noble, and in this Sir Caradoc addresses his lady in a manner more befitting the courteous character of the knight of the middle ages. We give the late Mr. Way's translation, for we could not supply a better.

Dear lady mine,' he thus was heard to say,

'If aught misgives thee, shun that baleful robe! To see thy shame, to feel my love decay,

I would not bide for all this earthly globe.

Far better were it aye in doubt remain,

Than read the truth by such disastrous test,
Than see thee now thy sex's honor stain.'

But the lady boldly challenges the test, and in the lay, as in the ballad, with triumphant success, the page exclaiming,

Now, lady fair! thy lover joy betide,

Thine be the pall who winn'st the victory;'

while in the English version, the little boy' applies the coarsest epithets in our language to the disappointed queen, in the very presence of her husband.

In the same ballad the little boy has a horn of 'red gold,' endowed with similar marvellous qualities; and this horn Sir Craddock bears away. This part of the story had, however, already been told by Robert Bikez, an English trouvére, and his description of the magic horn will show the superiority of the 'lai' to the mere ballad. The original, which may be seen in Warton, is quite as flowing as the translation.

Many a jewel there was set,

Mid the gold wrought work yfette;
Beryl, sardius fair to see,

And the choice chalcedony

O! such a horn you ne'er might see!

By a ring of silver rare

Was it fastened; and around

Five score bells gave pleasant sound.
Bells of gold, right pure and fine-
For in the days of Constantine
A learned fairie, bold and wise,
Did this magic horn devise-
And whoe'er with finger free,
Touched that horn,-deliciously
Then these hundred bells would sound.
O! harp or viol ne'er was found
So sweet, nor voice of girls, nor she,

The famous siren of the sea,

Ne'er warbled half so witchingly.'

We pass over the other ballads of a similar kind, nearly all of which may be traced to earlier, and far more poetic sources, as we may probably in some future review, illustrate the tales of King Arthur, from the poems of those trouvéres, whose very existence was unsuspected until the late Abbé de la Rue called the attention of the antiquarian world to them.

While, as we have remarked, England cannot boast a very large collection of ancient ballads, in one department she is very rich-that which may emphatically be called the popular ballad, because it celebrates the deeds of those heroes of the peasantry-those village Hampdens,' or those bold outlaws who, in our early times, when might was often opposed to right, did battle manfully for the real or imagined privileges of the commons. Robin Hood is the type of the popular hero, just as King Arthur is the type of the heroes of chivalry; and it is curious to observe how the peculiar virtues of the chivalrous era are presented, though in fainter colors, and in a ruder guise, in the characteristics assigned to the gallant outlaw of Sherwood. The same determination to redress all grievances, the same 'love 'for poor men,' to which the knight pledged himself at the foot of the altar; the same respect for woman, and the same heartfelt, though superstitious spirit of devotion, are exemplified in the genuine old Robin Hood ballads, as in the Anglo-Norman or old English romances of chivalry. And then there are from time to time, assertions of the dignity of the commons, shrewd hints that the peasant's strong arm may 'do the state some service,' or perhaps disservice; and that hearty assertion of the superiority of the English yeoman to the natives of every other country, which prove these rude ballads could only have sprung up among a people who viewed freedom as their birthright, and who, from the days of Cressy to Waterloo, have maintained unimpaired their national character of valor. In the conduct of this class of ballads, too, we perceive, by the easy and natural sequence of the incidents, that the writer (probably composer would be the more correct term, since we greatly doubt whether any of this class were originally written), was well acquainted with the scenes he describes, and probably with the personages; and thus we obtain a glimpse of society among that class which seldom appears on the page of history.

