They fought until they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steel;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling down did feel.

"Yield thee, Lord Percy," Douglas said;
"In faith I will thee bring
Where thou shalt high advanced be

By James, our Scottish king:

Thy ransom I will freely give,
And this report of thee,

Thou art the most courageous knight
That ever I did see.'

"No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then,
"Thy proffer I do scorn;

I will not yield to any Scot

That ever yet was born."

With that there came an arrow keen
Out of an English bow,

Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,
A deep and deadly blow;

Who never spake more words than these

66

Fight on, my merry men all;

For why my life is at an end;

Lord Percy sees my fall."

Then leaving life, Earl Percy took
The dead man by the hand;
And said, "Earl Douglas, for thy life
Would I had lost my land.

In truth! my very heart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;
For sure a more redoubted knight
Mischance did never take."

A knight amongst the Scots there was,
Who saw Earl Douglas die,

Who straight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Earl Percy :

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he called,
Who, with a spear full bright,
Well mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all,
Without a dread or fear;

And through Earl Percy's body then
He thrust his hateful spear;

With such vehement force and might
He did his body gore,

The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth yard and more.

THE following Ballad probably refers to the fate of the Scottish nobles on their return from Norway after having, in 1281, conveyed Margaret, daughter of Alexander III., to her nuptials with King Eric of Norway. It is supposed to have been written in the fifteenth century, author unknown.

THE BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENS.

THE King sits in Dunfermline toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine;

"O whaur shall I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this ship of mine ?"

Then up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the King's right knee;
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

The King has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens
Was walking on the sand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faem;
The King's daughter to Noroway,
It's thou maun tak' her hame."

The first line that Sir Patrick read,
A loud laugh laughed he,

The next line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear came to his e'e.

"O wha is this has done this deed,
This ill deed done to me,

To send us out at this time o' the year
To sail upon the sea?"

They hoisted their sails on a Monday morn,

Wi' a' the haste they may;

And they hae landed in Noroway

Upon the Wodensday.

"Make haste, make haste, my merry men all,

Our ship shall sail the morn,"
"Now ever, alack, my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm.

I saw the new moon late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear,
That we shall come to harm!"

They hadna sailed a league, a league,

A league, but barely three,

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,

And gurly grew the sea.

The ropes they brak, and the top-masts lap,

It was sic a deadly storm;

And the waves came o'er the broken ship,

Till a' her sides were torn.

O laith, laith were our guid Scots lords
To weet their leathern shoon,
But lang ere a' the play was o'er,
They wat their heads abune.
O lang, lang may the ladies sit,

Wi' their fans into their hand,
Or e'er they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear lords,
For them they'll see nae mair.

In beauty, nurture, and every nobleness,
In rich array, renown, and gentleness.
The common voice uprose of birdis small,
Upon this ways, O blessed be the hour
That thou wast chosen to be our principal :
Welcome to be our princess of honour,
Our pearl, our pleasure, and our lover,
Our peace, our play, our plain felicity-
Christ thee conserve from all adversitie!

Gavin Douglas.

Born 1474.

Died 1522.

A YOUNGER Son of the Earl of Angus, he was educated for the church, and rose to be Bishop of Dunkeld. He wrote a long poem, "The Palace of Honour," and made a translation of Virgil's Eneid into Scottish

verse.

MORNING IN MAY.

As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse,
Ished of her saffron bed and ivor house,
In cram'sy clad and grained violate
With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate,
Unshet the windows of her large hall,

Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal,
And eke the heavenly portis chrystalline
Unwarps braid, the warld till illumine;
The twinkling streamers of the orient

Shed purpour spraings, with gold and azure ment
Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red,
Above the seas liftis furth his head,

issued

crimson

opened

yellow hemisphere

nostrils

apparelled, glittering

Of colour sore, and somedeal brown as berry,
For to alichten and glad our emispery;
The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,
So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls.
While shortly, with the bleezand torch of day,
Abulyit in his lemand fresh array,
Furth of his palace royal ishit Phoebus,
With golden crown and visage glorious,
Crisp hairs, bricht as chrysolite or topaz ;
For whase hue micht nane behald his face.
The auriate vanes of his throne soverane
With glitterand glance o'erspread the oceane ;

might golden veins

The largé fludes, lemand all of licht,
But with ane blink of his supernal sicht.
For to behald, it was ane glore to see
The stabled windis and the calmed sea,
The soft season, the firmament serene,

sultry

uncommon

boughs battlements

each

The loune illuminate air and firth amene. tranquil, pleasant
And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread
Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart steed;
The swarded soil embrode with selcouth hues,
Wood and forest, obnumbrate with bews.
Towers, turrets, kirnals, and pinnacles hie,
Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair citie,
Stude painted, every fane, phiol, and stage,
Upon the plain ground by their awn umbrage
Of Eolus' north blasts havand no dreid,
The soil spread her braid bosom on-breid;
The corn crops and the beir new-braird
With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.

Sir David Lindsay. {

cupola

own

barley

earth

Born 1490.
Died 1557.

"THE Lyon King-at-arms," Sir David Lindsay of the Mount was born in Fife about the year 1490. On leaving the university he became a great favourite of James V., who knighted him. He possessed great poetical talents, especially for satire. The evils of his time, both political and ecclesiastical, are handled with an unsparing hand; and his writings are believed to have had a powerful effect in promoting the Scottish Reformation. He was a supporter of Knox, whom he urged to become a preacher. His poetry and sayings became in Scotland household words; and though he spared no class, he seems to have been a favourite with all. He died at his seat, the Mount, in the sixty-seventh year of his age.

FROM THE COMPLAYNT.

IMPRUDENTLY, like witles fules,

Thay tuke the young prince from the scules,

Quhere he, under obedience,

Was learnand vertew and science,

And hastilie pat in his hand
The governance of all Scotland:
As quha wald, in ane stormie blast,
Quhen marinaris been all agast,
Throw danger of the seis rage,

fools

schools

where

who would

when

seas