Chapter XXXVII

In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik
All panting on the plain,
The fainting corps of warriors lay,
Neir to aryse again;
Neir to return to native land,
Nae mair with blythsome sounds,
To boist the glories of the day,
And schaw their shyning wounds.

XXXXVIII.

On Norways coast the widowit dame
May wash the rock with teirs,
May lang luke owre the schiples seis
Befoir hir mate appeirs.
Ceise, EMMA, ceise to hope in vain,
Thy lord lyis in the clay,
The valziant Scots nae revers thole
To carry lyfe away.