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"Cative, awa ye maun na flie,"
Stout Rothsay cryd bedene,
Till, frae my glaive, ye wi ye beir
The wound ye feign'd yestrene."
90 Mair o' your kins bluid hae I spilt
Than I docht evir grein;

See Rothsay whar your brither lyes
In dethe afore your eyne,'
Scant Rothsay stapt the faing teir;
"O hatefu cursed deid!

Sae Draffan seiks our sister's luve,
Nor feirs far ither meid"

91 Swith on the word an arrow cam
Frae ane o' Rothsay's band,
And smote on Draffan's lifted targe,
Syne Rothsay's splent it fand.
Piered throuch the knie to his ferce steid,
Wha praned wi egre pain,

The chief was forc'd to quit the stryfe,
And seik the nether plain.

92 His minstrals there wi dolefu care
The bluidy shaft withdrew;

But that he sae was bar'd the fecht
Sair did the leider rue.

• Cheir

ye my mirrie men,' Draffan cryd, Wi meikle pryde and glie;

The prize is ours; nae chieftan bides
Wi us to bate the grie.'

93 That lautie boast heird Hardyknute,
Whar he lein'd on his spier,

Sair weiried wi the nune-tide heat,
And toilsum deids of weir.

The first sicht, whan he past the thrang,
Was Malcolm on the swaird;

“ Wold hevin that dethe my eild had tane, And thy youthied had spaird! 94 Draffan, I ken thy ire, but now Thy micht I mein to see!"

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But eir he strak the deidly dint

The syre was on his knie.

Lord Hardyknute stryke gif ye may,
Incir will strive wi thee;

For feir your dochter see you slayn
Frae whar she sits on hie!

95 Yestrene the priest in haly band
Me join'd wi Fairly deir;
For her sake let us part in peace,
And neir meit mair in weir.'
"Oh! king of hevin, what seimly speich
A featour's lips can send!
And art thou he whia baith my sons
Brocht to a bluidy end;

96 Haste, mount thy steid, or I sail licht
And meit thee on the plain;

For by my forbere's saul we neir
Sall part till anc be slayne."

'Now mind thy aith,' syne Draffan stout
To Allan loudly cryd,

Wha drew the shynand blade bot dreid
And perc'd his master's syde.
97 Law to the eard he bleiding fell,
And dethe sune clos'd his eyne.
"Draffan, till now I did na ken
Thy dethe cold muve my tein.
I wold to Chryste thou valiant youth,
Thou wert in lyfe again;

May ill befa my ruthless wrauth
That brocht thee to sic pain!

98 Fairly, anes a' my joy and pryde,
Now a' my grief and bale,
Ye maun wi haly maidens byde
Your deidly faut to wail.
To Icolm beir ye Draffan's corse
And dochter anes sae deir,
Whar she may pay his heidless luve

Wi mony a mournfu teir."

Communications (post paid) suited to the nature of this Work, may be addressed to JOHN MILLAR, Bookseller, Sandholes, Paisley.

RAISLEY, PRINTED BY ANDREW YOUNG,

PAISLEY REPOSITORY.

No. III.

HARDYKNUTE.

A HEROIC SCOTTISH BALLAD.

The incomparable beauties of this Ballad, and the favourable reception which the first part hath always met with from the lovers of ancient poetry, have induced the Editor here to give the tragedy complete. Certain, that while it ornaments his Collection, it must also entertain the reader. Though the first part has been of pretty long ftanding in the literary world, it is believed few have hitherto had the pleasure of perufing the fe. cond,---for which we are indebted to the judicious Compiler of the Scottish Tragic Ballads, who hath had the honour of fnatching this valuable remains from the jaws of Oblivion, and tranfmitting to pofterity the first complete copy.

STATELY ftept he eaft the wa',
And ftately ftept he weft;
Full feventy yeirs he now had fene,

With feerce fevin yeirs of rest.
He livit whan Briton's breach of faith

Wrocht Scotland meikle wae,

Britons. This was the common name which the Scots gave the English anciently, as may be feen in old poets.

And aye his fword tauld to their cost,
He was their deidly fae.

Il.

Hie on a hill his caftle ftude,

With halls and touris a hicht;
And guidly chambers fair to see,
Whar he lodgit mony a knicht.
His dame fae peirlefs anes, and fair,
For chafte and bewtie fene,
Nae marraw had in a' the land,
Save Margaret the quene.

His cafle ftude. About a mile and a half north of Kilburnie, Hardyknute's Castle ftands on that ridge of hills, which ftretches to the weft and north of that village. From the thickness of its walls, and its being acceffible on one fide only, it appears to have been a place of confiderable ftrength. The ruins of this Edifice are seen at a great diftance from the fouth-weft champain country. It is now called Glen-Garnock Castle on account of its peculiar fituation.

Knichts. These knights were only military officers attending the Earls, Barons, &c, as appears from the histories of the middle ages.

Save Margaret the quene. She was the eldest daughter of Henry III. the King, and Eleanor the Queen of Eng land; and was confidered the most beautiful woman of that age, as appears from the frequent allufions made to her in the writings of thefe times, particularly in the old hiftorical Scottish Ballad of Sir James the Role, written long after the era of Hardyknute. In that Ballad, the author, to extol the beauty of Matilda, daughter of Lord Buchan, the Mistress of his hero, draws the following con Braft per poetica licentia.

"The fair Matilda dear he lov'd,

"A maid of beauty rare,

"Even Margaret on the Scottish throne,

"Was never half fo fair."

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Full thirtein fons to him fhe bare,
All men of valour ftout,

In bluidy ficht, with fword in hand,
Nyne loft their lives bot doubt;
Four yit remain'd; lang mote they live
To ftand by liege and land:

Hie was their fame, hie was their micht,
And hie was their command.

IV.

Griet luve they bare to Fairly fair,
Their fifter faft and dier,

Her girdle fhaw'd her middle jimp,
And gowden glift her hair.
What waefou wae her bewtie bred!
Waefou to young and auld,
Waefou I trow to kyth and kin,
As ftory ever tauld.

V.

The King of Norse in summer tide,
Puft up with pouir and micht,
Landed in fair Scotland the isle,
Wi' mony a hardie knicht *.

It is very probable that the Queen was also called Eleanor, after her mother, for a great number of common editions has it "Save Elenor the Queen."

Fairly. This name feems likewife of Saxon origin. There is a small island and a rivulet in Cunningham still, called Fairly Isle and Fairly Burn.

* On the first of August, 1263, Hacquin V. King of

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