Upon the bent sae brown;
They lighted high on Otterbourne
And threw their pallions down.

And he that had a bonnie boy,
Sent out his horse to grass;
And he that had not a bonnie boy,
His ain servant he was.

And up then spake a little foot-page,
Before the peep o' dawn--
"O waken, waken ye, my good lord,
The Percy is hard at hand!"

"Ye lee, ye lee, ye leear loud!
Sae loud I hear ye lee!
For Percy had not men yestreen
To dight my men and me!"

"But I hae dreamed a dreary dream,
Beyond the Isle of Skye;
I saw a dead man win a fight,
An' I think that man was I."

He belted on his gude braid-sword,
And to the field he ran;
But he forgot his helmet good,
That should have kept his brain.

When Percy wi' the Douglas met
I wat he was fu' fain!
They swakked their swords till sair they swat,
The blude ran down like rain.

But Percy, with his gude braid-sword,
That could sae sharply wound,
Has stricken Douglas on the brow,
Till he fell to the ground.

Then he called on his little foot-page
And said, "Run speedilie,
And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
Sir Hugh Montgomerie."

"My nephew good," the Douglas said,
"What recks the death of ane?
Last night I dreamed a dreary dream,
And I ken the day's thy ain.

"My wound is deep, I fain wad sleep;
Take thou the vanguard of the three,
And hide me by the bracken bush
That grows on yonder lilye lea.

"O bury me by the bracken bush,
Beneath the bloomin' brier;
Let never a living mortal ken
That ever a kindly Scot lies here."

He lifted up that noble lord,
Wi' the saut tear in his e'e;
He hid him in the bracken bush
That his merrie men might not see.

The moon was clear, the day drew near,
The speres in flinders flew,
And mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.

The Gordons gude, in English blude
They steeped their hose and shoon;
The Lindsays flew like fire about
Till a' the fray was dune.

The Percy and Montgomerie met,
And either of other was fain;
They swakked swords, and sair they swat,
And the blude ran doun like rain.

"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy!" he cried;
"Or else will I lay thee low."
"To whom sall I yield?" quoth Erle Percy,
"Sin I see it maun be so."

"Thou shalt not yield to lord or loon,
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me,
But thou shalt yield to the bracken bush
That grows