O bury me by the braken-bush
Beneath the bluming brier;
Let never living mortal ken
That a kindly Scot lies here!'
He lifted up that noble lord,
Wi' the saut tear in his e'e;
He laid him in the braken-bush,
That his merrie-men might not see.
The moon was clear, the day drew near,
The spears in flinders flew;
And mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
The Gordons gude in English blude
They steep'd their hose and shoon;
The Lindsays flew like fire about
Till a' the fray was dune.
The Percy and Montgomery met,
That either of other were fain;
They swappet swords, and they twa swat,
Till the blude ran down like rain.
'Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy,' he said,
'Or else I shall lay thee low.'
'To whom shall I yield?' Earl Percy said,
'Sin' I see it maun be so.'
Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield thee to the braken-bush
That grows on yon lily-lee.'
This deed was dune at the Otterbourne
About the breaking o' the day.
Earl Douglas was buriet at the braken-bush,
And Percy led captive away."
So died in his harness the doughty Earl of Douglas, and never was the fall of a warrior more greatly commemorated by minstrel, be his age, his land, his birth, or his language what they may!
FOOTNOTES: