The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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HARDYKNUTE; OR THE BATTLE OF LARGS. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
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HARDYKNUTE; OR THE BATTLE OF LARGS.
The Battle of Largs was fought on the 1st of August, 1263, between Alexander the III., King of Scotland, and Haquin the V., King of Norway, in their contention for the Northern and Western Isles. Haquin had already reduced Bute and Arran; and making a descent with 20,000 men on the Continent, was encountered and defeated by the Scots army at Largs, in Ayrshie; upon which he retreated to his ships, and his fleet being dissipated, and in part destroyed by a tempest, he returned to the Orkneys, from whence he had made the descent, and there, after a few days' illness, expired.
Along the front of his high-wall'd abode
Deep-wrapt in thought, the stately hero strode;
Thro' his bold breast revolving those alarms
That oft had rous'd and rush'd him on to arms;
That thro' long seventy years would scarce allow
Seven years of peace to calm his aged brow.
In times he liv'd, when Briton's breach of faith,
Fill'd Scotia's plains with tumult and with death:
Nor fail'd his sword, still to their cost to show,
He stood their deadly, their determin'd foe.
Deep-wrapt in thought, the stately hero strode;
Thro' his bold breast revolving those alarms
That oft had rous'd and rush'd him on to arms;
That thro' long seventy years would scarce allow
Seven years of peace to calm his aged brow.
In times he liv'd, when Briton's breach of faith,
Fill'd Scotia's plains with tumult and with death:
Nor fail'd his sword, still to their cost to show,
He stood their deadly, their determin'd foe.
High on a hill's steep top his castle stood,
Hung round with rocks, that frown'd above the wood;
The spiry turrets tow'ring thro' the sky,
The glittering halls that caught the distant eye,
The wall's huge strength that war could ne'er annoy,
Foes view'd with terror, but each friend with joy;
For oft, when night her murky shades o'ercast,
And lash'd the rain, and roar'd the howling blast,
The wand'ring knight here found a welcome home,
Forgot his woes, and blest the friendly dome.
Hung round with rocks, that frown'd above the wood;
The spiry turrets tow'ring thro' the sky,
The glittering halls that caught the distant eye,
The wall's huge strength that war could ne'er annoy,
Foes view'd with terror, but each friend with joy;
For oft, when night her murky shades o'ercast,
And lash'd the rain, and roar'd the howling blast,
The wand'ring knight here found a welcome home,
Forgot his woes, and blest the friendly dome.
Bold was the chief,—brave Hardyknute his name,—
And kind and courteous his endearing dame:
Peerless she shone, for chastity and charms,
When favouring Fate first gave her to his arms
Round all our sea-beat coasts no Fair was seen,
To vie with her, save Emergard the queen.
Full thirteen sons their nuptial blessings crown'd,
All heroes stout, for strength of arm renown'd;
Rear'd to the field, how did their bosom glow,
Thro' War's loud uproar to pursue the foe;
Till arm'd with death, and raging o'er the plain,
Nine nobly sunk amid th'illustrious slain.
Four still remain; long may they fearless wield
The burnish'd sword, and shake the glitt'ring shield.
And since their names from shore to shore extend,
Since high their might and mighty their command,
Still may their courage prove their bright reward,
Their sov'reign's glory and their country's guard.
And kind and courteous his endearing dame:
Peerless she shone, for chastity and charms,
When favouring Fate first gave her to his arms
Round all our sea-beat coasts no Fair was seen,
To vie with her, save Emergard the queen.
Full thirteen sons their nuptial blessings crown'd,
All heroes stout, for strength of arm renown'd;
Rear'd to the field, how did their bosom glow,
Thro' War's loud uproar to pursue the foe;
Till arm'd with death, and raging o'er the plain,
Nine nobly sunk amid th'illustrious slain.
Four still remain; long may they fearless wield
The burnish'd sword, and shake the glitt'ring shield.
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Since high their might and mighty their command,
Still may their courage prove their bright reward,
Their sov'reign's glory and their country's guard.
Tho' warlike deeds employ'd their youthful care,
Great was the love they bore to Fairly Fair.
Their sister she; all softness, all delight,
Mild as the morn and beautiful as light.
Her girdle, circling round her slender waist,
Reveal'd a shape with fair proportion blest;
Adown her breast the golden ringlets stray'd,
And every grace adorn'd the blooming maid.
But, ah! what griefs her fatal beauty bred!
What streams of tears have for these charms been shed!
To young and old, to ev'ry friend unbless'd,
And sad as hist'ry's page has e'er express'd.
Great was the love they bore to Fairly Fair.
Their sister she; all softness, all delight,
Mild as the morn and beautiful as light.
