Though Britons tremble at his name,
I soon sall make him wail

That eir my sword was made sae sharp,
Sae soft his coat of mail.

That brag his stout heart cou'dna bide,
It lent him youthfu' might:

I'm Hardyknute!—this day, he cried,
To Scotland's king I hight,
To lay thee low as horse's hoof;
My word I mean to keep:

Soon with the first dint, eir he strake,

He gar'd his body bleed.

Norse' eyn like

grey gosehauk stared wild,

He sigh'd with shame and spite;

Disgraced is now my

far-famed arm,

That left thee power to strike.

Soon gied his helm a blow sae fell,

It made him down to stoop,

Sae low as he to ladies used
In courtly gyse to lout.

Full soon he raised his bent body;

His bow he marveld sair,

S'n blows till then on him but dared
As touch of Fairly fair.

Norse ferlied too, as sair as he,

To see his stately look;
Sae sune as eir he strake a foe,
So soon his life he took.

Where, like a fire to hether set,
Bold Thomas did advance,
A sturdy foe, wi' look enraged,
Up towards him did prance:

* Wondered.

He spurred his steed through thickest ranks,

The hardy youth to quell;

Wha stude unmoovit at his approach,

His fury to repell.

That short brown shaft, sae meanly trimm'd, Looks like poor Scotland's geir;

But dreadfu' seems the rusty point!

And loud he laugh in jeir.

Aft Britons' blude has dimm'd its shine,
Its point cut short their vaunt—
Soon pierc'd the boaster's bairded cheek,
Nae time he took to taunt.

Short while he in his saddle swang,

His stirrup was nae stay;
But feible hang his unbent knee,

Sure taken he was fey!

Swyth on the harden'd clay he fell,
Right far was heard the thud ;*
But Thomas looked not as he lay
All weltering in his blude.

Wi' careless gesture, mind unmov'd,
On rade he, north the plain,
The same in peace, or fiercest strife,
Aye reckless, and the same.
Nor yet his heart dame's dimpled cheek
Could meise saft love to brook;

Till vengefu' Ann returned his scorn,
Then languid grew his look.

In throes of death, with weltering cheek,
All panting on the plain,

The bleeding corpse of warriors lay,

Never to rise again.

* Sound.

Ne'er to return to native land;
No more with blithsome sounds,
To boast the glories of that day,
And show their shining wounds.

On Norway's coast the widowed dame
May wash the rocks with tears,
May long look over the shipless seas
Before her mate appears.

Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain,
Thy lord lies in the clay;

The valiant Scots no rovers thole *
Το carry life away.

There on a lee, where stands a Cross,
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 aye dread;

Aye, how he fought, aft how he spair'd,
Sall latest ages read.

Loud and chill blew the westling wind,
Sair beat the heavy shower;
Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute
Wan neir his stately tower:
His touir, that us'd wi' torches blaze

To shine sae far at night,

Seim'd now as black as mourning weed:

Nae marvel sair he sigh'd.

There's nae light in my lady's bower,
There's nae light in my ha';

Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,
Nae ward stands on my wa'.

* Suffer.

What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say?
Nae answer fits their dread.

Stand back, my sons, I'll be your guide!—
But by they past wi' speed.

"As fast I hae sped owre Scotland's faes"— There ceas'd his brag of war;

Sair sham'd to mind aught but his dame,
And maiden Fairly fair.

Black fear he felt,-but what to fear

He wistna-yit wi' dread

Sair shook his body, sair his limbs,
And a' the warriour fled!

KEMPION.

OUR ideas of Dragons are probably derived from the Scandinavians. The legends of Regnar Lodbrog, and of the huge snake in the Edda by whose folds the earth is encircled, are well known. Griffins and dragons are fabled by the Danes as watching over and defending hoards of gold. From these authorities, and that of Herodotus, our Milton derives his simile :

"As when a gryphon, through the wilderness,
With winged course o'er hill and mossy dale,
Pursues the Arimaspian, who, by stealth,
Had, from his wakeful custody, purloined
The guarded gold.'

In Boiardo's ORLANDO INAMORATO, C. XXV. xxvi. is a story somewhat similar to the present. The renowned Sir John Mandeville recounts another, which, he says, occurred in one of the Grecian Islands. And a third, of more modern date, is traditionally current at Basil in Switzerland.

The manor of Sockburn, in the county of Durham, is held of the Bishop, as palatine, by presenting to him on his first arrival, at a certain spot in his diocese, an ancient sword, with which one Pollard is said to have killed, in times of yore, a dragon, or fiery flying serpent," and the Bishop has to hear the legend formally recounted, with as much gravity as he may.—[From the Introduction].

COME here, come here, ye freely feed,
And lay your head low on my knee;
The heaviest weird I will you read,

That ever was read to gay lady.