Chapter VII: Book IV: King Estmere (2)

"Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy,
Gi'e my horse corn and hay."--
"O that I will, my master dear,
As quickly as I may." 100

She's ta'en the hay under her arm,
The corn intill her hand,
And she's gane to the great stable,
As fast as e'er she can.

"O room ye round, my bonny brown steeds, 105
O room ye near the wa';
For the pain that strikes me through my sides
Full soon will gar me fa'."

She lean'd her back against the wa';
Strong travel came her on; 110
And e'en amang the great horse feet
Burd Ellen brought forth her son.

Lord Johnis mither intill her bower
Was sitting all alane,
When, in the silence o' the nicht, 115
She heard Burd Ellen's mane.

"Won up, won up, my son," she says,
"Gae see how a' does fare;
For I think I hear a woman's groans,
And a bairnie greetin' sair." 120

O hastily he gat him up,
Staid neither for hose nor shoon,
And he's doen him to the stable door
Wi' the clear light o' the moon.

He strack the door hard wi' his foot, 125
Sae has he wi' his knee,
And iron locks and iron bars
Into the floor flung he:
"Be not afraid, Burd Ellen," he says,
"There's nane come in but me. 130

"Tak up, tak up my bonny young son;
Gar wash him wi' the milk;
Tak up, tak up my fair lady,
Gar row her in the silk.

"And cheer thee up, Burd Ellen," he says, 135
"Look nae mair sad nor wae;
For your marriage and your kirkin too
Sall baith be in ae day."

62,63, according to Jamieson, the same as vv. 54, 55, but here formed on their model, from 57, 58.

ERLINTON.

First published in the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, ii. 351,--"from the collation of two copies obtained from recitation."

_Erlinton_ and _The Child of Elle_ are corrupt varieties of _The Douglas Tragedy_. The passage referred to in vol. ii. p. 114, is remarked on in a note at the end of the ballad.

Erlinton had a fair daughter;
I wat he weird her in a great sin,
For he has built a bigly bower,
An' a' to put that lady in.

An' he has warn'd her sisters six, 5
An' sae has he her brethren se'en,
Outher to watch her a' the night,
Or else to seek her morn an e'en.

She hadna been i' that bigly bower,
Na not a night, but barely ane, 10
Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Chapp'd at the door, cryin', "Peace within!"

"O whae is this at my bower door,
That chaps sae late, or kens the gin?"
"O it is Willie, your ain true love, 15
I pray you rise an' let me in!"

"But in my bower there is a wake,
An' at the wake there is a wane;
But I'll come to the green-wood the morn,
Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn." 20

Then she's gane to her bed again,
Where she has layen till the cock crew thrice,
Then she said to her sisters a',
"Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise."

She pat on her back her silken gown, 25
An' on her breast a siller pin,
An' she's ta'en a sister in ilka hand,
An' to the green-wood she is gane.

She hadna walk'd in the green-wood,
Na not a mile but barely ane, 30
Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Wha frae her sisters has her ta'en.

He took her sisters by the hand,
He kiss'd them baith, an' sent them hame,
An' he's ta'en his true love him behind, 35
And through the green-wood they are gane.

They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood,
Na not a mile but barely ane,
When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights,
That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane. 40

The foremost was an aged knight,
He wore the grey hair on his chin:
Says, "Yield to me thy lady bright,
An' thou shalt walk the woods within."

"For me to yield my lady bright 45
To such an aged knight as thee,
People wad think I war gane mad,
Or a' the courage flown frae me."

But up then spake the second knight,
I wat he spake right boustouslie: 50
"Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright,
Or here the tane of us shall die."

"My lady is my warld's meed;[L53]
My life I winna yield to nane;
But if ye be men of your manhead, 55
Ye'll only fight me ane by ane."

He lighted aff his milk-white steed,
An' gae his lady him by the head,
Say'n, "See ye dinna change your cheer,
Untill ye see my body bleed." 60

He set his back unto an aik,
He set his feet against a stane,
An' he has fought these fifteen men,
An' kill'd them a' but barely ane;
For he has left that aged knight, 65
An' a' to carry the tidings hame.

