beautiful lines which contain a reflection so like this of our poet. "everye white," &c. viz. "But as extremes are short of ili and good, And tides at highest mark regorge their flood; "Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe, 15 And rewe shall thy ladiè." Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde, And throwne in dungeon deepe: And the ladye into a towre so hye, There left to wayle and weepe. 20 The queene she was Syr Caulines friend, "I praye you save Syr Caulines life, And let him banisht bee." "Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent But here I will make thee a band, If ever he come within this land, 25 All woe-begone was that gentil knight To parte from his ladyè; And many a time he sighed sore, "Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, Was had forthe of the towre; But ever shee droopeth in her minde, 40 And ever shee doth lament and weepe To tint her lover soe: "Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, But I will still be true." And there came lords, and there came knights, Before his ladye gaye; But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, His acton it was all of blacke, His hewberke and his sheelde; When lo, upon the fourth morninge, A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, And at his backe five heads he bare, 80 All wan and pale of blee. 66 Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, "Behold that hend Soldàin ! Behold these heads I beare with me! They are kings which he hath slain. "The Eldridge knight is his own cousìne, "But yette he will appease his wrath, 85 90 And, but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, "Thy head, Syr King, must goe with mee, 95 “Is there never a knighte of my round tablè This matter will undergoe? "Is there never a knighte amongst yee all "For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, And of my crowne be heyre; And he shall winne faire Christabelle To be his wedded fere." 105 110 But every knighte of his round tablè Did stand both still and pale; For, whenever they lookt on the grim Soldàn, All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè, 115 When she sawe no helpe was nye; She cast her thought on her owne true-love, Up then sterte the stranger knighte, 120 Ile fight for thee with this grimme Soldàn, Thoughe he be unmacklye made. "And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde, That lyeth within thy bowre, I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende, 125 Thoughe he be stiff in stowre." "Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde," And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett 140 And now, with swordes soe sharpe of steele, The Soldan strucke the knighte a stroke, Then woe-begone was that fayre ladyè, 145 The Soldan strucke a second stroke, All pale and wan was that ladye fayre, 150 The Soldan strucke a third fell stroke, Which brought the knighte on his knee: Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart, And she shriekt loud shriekings three. The knighte he leapt upon his feete, 155 Quoth hee, "But heaven be now my speede, Or else I shall be slaine." He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte, 160 He drave it into the Soldan's syde, And nowe the kinge, with all his barons, And downe he stepped intò the listes That curteous knighte to greete. 170 But he, for payne and lacke of bloude, And there, all walteringe in his gore, |