SIR SINCLAIR. {51}


From the Danish of Edward Storm.

(At the commencement of the last century, Colonel Sinclair, a Scotsman in
the service of the King of Sweden, landed upon the coast of Norway, at the
time war was raging between the Danish and Swedish crowns, with a band of
Scots which he had levied in his native country. After committing much
havoc and cruelty, the invaders were destroyed to a man in a conflict with
the peasantry, who had assembled in considerable number. Many of the
broad-swords lost by the Scots in this encounter are to be seen in the
Museum of Copenhagen, trophies of a victory achieved in a hallowed cause--
the defence of the father-land against unprovoked aggression.)

Sir Sinclair sail'd from the Scottish ground,
To Norroway o'er he hasted;
On Guldbrand's rocks his grave he found,
Where his corse in its gore is wasted.

Sir Sinclair sail'd o'er the blue, blue wave,
For Swedish pay he hath sold him,
God help the Scot, for the Norsemen brave
Shall biting the grass behold him.

The moon at night shed pale its light,
The billows are gently swelling;
See a mermaid merge from the briny surge,
To Sir Sinclair evil telling.