st unprovoked aggression.)

Sir Sinclair sail'd from the Scottish ground,
To Norroway o'er he hasted;
On Guldbrand's rocks his grave he found,
Where his corse in its gore is wasted.

Sir Sinclair sail'd o'er the blue, blue wave,
For Swedish pay he hath sold him,
God help the Scot, for the Norsemen brave
Shall biting the grass behold him.

The moon at night shed pale its light,
The billows are gently swelling;
See a mermaid merge from the briny surge,
To Sir Sinclair evil telling.

"Turn back, turn back, thou bonny Scot:
Thy purpose straight abandon:
To return will not be Sir Sinclair's lot,
Should Sir Sinclair Norroway land on."

"A curse on thy strain, thou imp of the main,
Who boding ill art ever!
For what thou dost preach, wert thou in my reach,
Thy limbs I would dissever."

He sail'd for a day, he sail'd for three,
With all his hired legions;
On the fourth day's morn Sir Sinclair he
Saw Norroway's rocky regions.

On Romsdale's sands he quickly lands,
Himself for a foe declaring;
Him follow'd then twelve hundred men
Such evil intentions bearing.

They vex'd the people, where'er they rov'd,
With pillage and conflagration;
Nor them old age's feebleness mov'd,
Nor the widow's lamentation.

The child was slain at the mother's breast,
Though it smil'd on the murderous savage:
But soon went tidings, east and west,
Of all this wo and ravage.

From neighbour to neighbour the message runs,
On the mountain blaz'd the beacon;
Into lurking-holes crept not the valley's sons,
As the Scots perchance might reckon.

"The soldiers have follow'd the King to the war,
Ourselves must arm us, brothers!
And he who here his life will spare
Shall be damn'd as a cur by the others."

The peasants of Vaage, of Laxoe and Lom,
With axes sharp and heavy,
To the gathering at Bredaboig, one and all, come,
On the Scots fierce war to levy.

A pass, which all men Kringe call,
By the foot of the mountain goeth;
The Lauge, wherein the Scots shall fall,
Close, close beside it floweth.

The aged shooters are taking aim,
Each gun has been call'd into duty;
The Naik {54} his wet beard uplifts from the stream,
And with longing expects his booty.

Sir Sinclair fell the first, with a yell
His soul escap'd him for ever,
Each Scot loud cried when his leader died;
"May the Lord-God us deliver!"

"Now fierce on the dogs, ye jolly Norse-men,
To the chine strike down and cleave them!"
Then the Scots would fain be at home again