Her girdle, circling round her slender waist,
Reveal'd a shape with fair proportion blest;
Adown her breast the golden ringlets stray'd,
And every grace adorn'd the blooming maid.
But, ah! what griefs her fatal beauty bred!
What streams of tears have for these charms been shed!
To young and old, to ev'ry friend unbless'd,
And sad as hist'ry's page has e'er express'd.
Bright Summer now roll'd on in splendid blaze,
And o'er the fields diffus'd his genial rays,
When Norway's king, stern, insolent, and vain,
Proud of his pow'r, and haughty with disdain,
Reach'd Scotia's shores with many a hardy knight,
Resolv'd for war, and burning for the fight.
And o'er the fields diffus'd his genial rays,
When Norway's king, stern, insolent, and vain,
Proud of his pow'r, and haughty with disdain,
Reach'd Scotia's shores with many a hardy knight,
Resolv'd for war, and burning for the fight.
The rumour spreading wide on wings of fame,
Soon to our sov'reign's ear the tidings came;
As round the sumptuous board, in regal state
With noble chiefs, in brave array, he sat,
Circling in glitt'ring cups, the wines' deep red,
Red as the blood these heroes oft had shed:
‘To horse, to horse, my royal liege! to horse!
Your daring foes, led by th'insulting Norse,
Crowd all the strand; full twenty thousand strong,
Pointing their spears in many a warlike throng.’
‘Bring me my Mage, my dapple gray, in haste,’
Exclaim'd our king, while starting from the feast:
‘A steed more trusty, 'gainst attacks more steel'd,
Ne'er bore Scot's chief or monarch, to the field.’
And go, my page, tell Hardyknute our prop,
Whose castle crowns yon rugged mountain's top,
To draw his sword, that sword foes dread to see;
Call up his men, and haste and follow me.’
Soon to our sov'reign's ear the tidings came;
As round the sumptuous board, in regal state
With noble chiefs, in brave array, he sat,
Circling in glitt'ring cups, the wines' deep red,
Red as the blood these heroes oft had shed:
‘To horse, to horse, my royal liege! to horse!
Your daring foes, led by th'insulting Norse,
Crowd all the strand; full twenty thousand strong,
Pointing their spears in many a warlike throng.’
‘Bring me my Mage, my dapple gray, in haste,’
Exclaim'd our king, while starting from the feast:
‘A steed more trusty, 'gainst attacks more steel'd,
Ne'er bore Scot's chief or monarch, to the field.’
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Whose castle crowns yon rugged mountain's top,
To draw his sword, that sword foes dread to see;
Call up his men, and haste and follow me.’
Swift flew the little page, fleet as the dart
Flung from an arm to pierce some warrior's heart;
Till reach'd the ancient dome's surrounding walls,
Loud from the gate thus to the chief he calls:
‘Come down, great Hardyknute! 'tis war I bring,
Come down, my lord, assist your injured king.’
Flung from an arm to pierce some warrior's heart;
Till reach'd the ancient dome's surrounding walls,
Loud from the gate thus to the chief he calls:
‘Come down, great Hardyknute! 'tis war I bring,
Come down, my lord, assist your injured king.’
Fierce rose the warrior's soul; a fiery glow
O'erspread his cheeks, and dy'd his dark brown brow;
And keen his looks, and stern his visage grew,
As still they wont in dangers great to do.
Loose from his side a grass-green horn he drew,
And five shrill sounds forth from its circle blew;
Wild shook the woods, the startled herds stood still,
And the loud echoes rang around each hill.
O'erspread his cheeks, and dy'd his dark brown brow;
And keen his looks, and stern his visage grew,
As still they wont in dangers great to do.
Loose from his side a grass-green horn he drew,
And five shrill sounds forth from its circle blew;
Wild shook the woods, the startled herds stood still,
And the loud echoes rang around each hill.
In manly sports his sons had spent the morn,
When in a vale, faint on the breezes borne,
They heard their father's war-arousing horn.
‘That horn,’ they solemn said, ‘ne'er sounds in peace.
Some nobler deeds demand our sports to cease.’
Then up the hill they sped, with hostile fire,
Rush'd through the gate, and join'd their warlike sire;
Who thus address'd, with majesty and grace:
‘Last night, my sons, I hop'd that free from strife,
In peace and rest I'd close my eve of life;
Well might my age this weary arm acquit
From martial feats, for years like yours more fit;
But now, since Norse, in haughty fury boasts
T'enslave our land, and dares t'insult our coasts;
Fame ne'er shall say, that Hardyknute, at call,
E'er feared to fight, or gloriously to fall.
