The morrow's sun shall drink your bluid, I see the snaw-maned horses ride, The black Dog youl'd; he saw the sight High* on fair Margret's breast her sheet, Sae spake the seer; wild in his een His frighted spirit gaz'd: Pale were his cheeks, and stiff his hair Loud, loud in Kenneth's lighted ha', The sang of joy was heard; "War my son William now, but here, "I saw them, Master, O! I saw, Beneath the thorney brae, Of black-mail'd warriors mony a rank; * To persons unacquainted with the superstition of the Highlands, this may not be easily intelligible. There the seer is supposed to behold the figure of a person about to die, clothed in their winding-sheet; and the higher it is on their bodies, the nearer their approaching dissolution. The youth that bare Lord Kenneth's cup, Frae his white hand let fa' the drink, Sae have I seen the gray-wing'd shaft "Ride, ride, and bid Lord William come; His fathers sair beset." "It was Lord William's horse that neigh'd; I heard them bar the yate." "Welcome, my valiant son," he said; Or should I welcome say, In sic an ill hour, when you come "Curs'd be that thought," bald William said; My father's faes are mine; Lang has my breast frae Kenneth learn'd Sic baby fear to tine.” "O William! had we kent yestreen.". "Father, we ken it now; Let women tell what women wish.". Syne three shrill blasts he blew. Fair Margret lay on downy bed; She waken'd wi' Lord William's horn, "What mean you, Kenneth, by that blast? I wish my dreams bode guid; Upon a bed of lilies fair I thought there rain'd red bluid. My son! my son! may peace be there "What means my William by sic words? She luik'd; but nane durst answer make, Till gallant William said, "Aft has my mother bade us joy, When we to battail gade. Again thy hands may work the plaid For him that fought the best; Again may I hing up my targe But William never liv'd to flee; A warrior cry on William's name, And if we fa', my gallant friends, We shall na fa' alane; Some honest hand shall write our deeds Upon the tallest stane." "Haste, Kenneth, haste; for in the field The fire-ey'd Walter rides; His men, that come sae thrang wi' haste, For slaw delay he chides." "By Mary, we will meet him there," Thy son will try this Lion-fae, "No, on my faith, the sword of youth May babies mock my eild," Then forth they rush'd, afore the yate Lord William smil'd upon their ranks : |