is one of the several rival localities which claim to have witnessed the sanguinary conflict. In the Domesday Survey, Burn was written _Brune_, and it also comprises a rising ground or _Dune_, which seem to imply some connection with _Brunandune_. From an ancient song or poem, bearing the date 937, it is clear that the battle lasted from sunrise to sunset, and that at night-fall Anlaf and the remnant of his followers, being utterly discomfited, escaped from the coast in the manner before described. This circumstance also upholds the pretentions of Burn, as it is situated close to the banks of the Wyre, and at a very short distance both from the Irish Sea and Morecambe Bay, as well as being in the direct line of the road called Danes’ Pad, the track usually taken by the Northmen in former incursions into the Fylde and county. In addition it may be mentioned that tradition affirms that a large quantity of human bones were ploughed up in a field between Burn and Poulton about a century ago. Sharon Turner says:—“It is singular that the position of this famous battle is not yet ascertained. The Saxon song says it was at Brunanburgh; Ethelwerd, a contemporary, names the place Brunandune. These of course are the same place, but where is it?”[11] Having done our best to suggest or rather renew an answer presenting several points worthy of consideration to Mr. Turner’s query, we will, before bidding farewell to the subject, give our readers a translated extract from the old song to which allusion has been made:— Athelstan king, Of earls the Lord, Of Heroes the bracelet giver, And his brother eke, Edmund Atheling, Life-long glory, In battle won, With edges of swords, Near Brunanburgh. The field was dyed With warriors blood, Since the sun, up At morning tide, Mighty planet, Gilded o’er grounds, God’s candle bright, The eternal Lord’s, Till the noble creature Sank to her rest. ... West Saxons onwards Throughout the day, In numerous bands Pursued the footsteps Of the loathed nations. They hewed the fugitives, Behind, amain, With swords mill-sharp. Mercians refused not The hard-hand play To any heroes, Who with Anlaf, Over the ocean, In the ship’s bosom, This land sought. ... There was made to flee The Northmens’ chieftain, By need constrained, To the ships prow With a little band. The bark drove afloat. The king departed. On the fallow flood His life he preserved. The Northmen departed In their nailed barks On roaring ocean.