valor enough in soldiership, is but weakness and cowardice in the wars of truth. For who knows not that truth is strong, next to the Almighty? She needs no policies, nor stratagems, nor licensings to make her victorious; those are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power: give her but room, and do not bind her when she sleeps, for then she speaks not true, as the old Proteus did, who spake oracles only when he was caught and bound, but then rather she turns herself into all shapes except her own, and perhaps tunes her voice according to the time, as Micaiah did before Ahab, until she be adjured into her own likeness.

ANCIENT BALLADS.

The ballads which have come down to us from a remote antiquity contain the rough nuggets, the uncoined gold, of English poetry. The collection in eight volumes by Professor Child contains a great variety, and presents them in their original simplicity. We have room for two specimens only; and in deference to the wishes of teachers, have felt obliged to print the first, Chevy-Chace, in the modernized version: the older form, The Hunting of the Cheviot, being thought too obscure in many passages.

GOD prosper long our noble king,

Our lives and safeties all;

A woful hunting once there did

In Chevy-Chace befall.

CHEVY-CHACE.

To drive the deer with hound and horn
Erle Piercy took his way;

The child may rue that is unborn
The hunting of that day.

The stout Erle of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summer's days to take,

The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace
To kill and bear away:
The tidings to Erle Douglas came,
In Scotland, where he lay,

Who sent Erle Piercy present word,

He would prevent his sport;
The English erle, not fearing this,
Did to the woods resort,
With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of need
To aim their shafts aright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow-deer;
On Monday they began to hunt,
When daylight did appear.

And long before high noon they had
An hundred fat bucks slain;
Then, having dined, the drovers went
To rouse them up again.

The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;

Their backsides all, with special care,

That day were guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly thro' the woods,
The nimble deer to take,

And with their cries the hills and dales
An echo shrill did make.

Lord Piercy to the quarry went,
To view the tender deere;
Quoth he, "Erle Douglas promised
This day to meet me heer.

"If that I thought he would not come,
No longer would I stay."
With that, a brave young gentleman
Thus to the erle did say:

HENRY, our royall king, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping,
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire :
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepared
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

Ail a long summer's day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one,
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forced all to turne home.
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham,
"Sir," quoth the miller, "I meane not to jest ;
Yet I thinke what I thinke, sooth for to say;
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way."

"Why, what dost thou think of me," quoth our king merrily,
"Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ?"

"Good faith," sayd the miller, "I mean not to flatter thee;

I

guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe ;

Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presentlye crack thy knave's crowne.”

"Thou dost abuse me much," quoth the king, "saying thus; I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke."

"Thou hast not," quoth the miller, "one groat in thy purse; All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe."

"I have gold to discharge all that I call;

If it be forty pence, I will pay all."

"If thou beest a true man," then quoth the miller,

"I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night." "Here's my hand," quoth the king: "that was I ever." "Nay, soft," quoth the miller, "thou may'st be a sprite. Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; With none but honest men hands will I take."

Thus they went all along unto the miller's house,
Where they were seething of puddings and souse;
The miller first entered in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.

"Now," quoth hee, “let me see here what you are.”
Quoth the king, "Looke your fill, and doe not spare."

"I like well thy countenance; thou hast an honest face:
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye."
Quoth his wife, "By my troth, it is a handsome youth,
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.

Art thou no runaway, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well."

Then our king, presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say:
"I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree."

Then to the miller his wife whispered secretlye,
Saying, "It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turn him out, certainlye were a great sin."