When he gaed to his lady fair,
I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie:
"Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought;
Now we shall walk the green-wood free." 70

53, Should we not read _warld's mate_?

NOTE to v. 59, 60.

"Say'n, 'See ye dinna change your cheer,
Untill ye see my body bleed.'"

As has been remarked (vol. ii. p. 114), _Erlinton_ retains an important, and even fundamental trait of the older forms of the story, which is not found in any other of the English versions of the _Douglas Tragedy_. It was a northern superstition that to call a man by name while he was engaged in fight was a fatal omen, and hence a phrase, "to name-to-death." To avert this danger, Ribolt, in nearly all the Scandinavian ballads, entreats Guldborg not to _pronounce his name_, even if she sees him bleeding or struck down. In her agony at seeing the last of her brothers about to be slain, Guldborg forgets her lover's injunction, calls on him by name to stop, and thus brings about the catastrophe. Ignorant reciters have either dropped the corresponding passage in the English ballad, or (as in this case) have so corrupted it, that its significance is only to be made out by comparison with the ancient copies.

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

"From a fragment in the Editor's folio MS., which, though extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited a strong desire to attempt the completion of the story. The reader will easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he considers how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity and artless beauties of the original." PERCY, _Reliques_, i. 113. (See vol. ii. p. 114.)

It must be acknowledged that this truly modest apology was not altogether uncalled for. So extensive are Percy's alterations and additions, that the reader will have no slight difficulty in detecting the few traces that are left of the genuine composition. Nevertheless, Sir Walter Scott avers that the corrections are "in the true style of Gothic embellishment!"

On yonder hill a castle standes,
With walles and towres bedight,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden wente, 5
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page
Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Ywis he stoode not stille, 10
And soone he mette faire Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.

"Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!
Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye, 15
And what may thy tydinges bee?"

"My lady shee is all woe-begone,
And the teares they falle from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude
Betweene her house and thine." 20

"And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe,
Bedewde with many a teare,
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.

"And here shee sends thee a ring of golde, 25
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
Whan she is layde in grave.

"For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soone must shee bee, 30
Sith her father hath chose her a new, new love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.

"Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 35
Or he vowes he will her slaye."

"Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy ladye from mee,
And telle her that I, her owne true love,
Will dye, or sette her free. 40

"Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know,
This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe,
Betide me weale or woe."

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 45
He neither stint ne stayd,
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre,
Whan kneeling downe he sayd:

"O ladye, Ive been with thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee; 50
This night will he bee at thy bowre-windowe,
And dye or sette thee free."

Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe,
All save the ladye Emmeline, 55
Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

And soone shee heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle:
"Awake, awake, my deare ladye,
Tis I, thy true love, call. 60

"Awake, awake, my ladye deare,
Come, mount this faire palfraye:
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye."

"Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65
Nowe nay, this may not bee;
For aye sould I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee."

"O ladye, thou with a knight so true
Mayst safelye wend alone; 70
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,
Where marriage shall make us one."

"My father he is a baron bolde,
Of lynage proude and hye;
And what would he saye if his daughter 75
Awaye with a knight should fly?

"Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,
Nor his meate should doe him no goode,
Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,
And seene thy deare hearts bloode." 80

"O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that he could doe.

"O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85
And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that might befalle."

Faire Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe: 90
At length he seizde her lilly-white hand,
And downe the ladder he drewe.

And thrice he claspde her to his breste,
And kist her tenderlie:
The teares that fell from her fair eyes, 95
Ranne like the fountayne free.

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,
And her on a faire palfraye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye. 100

All this beheard her owne damselle,
In her bed whereas shee ley;
Quoth shee, "My lord shall knowe of this,
Soe I shall have golde and fee.

"Awake, awake, thou baron bolde! 105
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fledde with the Childe of Elle,
To doe the deede of shame."

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And called his merrye men all: 110
"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte;
The ladye is carried to thrall."

Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her fathers men 115
Come galloping over the downe.

