XL.

Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind, Sair beat the heavy shower, Mirk[510] grew the night ere Hardyknute 315 Wan[511] near his stately tower. His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze To shine sae far at night, Seem'd now as black as mourning weed, Nae marvel sair he sigh'd. 320