XXXIII.

Quair lyke a fyre to hether set,
Bauld THOMAS did advance,
A sturdy fae with luke enragd
Up towards him did prance;

He fpurd his fteid throw thickest ranks
The hardy zouth to quell

Quha ftude unmufit at his approach
His furie to repell.

XXXIV.

That schort brown fhaft fae meanly trimd,
Lukis lyke poor Scotlands geir,
But dreidfull feims the rusty point!
And loud he leuch in jeir.

Aft Britains blude has dimd its shyne
This poynt cut fhort their vaunt;
Syne piercd the boisteris bairded cheik,
Nae tyme he tuke to taunt.

XXXV.

Schort quhyle he in his fadill swang,

His ftirrip was nae stay,

Sae feible hang his unbent knee,
Sure taken he was fey:

Swith on the hardened clay he fell,
Richt far was heard the thud,

But THOMAS luikt not as he lay,
All waltering in his blude.

XXXVI.

With cairles gefture mynd unmuvit
On raid he north the plain,
His feim in thrang of fierceft ftryfe,
Quhen winner ay the fame;

Nor zit his heart dames dimpelit cheik,
Coud meife faft luve to bruik,
Till vengeful ANN returnd his scorn,
Then languid grew his luke.

XXXVII.

In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik
All panting on the plain,

The fainting corps of warriors lay,
Neir to aryfe again;

Neir to return to native land,

Nae mair with blythfome founds,

To boift the glories of the day,
And schaw their fhyning wounds.

XXXXVIII.

On Norways coast the widowit dame
May wash the rock with teirs,
May lang luke owre the fchiples feis
Befoir hir mate appeirs.

Ceife, EMMA, ceise to hope in vain,
Thy lord lyis in the clay,

The valziant Scots nae revers thole
To carry lyfe away.

XXXIX.

There on a lie quhair stands a cross

Set up for monument,

Thoufands full fierce that fummers day
Filld kene waris black intent.

Let Scots quhyle Scots, praife HARDYKNUTE
Let NORSE the name ay dreid,
Ay how he faucht, aft how he fpaird,
Sal latest ages reid.

XL.

Loud and chill blew the weftlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy showir,

Mirk grew the nicht, eir HARDYKNUTE
Wan neir his ftately towir;

His towir that ufd with torches bleife
To fhyne fae far at nicht,

Seimd now as black as mourning weid,

Nae marvel fair he fichd.

XLI.

Thairs nae licht in my lady's bowir,
Thairs nae licht in my hall;

Nae blink fhynes round my FAIRLY fair,
Nor ward ftands on my wall.

Quhat bodes it? ROBERT, THOMAS say,
Nae answer fits their dreid.

Stand back, my fons, I'll be zour gyde,
But by they paft with fpeid.

XLII.

As faft I haif fped owre Scotlands faes, There ceift 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 wift not zit with dreid;
Sair schuke his body, fair his limbs,
And all the warrior fleid.

NCE more I join the Thefpian quire,
And tafte th' infpiring fount again:

O parent of the Græcian lyre,

Admit me to thy fecret ftrain.

And lo! with ease my step invades
The pathless vale and opening fhades,
Till now I spy her verdant seat;
And now at large I drink the found,
While these her offspring, lift'ning round,
By turns her melody repeat.

I fee ANACREON fmile and fing:
His filver treffes breathe perfume;
His cheek difplays a fecond spring
Of roses taught by wine to bloom.
Away, deceitful cares, away!
And let me listen to his lay!