And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye:
"Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure,
Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120

"For she is come of hye lynage,
And was of a ladye borne,
And ill it beseems thee, a false churles sonne,
To carrye her hence to scorne."

"Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125
Nowe thou doest lye of mee;
A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.

"But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,
Light downe, and hold my steed, 130
While I and this discourteous knighte
Doe trye this arduous deede.

"But light now downe, my deare ladye,
Light downe, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knight 135
Doe trye our valours force."

Fair Emmeline sighde, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
While twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blowe. 140

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well,
As his weapon he wavde amaine,
That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,
And layde him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron, and all his men 145
Full fast approached nye:
Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe?
Twere now no boote to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill, 150
And soone he saw his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.

"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron,
I pray thee, hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts, 155
Fast knit in true loves band.

"Thy daughter I have dearly lovde
Full long and many a day;
But with such love as holy kirke
Hath freelye sayd wee may. 160

"O give consent shee may be mine,
And blesse a faithfull paire;
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lynage faire.

"My mother she was an earles daughter, 165
And a noble knyght my sire----"
The baron he frownde, and turnde away
With mickle dole and ire.

Fair Emmeline sighde, faire Emmeline wept,
And did all tremblinge stand; 170
At lengthe she sprange upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.

"Pardon, my lorde and father deare,
This faire yong knyght and mee:
Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, 175
I never had fled from thee.

"Oft have you callde your Emmeline
Your darling and your joye;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmeline destroye." 180

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke,
And turnde his heade asyde,
To wipe awaye the starting teare,
He proudly strave to hyde.

In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185
And musde a little space;
Then raisde faire Emmeline from the grounde,
With many a fond embrace.

"Here take her, Child of Elle," he sayd,
And gave her lillye hand; 190
"Here take my deare and only child,
And with her half my land.

"Thy father once mine honour wrongde,
In dayes of youthful pride;
Do thou the injurye repayre 195
In fondnesse for thy bride.

"And as thou love her and hold her deare,
Heaven prosper thee and thine;
And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,
My lovelye Emmeline." 200

SIR ALDINGAR.

Of this very remarkable ballad two copies have been printed in English, _Sir Aldingar_, from the Percy MS. (_Reliques_, ii. 53), "with conjectural emendations and the insertion of some additional stanzas," and _Sir Hugh Le Blond_, by Scott, from recitation. The corresponding Danish ballad, _Ravengaard og Memering_, first published by Grundtvig, is extant in not less than five copies, the oldest derived from a MS. of the middle of the 16th century, the others from recent recitations. With these Grundtvig has given an Icelandic version, from a MS. of the 17th century, another in the dialect of the Faroe Islands, and a third half Danish, half Faroish, both as still sung by the people. The ballad was also preserved, not long ago, in Norway.--_Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser_, i. 177-213, ii. 640-645.

All these ballads contain a story one and the same in the essential features--a story which occurs repeatedly in connection with historical personages, in Germany, France, Italy, and Spain, as well as England,--and which has also furnished the theme for various modern romances, poems, and tragedies. The connection of the different forms of the legend has been investigated by the Danish editor at considerable length and with signal ability; and we shall endeavor to present the principal results of his wide research in the few pages which our narrow limits allow us to give to such questions.

The names of the characters in the Danish ballads are Henry (called Duke of Brunswick and of Schleswig in the oldest), Gunild (of Spires, called also Gunder), Ravengaard, and Memering. To these correspond, in the English story, King Henry, Queen Eleanor, Sir Aldingar (the resemblance of this name to Ravengaard will be noted), and a boy, to whom no name is assigned. Eleanor, it hardly need be remarked, is a queen's name somewhat freely used in ballads (see vol. vi. 209, and vol. vii. 291), and it is possible that the consort of Henry II. is here intended, though her reputation both in history and in song hardly favors that supposition.

