“Stately stept he east the wa’, And stately stept he west; Full seventy years he now had seen, With scarce seven years of rest. He lived when Britons’ breach of faith Wrocht Scotland mickle wae; And aye his sword tauld, to their cost, He was their deadly fae. High on a hill his castle stood, With halls and towers a-hicht, And guidly chambers fair to see, Whare he lodged mony a knicht. His dame, sae peerless ance and fair, For chaste and beauty deemed, Nae marrow had in a’ the land, Save Eleanour the Queen. Full thirteen sons to him she bare, All men of valour stout; In bluidy fecht with sword in hand Nine lost their lives bot doubt: Four yet remain; lang may they live To stand by liege and land! High was their fame, high was their micht, And high was their command. Great love they bare to Fairly fair, Their sister saft and dear: Her girdle shawed her middle jimp, And gowden glist her hair. What waefu’ wae her beauty bred, Waefu’ to young and auld; Waefu’, I trow, to kith and kin, As story ever tauld!” Here we see the old hero Hardyknute in peace in the midst of his family, his fighting days supposed to be over, and his high castle on the hill, where he and his lady dwell, with their four surviving sons and their one daughter, Fairly Fair, one of the lordly boasts of a smiling country. But suddenly there is an invasion. The King of Norse, puffed up with power and might, lands in fair Scotland; and the King of Scotland, hearing the tidings as he sits with his chiefs, “drinking the blude-red wine,” sends out summonses in haste for all his warriors to join him. Hardyknute receives a special message. “Then red, red grew his dark-brown cheeks; Sae did his dark-brown brow; His looks grew keen, as they were wont In dangers great to do.” Old as he is, he will set out at once, taking his three eldest sons with him, Robin, Thomas, and Malcolm, and telling his lady in his farewell to her:— “My youngest son sall here remain To guaird these stately towers, And shoot the silver bolt that keeps Sae fast your painted bowers.”