Afore the king in order stude
The stout laird of Muirhead,
Wi' that sam twa-hand muckle sword
That Bartram felled stark deid.
He sware he wadna lose his right
To fight in ilka field;
Nor budge him from his liege's sight,
Till his last gasp should yield.
Twa hunder mair, of his ain name,
Frae Torwood and the Clyde,
Sware they would never gang to hame,
But a' die by his syde.
And wondrous weil they kept their troth;
This sturdy royal band
Rush'd down the brae, wi' sic a pith,
That nane cou'd them withstand.
Mony a bludy blow they delt,
The like was never seen;
And hadna that braw leader fallen,
They ne'er had slain the king.
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 12:00