The armies met, the trumpet sounds,
The dandring* drums alloud did touk,
Baith armies byding on the bounds,
Till ane of them the feild sould bruik; Nae help was thairfor, nane wad jouk, † Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde,
And on the ground lay mony a bouk,‡ Of them that thair did battill byd.
With doutsum victorie they dealt,
The bludy battill lastit lang;
Each man his nibours forss thair felt,
The weakest aft-times gat the wrang;
Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,
Naithing was hard but heavy knocks,
That echo maid a dulefull sang,
Thairto resounding frae the rocks.
Dandring, a word formed from the sound, rattling,
+ Jouk, escape by jumping aside.
But Donald's men at last gaif back,
For they war all out of array;
The erle of Maris men throw them brak,
Pursewing shairply in thair way,
Thair enemys to tak or slay,
Be dynt of forss to gar them yield;
Quha war richt blyth to win away,
And sae for feirdness tint the field.
Then Donald fled, and that full fast,
To mountains hich for all his micht;
For he and his war all agast,
And ran till they war out of sicht:
And sae of Ross he lost his richt,
Thoch mony men with him he brocht;
Towards the Yles fled day and nicht,
And all he wan was deirlie bocht.
This is (quod he) the richt report
Of all that I did heir and knaw;
Thoch my discourse be sumthing schort,
Tak this to be a richt suthe saw,*
Contrairie God and the King's law
Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude,
Into the battil of Harlaw;
This is the sum, sae I conclude.
But zit a bonny quhyle abide,
And I sall mak thee clearly ken,
Quhat slauchter was on ilkay syde,
Of Lowland and of Highland men;
Quha for thair awin † haif evir bene;
These lazie lowns micht weil be spaird,
Chessit lyke deirs into thair dens,
And gat thair wages for rewaird.
* Suthe saw, soothsaying, true story.
+ Awin, own.
* Lowns, rascals.
Malcomtosch of the clan heid cheif, Maclean with his grit hauchty heid, With all thair succour and relief,
War dulefully dung to the deid;* And now we are freid of thair feid,+ And will not lang to come again;
Thousands with them without remeid, On Donald syd, that day war slain.
And on the uther syde war lost,
Into the feild that dismal day,
Cheif men of worth (of mekle cost)
To be lamentit sair for ay;
The lord Saltoun of Rothemay,
A man of micht and mekle main,
Grit dolour was for his decay,
That sae unhappylie was slain.
*Dung to the deid, knocked to death. Freid of thair feid, free from their feud.
Of the best men amang them was
The gracious gude lord Ogilvy,
The Sheriff-principal of Angus,
Renownit for truth and equitie,
For faith and magnanimitie;
He had few fallows in the feild,
Zit fell by fatal destinie,
For he nae ways wad grant to zield.
Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,
Grit Constabill of fair Dunde,
Unto the dulefull deith was dicht;+
The kingis cheif banner-man was he,
A valiant man of chevalrie,
Quhais predecessors wan that place
At Spey, with gude king William frie, 'Gainst Murray and Macduncan's race.
+ Dicht, accoutered; here, made to suffer.
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