When in a vale, faint on the breezes borne,
They heard their father's war-arousing horn.
‘That horn,’ they solemn said, ‘ne'er sounds in peace.
Some nobler deeds demand our sports to cease.’
Then up the hill they sped, with hostile fire,
Rush'd through the gate, and join'd their warlike sire;
Who thus address'd, with majesty and grace:
‘Last night, my sons, I hop'd that free from strife,
In peace and rest I'd close my eve of life;
Well might my age this weary arm acquit
From martial feats, for years like yours more fit;
But now, since Norse, in haughty fury boasts
T'enslave our land, and dares t'insult our coasts;
Fame ne'er shall say, that Hardyknute, at call,
E'er feared to fight, or gloriously to fall.
‘Robin of Rothsay, bend thy trusty bow,
Unerring still thy whistling arrows go;
Full many a daring eye, and visage gay,
They've shut in death, and chang'd to palest clay.
Bold Thomas, take thy lance, no weapon more
Thy arm requires to swell the tide of gore.
If thro' the ranks its fury thou display,
As on that great, that memorable day,
When Westmoreland's fierce heir thy rage did feel,
And, trembling, own'd the terrors of thy steel.
Malcolm, despatch! thy path thou canst pursue,
Swift as the stag, that flies the forest through;
My fearless forces, summon to the field,
Three thousand men, well train'd to sword and shield;
Bring me my courser, harnessing, and blade:
(With dauntless look the agèd hero said)
Knew foes the hand that bears it to the fight,
Soon would the boldest seek inglorious flight.
Farewell, my dame! for peerless good thou art,
Farewell! he said, and prest her to his heart;
To me more fair, in age, you now appear
Than maids whose beauty oft hath reach'd my ear;
My youngest son shall with you here remain
To guard our tow'rs, and ease your anxious pain;
Each night to shut the silver bolts, that keep
Your painted rooms, and watch you while asleep.’
So spake the chief, and, mounting, seized the reins,
While his broad army mov'd along the plains.
Unerring still thy whistling arrows go;
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They've shut in death, and chang'd to palest clay.
Bold Thomas, take thy lance, no weapon more
Thy arm requires to swell the tide of gore.
If thro' the ranks its fury thou display,
As on that great, that memorable day,
When Westmoreland's fierce heir thy rage did feel,
And, trembling, own'd the terrors of thy steel.
Malcolm, despatch! thy path thou canst pursue,
Swift as the stag, that flies the forest through;
My fearless forces, summon to the field,
Three thousand men, well train'd to sword and shield;
Bring me my courser, harnessing, and blade:
(With dauntless look the agèd hero said)
Knew foes the hand that bears it to the fight,
Soon would the boldest seek inglorious flight.
Farewell, my dame! for peerless good thou art,
Farewell! he said, and prest her to his heart;
To me more fair, in age, you now appear
Than maids whose beauty oft hath reach'd my ear;
My youngest son shall with you here remain
To guard our tow'rs, and ease your anxious pain;
Each night to shut the silver bolts, that keep
Your painted rooms, and watch you while asleep.’
So spake the chief, and, mounting, seized the reins,
While his broad army mov'd along the plains.
O'erwhelmed with grief and sad foreboding woe,
Stood his fair spouse to see the warrior go;
The gushing tears,—a melancholy scene!—
Bedew'd her comely cheeks and bodice green,
Fast streaming down, uncheck'd and unconfined;
Her silken cords with glitt'ring silver twin'd,
And apron sew'd with curious diceings rare,
The beauteous work of her own Fairly Fair.
Stood his fair spouse to see the warrior go;
The gushing tears,—a melancholy scene!—
Bedew'd her comely cheeks and bodice green,
Fast streaming down, uncheck'd and unconfined;
Her silken cords with glitt'ring silver twin'd,
And apron sew'd with curious diceings rare,
The beauteous work of her own Fairly Fair.
Meantime his march th'undaunted chief pursued,
O'er moors and hills, thro' vales and many a wood;
Till to a grove he came, where, near the way,
A wounded knight in lonely sorrow lay,
Stretched on the grass; forlorn he seem'd and faint,
And, moaning deep, thus pour'd his sad complaint;
‘Here must I lie, alas! here must I die
By cruel Treachery's false beguiling eye.
Fool that I was a woman to believe,
Whose faithless smiles were formed but to deceive.’
O'er moors and hills, thro' vales and many a wood;
288
A wounded knight in lonely sorrow lay,
Stretched on the grass; forlorn he seem'd and faint,
And, moaning deep, thus pour'd his sad complaint;
‘Here must I lie, alas! here must I die
By cruel Treachery's false beguiling eye.