An admirable picture of life among the lower classes we thus obtain from the excellent old ballad of William of Cloudesley. In an evil hour he has fled to the wood with his two faithful companions, but he has left his wife and children in 'merry 'Carlisle,' and he longs to revisit them.

but William steals away, and knocks at his own windowe,'

and when 'fayre Alyce' lets him in, she informs him that search has been made for him for half a yere and more,' for he and his brethren had been 'outlawed for venysoun,' that bitter grievance of the yeomanry in the middle ages. Cloudesley, however, sits down merrily; but an old wyfe,' whom they had supported of charyte, for more than seven years,'-a characteristic trait of a period when there was no compulsory provision for the poor, but abundant private benevolence-steals out, and acquaints the sheriff. The gift bestowed on her, 'a ryghte gode goune,' is also characteristic of the period, when rewards were almost always given in the form of apparel, but that it was scarlet is certainly a modern interpolation, since that was always the color appropriated to nobility alone. The townsmen of 'merrie Carlisle' now assemble, with a fulle grete route,' and endeavor to enter William's house, while Alice gallantly seizes a poleaxe to defend the door, and he bends 'a righte gode 'bowe,' but in vain.

Have you here my treasure, sayde William,

My wyfe and my chyldren thre:

For Christes love do them no harme,

But wreke you all on me.'-Percy's Reliques, p. 41.

He now rushes out, and it is only by throwing'dores and 'wyndowes' upon him that he is at length taken. This mode of overcoming a prisoner has been considered ridiculous; but, so far from it being so, it is to us a strong proof of the genuineness of the ballad. Doors and window-shutters, for these are evidently meant, were during the middle ages fastened not by hinges, but by hooks and staples; they could, therefore, be swiftly removed, and were certainly from their weight well adapted to this purpose. A payre of newe gallows' is now all that remains for the bold outlaw; but the little town swineherd,

to whom William had often given a meal, gives notice to the two brother outlaws, and they forthwith determine to rescue him. The mode which they adopt is also quite characteristic of the days of our Plantagenets. The sheriff having ordered the gates to be fast closed until the execution is over, they pretend to be king's messengers, bearing letters patent. It was incumbent on the warders of a town to open immediately to the bearers of such, and thus the broad hanging seal appears sufficient proof to the porter that the messengers are the bearers of a royal mandate. He opens the gate, they rush in, knock him down, and seize the keys. Meanwhile William of Cloudesley Lay ready there in a cart,

Fast bound both fote and hand;
And a stronge rope about hys necke,
All ready for to hange.

'The justice called to hym a ladde,
Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have,
To take the measure of that yeman,
Therafter to make hys grave.

'I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle,
As betweyne thys and pryme,

He that maketh a grave for mee,

Hymselfe may lye therin.'-Ib. p. 43.

This philosophical remark is quite in keeping with the changeful fortunes of the outlaw, and his many escapes; the reader will remark, too, how generally the ecclesiastical divisions of time were adopted, when even the rude ballad-maker uses the word 'prime,' the name of the earliest daily service of the church, to express early on the following morning.

Thou speakest proudly, saith the justice; I will thee hang 'wyth my hande;' but the justice, and the sheriff too, fall by the well aimed shafts of his brethren, and William, loosed from his bonds, fights manfully, and at length escapes to the greenwood.

In the next part of this genuine minstrel ballad, the three outlaws, seized with a sudden fit of compunction, determine to go to London, to ask pardon of the king. Their bold entrance into the palace, and the simplicity with which they state their offences, is very characteristic.

And whan they came to the kynges courte,

Unto the pallace gate,

Of no man wold they aske no leave,

But boldly went in therat.

They preced prestly into the hall,

Of no man had they dreade;

The king, on learning their names, not only refuses their prayer, but threatens to hang them. In the true feudal spirit they now urge, that as they came 'freely' to the king's presence, he is bound to permit them 'freely' to depart. That this right was generally recognized in the middle ages, we have curious proofs both in the romances and in history; but these outlaws have, it appears, made themselves so obnoxious to the king that he refuses their plea, and they are only saved by the interposition of the queen.

'That were great pitye, then sayd the quene,
If any grace myght be.

My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande
To be your wedded wyfe,

The fyrst boone that I wold aske,

Ye would graunt it me belyfe ;

And I asked you never none tyll now;
Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me.
Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge,
And graunted it shal be.

Then, good my lord, I you beseche,
These yemen graunt ye me.

Madame, ye myght have asked a boone,

That shuld have been worth them all thre.