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Ne'er to return to native land;

No more with blithsome sounds,
To boast the glories of that day,
And show their shining wounds.

On Norway's coast the widowed dame
May wash the rocks with tears,
May long look over the shipless seas
Before her mate appears.

Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain,
Thy lord lies in the clay;

The valiant Scots no rovers thole *
To carry life away.

There on a lee, where stands a Cross,

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Thousands fu' fierce, that summer's day,

Fill'd keen war's black intent.

Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute,
Let Norse the name aye dread;

Aye, how he fought, aft how he spair'd,
Sall latest ages read.

Loud and chill blew the westling wind,
Sair beat the heavy shower;
Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute

Wan neir his stately tower:
His touir, that us'd wi' torches blaze
To shine sae far at night,

Seim'd now as black as mourning weed:
Nae marvel sair he sigh'd.

There's nae light in my lady's bower,

There's nae light in my ha';

Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,
Nae ward stands on my wa'.

* Suffer.

What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say?
Nae answer fits their dread.

Stand back, my sons, I'll be your guide!—
But by they past wi' speed.

"As fast I hae sped owre Scotland's faes”— There ceas'd his brag of war;

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

Black fear he felt,-but what to fear

He wistna-yit wi' dread

Sair shook his body, sair his limbs,
And a' the warriour fled!

KEMPION.

OUR ideas of Dragons are probably derived from the Scandinavians. The legends of Regnar Lodbrog, and of the huge snake in the Edda by whose folds the earth is encircled, are well known. Griffins and dragons are fabled by the Danes as watching over and defending hoards of gold. From these authorities, and that of Herodotus, our Milton derives his simile :

"As when a gryphon, through the wilderness,
With winged course o'er hill and mossy dale,
Pursues the Arimaspian, who, by stealth,
Had, from his wakeful custody, purloined
The guarded gold."

In Boiardo's ORLANDO INAMORATO, C. XXV. xxvi. is a story somewhat similar to the present. The renowned Sir John Mandeville recounts another, which, he says, occurred in one of the Grecian Islands. And a third, of more modern date, is traditionally current at Basil in Switzerland.

The manor of Sockburn, in the county of Durham, is held of the Bishop, as palatine, by presenting to him on his first arrival, at a certain spot in his diocese, an ancient sword, with which one Pollard is said to have killed, in times of yore, a dragon, or "fiery flying serpent," and the Bishop has to hear the legend formally recounted, with as much gravity as he may.-[From the Introduction].

COME here, come here, ye freely feed,
And lay your head low on my knee;
The heaviest weird I will you read,

That ever was read to gay lady.

O, mickle dolour shall ye dree,*

And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim,
And far more dolour shall ye dree

On Estmere + Crags, when ye them climb.

I weird ye to a fiery beast,

And relieved shall ye never be,
Till Kempion, the King his son,

Come to the crag, and thrice kiss thee.

O, mickle dolour did she dree,

And aye the salt seas o'er she swam,
And far more dolour did she dree

On Estmere Crags, ere she them clamb.

And aye she cried for Kempion,

Gin he would but come to her hand.--
Now word has gone to Kempion,
That such a beast was in his land.

Now by my sooth, said Kempion,

This fiery beast I'll gang and see.—
And, by my sooth, said Segramour,
My only brother, I'll gang with thee.

Then builded have they a bonny boat,
And they have set her to the sea;
But a mile before they reached the shore,
Around them she gar'd ‡ the red fire flee.

O Segramour, keep the boat afloat

And let her not the land o'er near;
For this wicked beast will sure go mad,
And set fire to a' the land and mair.

Soon has he bent an arblast bow,

Suffer.

And aimed an arrow at her head,

+ Estmere crags are probably intended to represent the cliffs of Northum. berland, in opposition to Westmoreland.-W. S.

I Caused.

And swore, if she did not quit the land,
With that same shaft to shoot her dead.

O out of my stythe I winna rise,
(And it is not for the a' of thee),
Till Kempion, the King his son,

Come to the crag, and thrice kiss me.

He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag,
And given the monster kisses ane;
Awa she gaed, and again she came,
The fieryest beast that ever was seen!

out of my stythe I winna rise,
(And not for a' thy bow nor thee),

Till Kempion, the King his son,

Come to the crag, and thrice kiss me.

He's louted him o'er the Estmere crags,
And he has given her kisses twa:
Awa she gaed, and again she came,
The fieryest beast that ever you saw !*

O out of my den I winna rise,

Nor flee it for the fear of thee,
Till Kempion, that courteous knight,
Come to the crag, and thrice kiss me.

He's louted him o'er the lofty crag,

And he has given her kisses three;

* Sir Walter Scott has taken a hint from this, in one of the episodes in

the Lady of the Lake :

"She Crossed him once, she Crossed him twice,

That lady was so brave;

The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker grew the cave.

"She Crossed him thrice,-that lady bold,

He rose beneath her hand;

The fairest knight on Scottish mould,

Her brother, Ethert Brand."

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