On Norway's coast, the widowed dame May wash the rock with tears, May lang look o'er the shipless seas, Before her mate appears. 'Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain; Thy lord lies in the clay; The valiant Scots nae rievers thole[2] To carry life away.' [1] A Scotticism, plural of corp, a body. [2] Permit no robbers, &c. I must now summon up, for a comparison with these specimens of the modern antique in ballad lore, the famous and admired poem of _Sir Patrick Spence_. It has come to us mainly through two copies--one comparatively short, published in Percy's _Reliques_, as 'from two manuscript copies transmitted from Scotland;' the other, containing more details, in Scott's _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, also 'from two manuscript copies,' but 'collated with several verses recited by the editor's friend, Robert Hamilton, Esq., advocate.' It is nowhere pretended that any _ancient_ manuscript of this poem has ever been seen or heard of. It acknowledgedly has come to us from modern manuscripts, as it might be taken down from modern reciters; although Percy prints it in the same quasi antique spelling as that in which _Hardyknute_ had appeared, where being _quhar_; sea, _se_; come, _cum_; year, _zeir_; &c. It will be necessary here to reprint the whole ballad, as given originally by Percy, introducing, however, within brackets the additional details of Scott's copy:[3] The king sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine: 'O whar will I get a gude sailòr, To sail this ship of mine?' Up and spak an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee: 'Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailòr That sails upon the sea.' The king has written a braid letter, And signed it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. ['To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame.'] The first line that Sir Patrick read, A loud lauch lauched he: The next line that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee. 'O wha is this hae done this deed, This ill deed done to me; To send me out this time o' the year, To sail upon the sea? ['Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame.' They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday. They had na been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords of Noroway Began aloud to say: 'Ye Scottish men spend a' our king's gowd, And a' our queenis fee.' 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud, Fu' loud I hear ye lie.