X.
"Late late the yestreen[476] I ween'd in peace
To end my lengthened life,
My age might well excuse my arm 75
Frae manly feats of strife;
But now that Norse do's proudly boast
Fair Scotland to inthrall,
It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute,
He fear'd to fight or fall. 80
XI.
"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow
Thy arrows shoot sae leel,[477]
That mony a comely countenance
They've turnd to deadly pale.
Brade[478] Thomas take you but your lance, 85
You need nae weapons mair,
If you fight wi't as you did anes
'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir.
XII.
"And Malcolm, light of foot as stag
That runs in forest wild, 90
Get me my thousands three of men
Well bred to sword and shield:
Bring me my horse and harnisine,[479]
My blade of mettal clear.
If faes but ken'd the hand it bare, 95
They soon had fled for fear.
XIII.
"Farewell my dame sae peerless good,
(And took her by the hand),
Fairer to me in age you seem,
Than maids for beauty fam'd. 100
My youngest son shall here remain
To guard these stately towers,
And shut the silver bolt that keeps
Sae fast your painted bowers."
XIV.