The occurrence of Spires in the old Danish ballad would naturally induce us to look for the origin of the story in the annals of the German emperors of the Franconian line, who held their court at Spires, and are most of them buried in the cathedral at that place. A very promising clue is immediately found in the history of King (afterwards Emperor) Henry III., son of the Emperor Conrad II. Salicus. This Henry was married, in the year 1036, to Gunhild, daughter of Canute the Great. An English chronicler, William of Malmesbury, writing in the first half of the 12th century, tells us that after this princess had lived many years in honorable wedlock, she was accused of adultery. Being forced to clear herself by wager of battle, she found in all her retinue no one who was willing to risk a combat with her accuser, a man of gigantic stature, save a little boy whom she had brought with her from England. The issue of the duel established her innocence,--her diminutive champion succeeding by some miracle in ham-stringing his huge adversary; but it is alleged that the queen refused to return to her husband, and passed the rest of a long life in a monastery.[3]

[3] "Although there are seven centuries between William and our times," says Grundtvig, "and the North Sea between Jutland and the land of his birth, it almost seems as if he had taken his account from the very ballad which is at this day sung on the little island of Fuur in the Lym Fiord."

A Norman-French _Life of Edward the Confessor_, written about 1250, repeats this story, and adds the champion's name.[4]

[4] We have substituted this paragraph instead of a later chronicle cited by Grundtvig. The translation is that of the English editor: _Lives of Edward the Confessor_ (p. 39, 193), recently published by authority of the British government.

"A daughter had the king,
Who was not so beautiful as clever.
Gunnild her name; and he gave her
To him who with love had asked for her,--
The noble Emperor Henry.
She remained not long with him,
Because by felons, who had no reason
To blame her calumniously,
She was charged with shame:
To the Emperor was she accused.
According to the custom of the empire,
It behoved her to clear herself from shame
By battle; and she takes much trouble
To find one to be her champion:
But finds no one, for very huge was
The accuser,--as a giant.
But a dwarf, whom she had brought up,
Undertook the fight with him.
At the first blow he hamstrung him;
At the second he cut off his feet.
Mimecan was the dwarf's name,
Who was so good a champion,
As the history, which is written,
Says of him. The lady was freed from blame,
But the lady the emperor
No more will have as her lord."

Finally, John Brompton, writing two hundred years after William of Malmesbury, repeats his account, and gives the names of _both_ the combatants,--"a youth called Mimicon, and a man of gigantic size, by name Roddyngar" (Raadengard = the Danish Ravengaard).

The story of William of Malmesbury and the rest, though it is sufficiently in accordance with the Danish and English ballads, is in direct opposition to the testimony of contemporary German chroniclers, who represent Queen Gunhild as living on the best terms with her husband, and instead of growing old in God's service in a nunnery, as dying of the plague in Italy two years after her marriage, and hardly twenty years of age. It is manifest, therefore, that the English chroniclers derived their accounts from ballads current at their day,[5] which, as they were not founded on any real passages in the life of Gunhild, require us to look a little further for their origin.

[5] William of Malmesbury refers to ballads which were made on the splendid nuptial procession, by which Gunhild was conducted to the ship that was to bear her to her husband, as still sung about the streets in his time.

The empress Gunhild was called by the German chroniclers of her day by various names--as Cunihild, Chunihild, Chunelind, and _Cunigund_, which last name she is said to have assumed at her coronation. This change of Gunhild's name accounts for the unfounded scandals which were in circulation about her in her native land, scarcely a hundred years after her death. Cunigund, wife of Henry III., was in fact confounded with a contemporary German queen and empress, _St. Cunigund_, widow of the Emperor Henry II. This mistake, which has been made more than once, will be acknowledged to be a very natural one (especially for foreigners), when it is considered that both queens not only bore the same name, but were married each to an emperor of the same name (Henry), both of whom again were sons of Conrads.[6]

[6] An argument in confirmation of what is here said is afforded by a German annalist of the 14th century, who states, under the date 1038, that the empress Cunigund died the 3d of March, and was buried at Spires. Now St. Cunigund actually did die the 3d of March, and that day is dedicated to her in the Roman calendar, but the year was 1040, and she was buried at Bamberg, while Gunhild died in 1038 (July 18), and was buried in the monastery of Limburg, near Spires.

