"Turn back, turn back, thou Scottish chief!
Holdst thou thy so cheap?
Turn back, or, give my words belief.
Thoug'lt ne'er repass this deep.”
"Light is thy song, malicious elf!
Thy theme is always ill;
Could I but reach thy hated self.
That voice should soon be still."
He sailed one day, he sailed for three,
With all his vassal train;
On the fourth morn—see, Norway, see!
Breaks on the azure main.
By Romsdal’s coast he steered to land,
On hostile views intent;
The fourteen hundred of his band
Were all on evil bent.
With lawless might, where'er they go.
They slaughter and they burn;
They laugh to scorn the widow’s woe,
The old man’s prayer they spurn,
The infant in its mother's arms.
While smiling there, they kill;
But rumours strange, and wild alarms,
Soon all the country fill.
The bonfires blazed, the tidings flew.
And far and wide they spread;
The valley’s sons that signal knew,
From foes they never fled.
"We must ourselves the country save,
Our soldiers fight elsewhere.
And cursed be the dastard knave
Who now his blood would spare!"
From Vaage, Lessoe, and from Lom,
With axes sharp and strong,
In one great mass the peasants come.
To meet the Scots they throng.
There runs a path by Lidè's side.
Which some the Kringell call;
And near it Laugè's waters glide—
In them the foe shall fall.
Now weapons, long disused, are spread
Again that bloody day;
The merman lifts his shaggy head.
And waits his destined prey.
Brave Sinclair, pierced with many a ball,
Sinks groaning on the field;
The Scots behold their leader fall,
And rank on rank they yield.
"On, peasants! on, ye Normand men!
Strike down beneath your feet!"
For home and peace the Scots wished then.
But there was no retreat.
