Ne'er to return to native land; No more with blithsome sounds, On Norway's coast the widowed dame Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain, The valiant Scots no rovers thole * There on a lee, where stands a Cross, Thousands fu' fierce, that summer's day, Fill'd keen war's black intent. Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute, Aye, how he fought, aft how he spair'd, Loud and chill blew the westling wind, Wan neir his stately tower: Seim'd now as black as mourning weed: There's nae light in my lady's bower, There's nae light in my ha'; Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair, * Suffer. What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say? Stand back, my sons, I'll be your guide!— "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, Black fear he felt,-but what to fear He wistna-yit wi' dread Sair shook his body, sair his limbs, 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, 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, That ever was read to gay lady. O, mickle dolour shall ye dree,* And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim, On Estmere + Crags, when ye them climb. I weird ye to a fiery beast, And relieved shall ye never be, Come to the crag, and thrice kiss thee. O, mickle dolour did she dree, And aye the salt seas o'er she swam, On Estmere Crags, ere she them clamb. And aye she cried for Kempion, Gin he would but come to her hand.-- Now by my sooth, said Kempion, This fiery beast I'll gang and see.— Then builded have they a bonny boat, O Segramour, keep the boat afloat And let her not the land o'er near; 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, O out of my stythe I winna rise, Come to the crag, and thrice kiss me. He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag, out of my stythe I winna rise, Till Kempion, the King his son, Come to the crag, and thrice kiss me. He's louted him o'er the Estmere crags, O out of my den I winna rise, Nor flee it for the fear of thee, 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." |