Then by the twinkling of an e'e 45 He spied an armed knight; A fair lady bearing his brand, Wi' torches burning bright. Then he cried high, as he came nigh, "Coward, thief, I bid you flee! 50 There is not ane comes to this hill, But must engage wi' me. "Ye'll best take road before I come, And best take foot and flee; Here is a sword baith sharp and broad, 55 Will quarter you in three." Sir Colvin said, "I'm not afraid Of any here I see; You hae not ta'en your God before; Less dread hae I o' thee." 60 Sir Colvin then he drew his sword, His foe he drew his brand; And they fought there on Elrick's hill Till they were bluidy men. The first an' stroke the knight he strake, 65 Gae Colvin a slight wound; The next an' stroke Lord Colvin strake, Brought's foe unto the ground. "I yield, I yield," the knight he said, "I fairly yield to thee; 70 Nae ane came e'er to Elrick-hill E'er gain'd such victorie. "I and my forbears here did haunt Three hundred years and more; I'm safe to swear a solemn oath, 75 We were never beat before." "An asking," said the lady gay, "An asking ye'll grant me:" "Ask on, ask on," said Sir Colvin, "What may your asking be?" 80 "Ye'll gie me hame my wounded knight, Let me fare on my way; And I'se ne'er be seen on Elrick's hill, By night, nor yet by day; And to this place we'll come nae mair, 85 Cou'd we win safe away; "To trouble any Christian one Lives in the righteous law, We'll come nae mair unto this place, Cou'd we win safe awa'." 90 "O ye'se get hame your wounded knight, Ye shall not gang alane; But I maun hae a wad o' him, Before that we twa twine." Sir Colvin being a book-learn'd man, 95 Sae gude in fencing tee, He's drawn a stroke behind his hand, And followed in speedilie. Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin's drawn, And followed in speedilie, 100 The knight's brand and sword hand In the air he gar'd them flee. It flew sae high into the sky, And lighted on the ground; The rings that were on these fingers 105 Were worth five hundred pound. Up he has ta'en that bluidy hand, Set it before the king; And the morn it was Wednesday, When he married his daughter Jean. 110 SKI[OE]N ANNA; FAIR ANNIE, See p. 191. Translated in Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, ii. 103, from Syv's _Kj[oe]mpe Viser_. See another copy in Nyerup's _Danske Viser_, iv. 59.