This vow full well the king performed

After at Humbledown ;

In one day fifty knights were slain
With lords of high renown;
And of the rest, of small account,
Did many hundreds die :

Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Earl Percy.

God save the king, and bless this land,
With plenty, joy, and peace;
And grant, henceforth, that foul debate
"Twixt noblemen may cease.

RICHARD SHEALE.

LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.

[Sir Walter Scott says: "This ballad relates to the execution of

Cockburne of Henderland, a border freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own tower by James V. in his famous expedition, in 1529. against the marauders of the border. In a deserted burial-place

near the ruins of the castle, the monument of Cockburne and his lady is still shown. The following inscription is still legible, though defaced :

"HERE LYES PERYS OF COKBURNE AND HIS WYFE
MARJORY."]

My love he built me a bonnie bower,
And clad it a' wi' lily flower;
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,

Than my true-love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport, and went away;
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me sae dear;
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear :
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.

I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
I watched the corpse mysell alane;
I watched his body night and day;
No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ;
I digged a grave, and laid him in,
And happed him with the sod sae green.

But think nae ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair?
O, think nae ye my heart was wae,
When I turned about, away to gae ?

Nae living man I'll love again,
Since that my lively knight is slain ;
Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart forevermair.

ANONYMOUS.

ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE.

[Of Robin Hood, the famous outlaw of Sherwood Forest, and his merry men, there are many ballads; but the limits of this volume forbid our giving more than a single selection.

Various periods, ranging from the time of Richard I. to the end of the reign of Edward II., have been assigned as the age in which Robin Hood lived. He is usually described as a yeoman, abiding in Sherwood Forest, in Nottinghamshire. His most noted followers, generally mentioned in the ballads, are Little John, Friar Tuck, his chaplain, and his maid Marian. Nearly all the legends extol his courage, his generosity, his humanity, and his skill as an archer. He robbed the rich only, who could afford to lose, and gave freely to the poor. He protected the needy, was a champion of the fair sex, and took great delight in plundering prelates. The following ballad exhibits the outlaw in one of his most attractive aspects, affording assistance to a distressed lover.]

COME, listen to me, you gallants so free, All you that love mirth for to hear, And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, That lived in Nottinghamshire.

As Robin Hood in the forest stood,

All under the greenwood tree, There he was aware of a brave young man, As fine as fine might be.

The youngster was clad in scarlet red,
In scarlet fine and gay;

And he did frisk it over the plain,
And chanted a roundelay.

As Robin Hood next morning stood
Amongst the leaves so gay,
There did he espy the same young man
Come drooping along the way.

The scarlet he wore the day before

It was clean cast away; And at every step he fetched a sigh, “Alack and well-a-day !”

Then stepped forth brave Little John,
And Midge, the miller's son ;
Which made the young man bend his bow,
Whenas he see them come.

"Stand off! stand off!" the young man said, "What is your will with me?"

"You must come before our master straight, Under yon greenwood tree."

And when he came bold Robin before,
Robin asked him courteously,
"O, hast thou any money to spare,
For my merry men and me?"

"I have no money," the young man said, "But five shillings and a ring;

And that I have kept these seven long years, To have at my wedding.

"Yesterday I should have married a maid,
But she was from me ta'en,
And chosen to be an old knight's delight,
Whereby my poor heart is slain."

"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood, "Come tell me without any fail."

And when they came into the churchyard,
Marching all in a row,

The very first man was Allen-a-Dale,
To give bold Robin his bow.

"This is thy true-love," Robin he said, "Young Allen, as I hear say;

Before we depart away.”

"That shall not be," the bishop he cried,

"For thy word shall not stand;

"How's this, how 's this, thou Tinkler loun ? Hast thou presumed to lie on me?" "Faith that I have!" the Tinkler said, "And a right good turn I have done to thee;

"For the lord of Ross and thy own true-love, The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane, Rade west away, ere the break of day;

And you'll never see the dear maid again ;

"So I thought it best to bring you here, On a wrang scent, of my own accord ; For had you met the Johnstone clan,

They wad ha'e made mince-meat of a lord."

At this the Douglas was so wroth

He wist not what to say or do ;

But he strak the Tinkler o'er the croun,
Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow.

"Beshrew my heart," quo' the Tinkler lad,
"Thou bear'st thee most ungallantlye!

If these are the manners of a lord,

They are manners that winna gang doun wi' me."

"Hold up thy hand," the Douglas cried,

"And keep thy distance, Tinkler loun !" "That will I not," the Tinkler said, "Though I and my mare should both go doun !"

"I have armor on," cried the Lord Douglas, "Cuirass and helm, as you may see." "The deil me care!" quo' the Tinkler lad; "I shall have a skelp at them and thee." "You are not horsed," quo' the Lord Douglas, "And no remorse this weapon brooks." "Mine's a right good yaud," quo' the Tinkler lad, "And a great deal better nor she looks.

"So stand to thy weapons, thou haughty lord, What I have taken I needs must give; Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again,

For the langest day thou hast to live."

Then to it they fell, both sharp and snell,

Till the fire from both their weapons flew ; But the very first shock that they met with, The Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue.

For though he had on a sark of mail,

And a cuirass on his breast wore he,
With a good steel bonnet on his head,
Yet the blood ran trickling to his knee.
The Douglas sat upright and firm,

Aye as together their horses ran;
But the Tinkler laid on like a very deil,
Siccan strokes were never laid on by man.

Then Douglas strained the hero's hand,
And took from it his sword again:
"Since thou art the lord of Annandale,
Thou hast eased my heart of meikle pain.

"I might have known thy noble form

In that disguise thou 'rt pleased to wear; All Scotland knows thy matchless arm, And England by experience dear.

"We have been foes as well as friends, And jealous of each other's sway; But little can I comprehend

Thy motive for these pranks to-day."

"Sooth, my good lord, the truth to tell, "T was I that stole your love away, And gave her to the lord of Ross

An hour before the break of day;

"For the lord of Ross is my brother,
By all the laws of chivalrye;
And I brought with me a thousand men
To guard him to my ain countrye.

"But I thought meet to stay behind,
And try your lordship to waylay,
Resolved to breed some noble sport,
By leading you so far astray.

"Judging it better some lives to spare, Which fancy takes me now and then, And settle our quarrel hand to hand,

Than each with our ten thousand men.

So all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea; Until King Arthur's Table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyoness about their lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep, The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, Sir Bedivere, the last of all his Knights, And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross, That stood on a dark strait of barren land. On one side lay the Ocean, and on one Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: "The sequel of to-day unsolders all

The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
They sleep- the men I loved. I think that we
Shall nevermore, at any future time,
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.
I perish by this people which I made,
Though Merlin sware that I should come again
To rule once more; but let what will be, be.
I am so deeply smitten through the helm
That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my pride for thou rememberest

how

In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
Holding the sword- and how I rowed across
And took it, and have worn it, like a king;
And, wheresoever I am sung or told
In after-time, this also shall be known:
But now delay not: take Excalibur,
And fling him far into the middle mere:
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me
word.

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : "It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm. A little thing may harm a wounded man; Yet I thy hest will all perform at full, Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."

So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping
down

By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
Came on the shining levels of the lake.

There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt: For all the haft twinkled with diamond studs, Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work Of subtlest jewelry. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood, This way and that dividing the swift mind, In act to throw but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted water-flags, That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. So strode he back slow to the wounded King.