Referring now to the history of St. Cunigund, we read in the papal bull of Innocent III., by which she was canonized in the year 1200, that "she consecrated her virginity to the Lord, and preserved it intact,--so that when at one time by the instigation of the enemy of mankind a suspicion had been raised against her, she, to prove her innocence, walked with bare feet over burning ploughshares, and came off unscathed." Again, we read in a slightly more recent German chronicle, as follows: "The Devil, who hates all the righteous, and is ever seeking to bring them to shame, stirred up the Emperor against his wife, persuading him, through a certain duke, that in contempt of her husband she had committed adultery with another man. The empress offered to undergo an ordeal, and a great many bishops came to see it carried out. Whereupon seven glowing ploughshares were laid on the ground, over which the empress was forced to walk in bare feet, to attest her innocence, ... which, when the king saw, he prostrated himself before her with all his nobles." Adalbert's Life of St. Henry (which is, at the latest, of the 12th century), agreeing in all essentials with these accounts, adds an important particular, explaining how it was that the Devil brought the queen's honor into question, namely, that he was seen by many to go in and out of her private chamber, in the likeness of a handsome young man.--St. Cunigund is said to have undergone the ordeal at Bamberg, in the year 1017. The story, however, is without foundation, not being mentioned by any contemporary writers, but first appearing in various legends, towards the year 1200.

But St. Cunigund is by no means the first German empress of whom the story under consideration is told. A writer contemporary with her, who has nothing to say about the miracle just recounted, relates something very similar of _another_ empress, one hundred and thirty years earlier, namely, of Richardis, wife of Charles III. The tale runs that this Charles, in the year 887, accused his queen of unlawful connection with a Bishop. Her Majesty offered to subject herself to the Judgment of God, either by duel or by the ordeal of burning ploughshares. It is not said that either test was applied, but only that the queen retired into a cloister which she had herself founded. This is the contemporary account. A century and a half later we are told that an ordeal by _water_ was actually undergone, which again is changed by later writers into an ordeal by _fire_,--the empress passing through the flames in a waxed garment, without receiving the least harm; in memory of which, a day was kept, five centuries after, in honor of St. Richardis, in the monastery to which she withdrew.

Several other similar cases might be mentioned, but it will suffice to refer to only one more, more ancient than any of those already cited. Paulus Diaconus (who wrote about the year 800) relates that a Lombard queen, Gundiberg (of the 7th century), having been charged with infidelity, one of her servants asked permission of the king to fight in the lists for his mistress's honor, and conquered his antagonist in the presence of all the people. The same story is told, more in detail, by Aimoin, a somewhat more recent writer, of another Gundeberg, likewise of the 7th century. A Lombard nobleman makes insolent proposals to his queen, and meets with a most emphatic repulse. Upon this he goes to the king with a story that the queen has been three days conspiring to poison her husband, and put her accomplice in his place. The tale is believed, and the queen shut up in prison. The Frankish king, a relation of the injured woman, remonstrates on the injustice of condemnation without trial, and the king consents to submit the question to a duel. The champion of innocence is victorious, and the real criminal is condignly punished. This form of the legend, the oldest of all that have been cited, approaches very near to the Danish and English ballads.

Our conclusion would therefore be, with Grundtvig, that the ballads of _Sir Aldingar_, _Ravengaard and Memering_, and the rest, are of common derivation with the legends of St. Cunigund, Gundeberg, &c., and that all these are offshoots of a story which, "beginning far back in the infancy of the Gothic race and their poetry, is continually turning up, now here and now there, without having a proper home in any definite time or assignable place." Many circumstances corroborative of this view might be added, but we must content ourselves with obviating a possible objection. An invariable feature in the story is the _judicium Dei_ by which the innocence of the accused wife is established, but there is much difference in the various forms of the legend as to the _kind_ of ordeal employed, and some minds may here find difficulty. A close observation, however, will show such a connection between the different accounts as to prove an original unity. Even the earlier legends of St. Cunigund do not agree on this point; one makes her to have walked over burning ploughshares, another to have carried red-hot iron in her hands. The Icelandic copy of the ballad has both of these: the queen "carries iron and walks on steel"; and there is also a "judgment by iron bands." All these three tests are found in the Faroe ballad, which brings in Memering besides, and thus furnishes a transition to the Danish, which says nothing about the trial by fire, and has only the duel. Finally the English ballad completes the circle with the pile at which the queen was to be burned, in case she should not be able to prove her innocence by the duel.

At a time uncertain, but earlier than the 14th century, this legend was transplanted into the literature of Southern Europe. It is found in various Spanish chronicles, the earliest the _Historia de Catalu[~n]a_ of Bernardo Desclot, written about 1300; also in a Proven[c,]al and a French chronicle of the 17th century. In most of these the part of the queen's champion is assigned to the well-known Raimund Berengar, Count of Barcelona, who, in the year 1113, took Majorca from the Moors. The popularity of the story is further proved by the Spanish romance, _El Conde de Barcelona y la Emperatriz de Alemania_; the French romance _L'Histoire de Palanus, Comte de Lyon_; and a novel of Bandello, the 44th of the Second Part. This last was re-written and published in 1713, with slight changes, as an original tale, by M^{me} de Fontaines (_Histoire de la Comtesse de Savoie_), whence Voltaire borrowed materials for two of his tragedies, _Tancr[e']de_ and _Art['e]mire_.

By the circuitous route of Spain the story returns to England in a romance of the 15th century, _The Erle of Tolous_ (Ritson, _Metr. Rom._ iii. p. 93). Nearly related with this romance is the German story-book (derived from the French) on which Hans Sachs founded his tragedy, _Der Ritter Golmi mit der Herzogin auss Britanien_. Another German popular story-book, _Hirlanda_, exhibits a close resemblance to our ballad of _Sir Aldingar_.[7]

[7] In [S] v. of his Introduction to _Ravengaard og Memering_, Grundtvig seeks to show that this ballad, though independent in its origin, was at one time, like many others, woven into the great South-Gothic epic of Diderik of Bern, and then, having divided the legend into two portions,--the Accusation and its Cause, the Vindication and its Mode,--he, in [S] vi. vii. traces out with wonderful learning and penetration the extensive ramifications of the first part, taken by itself, through the romance of the Middle Ages. The whole essay is beyond praise.

"This old fabulous legend is given from the editor's folio MS., with conjectural emendations, and the insertion of some additional stanzas to supply and complete the story. It has been suggested to the editor that the author of the poem seems to have had in his eye the story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes called Eleanor (?), and was married to the emperor (here called king) Henry."--PERCY.

Our king he kept a false stewarde,
Sir Aldingar they him call;
A falser steward than he was one,
Servde not in bower nor hall.

He wolde have layne by our comelye queene, 5
Her deere worshippe to betraye;
Our queene she was a good woman,
And evermore said him naye.

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,
With her hee was never content, 10
Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,
In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gate,
A lazar both blinde and lame;
He tooke the lazar upon his backe, 15
Him on the queenes bed has layne.

"Lye still, lazar, wheras thou lyest,
Looke thou goe not hence away;
Ile make thee a whole man and a sound
In two howers of the day." 20

Then went him forth Sir Aldingar,
And hyed him to our king:
"If I might have grace, as I have space,
Sad tydings I could bring."

"Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar, 25
Saye on the soothe to mee."
"Our queene hath chosen a new, new love,
And shee will have none of thee.

"If shee had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had beene her shame; 30
But she hath chose her a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame."

"If this be true, thou Aldingar,
The tyding thou tellest to me,
Then will I make thee a rich, rich knight, 35
Rich both of golde and fee.

"But if it be false, Sir Aldingar,
As God nowe grant it bee!
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood,
Shall hang on the gallows tree." 40

He brought our king to the queenes chamber,
And opend to him the dore:
"A lodlye love," King Harry says,
"For our queene," dame Elinore!

"If thou were a man, as thou art none, 45
Here on my sword thoust dye;
But a payre of new gallowes shall be built,
And there shalt thou hang on hye."

Forth then hyed our king, iwysse,
And an angry man was hee, 50
And soone he found queene Elinore,
That bride so bright of blee.

"Now God you save, our queene, madame,
And Christ you save and see!
Here you have chosen a newe, newe love, 55
And you will have none of mee.

"If you had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had been your shame;
But you have chose you a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame. 60

"Therfore a fyer there shall be built,
And brent all shalt thou bee."--
"Now out, alacke!" said our comly queene,
"Sir Aldingar's false to mee.

"Now out, alacke!" sayd our comlye queene, 65
"My heart with griefe will brast:
I had thought swevens had never been true,
I have proved them true at last.

"I dreamt in my sweven on Thursday eve,
In my bed wheras I laye, 70
I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast
Had carryed my crowne awaye;

"My gorgett and my kirtle of golde,
And all my faire head-geere;
And he wold worrye me with his tush, 75
And to his nest y-beare:

"Saving there came a little gray hawke,
A merlin him they call,
Which untill the grounde did strike the grype,
That dead he downe did fall. 80

"Giffe I were a man, as now I am none,
A battell wold I prove,
To fight with that traitor Aldingar:
Att him I cast my glove.

"But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 85
My liege, grant me a knight
To fight with that traitor, Sir Aldingar,
To maintaine me in my right."

"Now forty dayes I will give thee
To seeke thee a knight therin: 90
If thou find not a knight in forty dayes,
Thy bodye it must brenn."

Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,
By north and south bedeene;
But never a champion colde she find, 95
Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.

Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,
Noe helpe there might be had;
Many a teare shed our comelye queene,
And aye her hart was sad. 100

Then came one of the queenes damselles,
And knelt upon her knee:
Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,
I trust yet helpe may be.

"And here I will make mine avowe, 105
And with the same me binde,
That never will I return to thee,
Till I some helpe may finde."

Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye,
Oer hill and dale about; 110
But never a champion colde she finde,
Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.

And nowe the daye drewe on apace,
When our good queene must dye;
All woe-begone was that fair damselle, 115
When she found no helpe was nye.

All woe-begone was that faire damselle,
And the salt teares fell from her eye;
When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,
She met with a tinye boye. 120

A tinye boy she mette, God wot,
All clad in mantle of golde;
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse,
Then a childe of four yeere olde.

"Why grieve you, damselle faire?" he sayd, 125
"And what doth cause you moane?"
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,
But fast she pricked on.

"Yet turne againe, thou faire damselle,
And greete thy queene from mee; 130
When bale is at hyest, boote is nyest;
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.

"Bid her remember what she dreamt,
In her bedd wheras shee laye;
How when the grype and the grimly beast 135
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,

"Even then there came the little gray hawke,
And saved her from his clawes:
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,
For heaven will fende her cause." 140

Back then rode that fair damselle,
And her hart it lept for glee:
And when she told her gracious dame,
A gladd woman then was shee.

But when the appointed day was come, 145
No helpe appeared nye;
Then woeful woeful was her hart,
And the teares stood in her eye.

And nowe a fyer was built of wood,
And a stake was made of tree; 150
And now queene Elinor forth was led,
A sorrowful sight to see.

Three times the herault he waved his hand,
And three times spake on hye;
"Giff any good knight will fende this dame, 155
Come forth, or shee must dye."

No knight stood forth, no knight there came,
No helpe appeared nye;
And now the fyer was lighted up,
Queene Elinor she must dye. 160

And now the fyer was lighted up,
As hot as hot might bee;
When riding upon a little white steed,
The tinye boye they see.

"Away with that stake, away with those brands, 165
And loose our comelye queene:
I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar,
And prove him a traitor keene."

Forth then stood Sir Aldingar;
But when he saw the chylde, 170
He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe,
And weened he had been beguylde.

"Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar,
And eyther fighte or flee;
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 175
Thoughe I am so small to see."