Fool that I was a woman to believe,
Whose faithless smiles were formed but to deceive.’
Him Hardyknute surveying, thus addrest,
(For pity still found shelter in his breast:)
‘Ah, hapless knight! were you my hall within,
On softer silk your weary head to lean,
My lady's care would sooth that piteous moan,
For deadly hate was still to her unknown;
With kind regard she'd watch you all the day,
Her maids thro' midnight would your grief allay,
And Fairly Fair with soft endearing art,
Delight your eye and chear your drooping heart.
Arise, young knight, and mount your stately steed,
The beauteous day beams bright o'er hill and mead;
Choose whom you please from midst my faithful train,
To guide your steps along the pathless plain.’
With languid look and cheeks in sorrow dy'd,
The wounded knight thus mournfully reply'd:
‘Kind, generous chieftain! your intent pursue,
Here must I stay, here bid the world adieu;
To me no future day, however bright,
Can e'er be sweet, or fair the mildest night;
But soon, beneath some tree's cold-dropping shade,
My cares in death for ever shall be laid.’
(For pity still found shelter in his breast:)
‘Ah, hapless knight! were you my hall within,
On softer silk your weary head to lean,
My lady's care would sooth that piteous moan,
For deadly hate was still to her unknown;
With kind regard she'd watch you all the day,
Her maids thro' midnight would your grief allay,
And Fairly Fair with soft endearing art,
Delight your eye and chear your drooping heart.
Arise, young knight, and mount your stately steed,
The beauteous day beams bright o'er hill and mead;
Choose whom you please from midst my faithful train,
To guide your steps along the pathless plain.’
With languid look and cheeks in sorrow dy'd,
The wounded knight thus mournfully reply'd:
‘Kind, generous chieftain! your intent pursue,
Here must I stay, here bid the world adieu;
To me no future day, however bright,
Can e'er be sweet, or fair the mildest night;
But soon, beneath some tree's cold-dropping shade,
My cares in death for ever shall be laid.’
In vain he sought to soothe the stranger's wail,
With him nor tears, nor pleading cou'd prevail;
With fairest words brave Hardyknute to gain,
And reason strong strove courteously in vain.
With him nor tears, nor pleading cou'd prevail;
With fairest words brave Hardyknute to gain,
And reason strong strove courteously in vain.
Onward again he march'd his hostile band,
Far o'er Lord Chattan's wide-extended land;
When, fir'd by foes to draw his deadly sword,
Immortal deeds still mark'd that worthy lord.
Of Pictish race, by mother's side, he came,
A race long glorious in the lists of Fame;
When Picts ruled Caledon, and sought his aid,
Lord Chattan saved their crown and claimed the princely maid.
Far o'er Lord Chattan's wide-extended land;
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Immortal deeds still mark'd that worthy lord.
Of Pictish race, by mother's side, he came,
A race long glorious in the lists of Fame;
When Picts ruled Caledon, and sought his aid,
Lord Chattan saved their crown and claimed the princely maid.
Now with his fierce and formidable train,
A hill he reach'd that overlook'd the plain,
Where wide encampèd on the dale, for fight,
Norse' glitt'ring army hugely lay in sight.
‘Yonder, my valiant sons! in haughty state,
Those raging robbers our arrival wait,
On Scotia's old, unconquer'd plains to try
With us their fate: be victors now or die!
Implore that mighty Pow'r with pious faith,
Who on the cross redeem'd our souls from death,
Then bravely shew, amid the war's fierce blood,
Your veins still glow with Caledonian blood.’
He said, and forth his shining broad-sword drew,
While thousands round unsheath'd in glorious view,
Blaz'd to the sun, a bright, refulgent throng,
While loud from wing to wing, war-horns resounding rung.
A hill he reach'd that overlook'd the plain,
Where wide encampèd on the dale, for fight,
Norse' glitt'ring army hugely lay in sight.
‘Yonder, my valiant sons! in haughty state,
Those raging robbers our arrival wait,
On Scotia's old, unconquer'd plains to try
With us their fate: be victors now or die!
Implore that mighty Pow'r with pious faith,
Who on the cross redeem'd our souls from death,
Then bravely shew, amid the war's fierce blood,
Your veins still glow with Caledonian blood.’
He said, and forth his shining broad-sword drew,
While thousands round unsheath'd in glorious view,
Blaz'd to the sun, a bright, refulgent throng,
While loud from wing to wing, war-horns resounding rung.
Adown the hill, in martial pomp array'd,
To meet his king, in haste his march he made. [OMITTED]
To meet his king, in haste his march he made. [OMITTED]
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |