The kinges fones riden bathe, To hayles Horn when thai him sathe, Horn answerd hem than as hende, And afterward y wille you telle, The mesfanger told Hornes dede, And hou he feighe him ride: "Sir, mightestow hold him to thi nede, King Malkan tharf the nought drede, Batayle might thou bide. Hour king boden him gold and fe, With that he wil with him be, At this ich nede; And Horn ful trewely hath him hight, For to stond in stede of knight, In herd is nought to hide. In Yrlond was ther nan, That alle thai be to Malkan gan,'. So michel was his pouftè, Bot Finlak king him alan King Malkan dede bede out here Now than schal we fe, Yif he wil fight he schal be flan, Bot thre woukes were ther fett, Sir Elidan the fre. He no might into Irlond come, For to helpen his fone, For ftormes on the fe, King Finlak feyd, Is nought to hide, This batayl dar y nought abide, Mi rede is tan to fle: And than was Horn as fain o fight, As is the foule of the light When it ginneth dawe: "Sir king, for to held thi right, Y rede thou bede riche yift, The folk wil to the drawe. Geder to the folk that thou may, And baldliche hold thi day, Batail schal we schawe, To fle me think it is gret schame, Ar dintes be fmiten or ani man flan, For drede of wordes awe. The kinges fones wer knightes bold, Finlak king, thei he wer ald, With speres scharp, and fwerdes gode, So grimly gun thai grete. Ther Horn feighe the mest thrang, In he rides hem amang, And lays on wel gode won; It was no man of Yrland Might ftond a dint of his hand, At ich stroke he slough on. (A leaf, at least, appears to be here wanting. It should feem that there had been a battle, in which Horn was wounded, and the kings fons were takeën prisoners.) Maiden and wiif gret forwe gan make, For the kinges fones fake, That were apoint to dye. The blode ran over his eighe. He cleped his douhter Acula, Of woundes was sche sleighe. The maiden taft* Hornes wounde, The kinges douhter, in that stounde, "Thou schalt be fone hole and founde, Haftow Malkan brought to grounde?" He feyd, Ya, oyain. King Malkan was mi faders ban, And now for fothe ich have him flan, The fothe for to fain. Mi fader fwerd y wan to day, The name is Blavain. Thai birid the folk that wer slan, With hors white and broun; To yif him his warisoun ; Erles, barouns, everichon, In Irlond was ther non, That he no com to his fomoun. The kinges douhter, Acula, Sche durft it nought kithe; * Tafteëd, touch'd, or felt, a Gallicism. On a day sche made her seke, Sche might no lenger mithe; Over al Horn the priis him wan, That was him leve and dere; That Horn hir loved, and most gode an Horn wald no lenger abide, And gedred folk everi whare; Ther hem leveft ware; Under a wode ther thai gan lende, Horn feighe a begger wende, And after he is fare. |