Sir knicht, gin ze were in my bowir,
To lean on silken seat,
To ladyis kindly care zoud prove,
Quha neir stend deidly hate;
Hir self wald watch ze all the day,
Hir maids a deid of nicht;
And fairly fair zour heart wald cheir,
As scho stands in zour sicht.
XVII.
Aryse zoung knicht, and mount zour steid,
Full lowns the shynand day,
Cheis frae my menzie quhom ze pleis,
To leid ze on the way.
With smyless luke, and visage wan,
The wounded knicht reply'd,
Kynd chiftain, zour intent pursue,
For here I maun abyde.
To me nae after day nor nicht,
Can eir be sweit or fair,
But sune beneath sum draping tree,
Cauld death sall end my care.
With him nae pleiding micht prevail,
Brave hardyknute in to gain,
With fairest words and reason strong,
Strave courteously in vain.
XIX.
Syne he has gane far hynd attowre,
Lord chattans land sae wyde,
That lord a worthy wicht was ay,
Quhen faes his courage seyd:
Of Pictish race by mothers syde,
Quhen Picts ruld Caledon,
Lord chattan claimd the princely maid,
Quhen he saift Pictish crown.
XX.
Now with his serfs and stalwart train,
He reicht a rysing heicht,
Quhair braid encampit on the dale,
Norss menzie lay in sicht;
Zonder my valiant sons and serfs,
Our raging revers wait,
On the unconquerit Scottish swaird,
To try with us thair fate.