XXXVIII.
On Norways coast the widowit dame
May wash the rocks with tears,
May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas
Befor her mate appears. 300
Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain;
Thy lord lyes in the clay;
The valiant Scots nae revers thole[509]
To carry life away.
XXXIX.
Here on a lee, where stands a cross 305
Set up for monument,
Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day
Fill'd keen war's black intent.
Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute,
Let Norse the name ay dread, 310
Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd,
Shall latest ages read.
XL.
Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy shower,
Mirk[510] grew the night ere Hardyknute 315
Wan[511] near his stately tower.
His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze
To shine sae far at night,
Seem'd now as black as mourning weed,
Nae marvel sair he sigh'd. 320
XLI.
"There's nae light in my lady's bower,
There's nae light in my ha';
Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,
Nor ward[512] stands on my wa'."
"What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say;"— 325
Nae answer fitts their dread.
"Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide;"
But by they past with speed.