The boye pulld forth a well good sworde,
So gilt it dazzled the ee;
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar
Smote off his leggs by the knee. 180

"Stand up, stand up, thou false traitor,
And fighte upon thy feete,
For, and thou thrive as thou beginst,
Of height wee shall be meete."

"A priest, a priest," sayes Aldingar, 185
"While I am a man alive;
"A priest, a priest," sayes Aldingar,
"Me for to houzle and shrive.

"I wolde have laine by our comlie queene,
But shee wolde never consent; 190
Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge,
In a fyer to have her brent.

"There came a lazar to the kings gates,
A lazar both blind and lame;
I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 195
And on her bedd had him layne.

"Then ranne I to our comlye king,
These tidings sore to tell:
But ever alacke!" sayes Aldingar,
"Falsing never doth well. 200

"Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,
The short time I must live:"
"Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,
As freely I forgive."

"Here take thy queene, our King Harrye, 205
And love her as thy life,
For never had a king in Christentye
A truer and fairer wife."

King Harrye ran to claspe his queene,
And loosed her full sone; 210
Then turnd to look for the tinye boye:--
The boye was vanisht and gone.

But first he had touchd the lazar man,
And stroakt him with his hand;
The lazar under the gallowes tree 215
All whole and sounde did stand.

The lazar under the gallowes tree
Was comelye, straight, and tall;
King Henrye made him his head stewarde,
To wayte withinn his hall. 220

SIR HUGH LE BLOND.

_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 51.

"The tradition, upon which the ballad is founded, is universally current in the Mearns; and the Editor is informed, that, till very lately, the sword, with which Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended the life and honour of the Queen, was carefully preserved by his descendants, the Viscounts of Arbuthnot. That Sir Hugh of Arbuthnot lived in the thirteenth century, is proved by his having, 1282, bestowed the patronage of the church of Garvoch upon the Monks of Aberbrothwick, for the safety of his soul.--_Register of Aberbrothwick, quoted by Crawford in Peerage._

"I was favoured with the following copy of _Sir Hugh le Blond_, by K. Williamson Burnet, Esq. of Monboddo, who wrote it down from the recitation of an old woman, long in the service of the Arbuthnot family. Of course, the diction is very much humbled, and it has, in all probability, undergone many corruptions; but its antiquity is indubitable, and the story, though indifferently told, is in itself interesting. It is believed that there have been many more verses." SCOTT.

The birds sang sweet as ony bell,
The world had not their make,
The Queen she's gone to her chamber,
With Rodingham to talk.

"I love you well, my Queen, my dame, 5
'Bove land and rents so clear,
And for the love of you, my Queen,
Would thole pain most severe."--

"If well you love me, Rodingham,
I'm sure so do I thee: 10
I love you well as any man,
Save the King's fair bodye."--

"I love you well, my Queen, my dame;
'Tis truth that I do tell:
And for to lye a night with you, 15
The salt seas I would sail."--

"Away, away, O Rodingham!
You are both stark and stoor;
Would you defile the King's own bed,
And make his Queen a whore? 20

"To-morrow you'd be taken sure,
And like a traitor slain;
And I'd be burned at a stake,
Although I be the Queen."--

He then stepp'd out at her room door, 25
All in an angry mood:
Until he met a leper-man,
Just by the hard way-side.

He intoxicate the leper-man,
With liquors very sweet: 30
And gave him more and more to drink,
Until he fell asleep.

He took him in his armis twa,
And carried him along,
Till he came to the Queen's own bed, 35
And there he laid him down.

He then stepp'd out of the Queen's bower,
As swift as any roe,
'Till he came to the very place
Where the King himself did go. 40

The King said unto Rodingham,
"What news have you to me?"--
He said, "Your Queen's a false woman,
As I did plainly see."--

He hasten'd to the Queen's chamber, 45
So costly and so fine,
Until he came to the Queen's own bed,
Where the leper-man was lain.

He looked on the leper-man,
Who lay on his Queen's bed; 50
He lifted up the snaw-white sheets,
And thus he to him said:--

"Plooky, plooky, are your cheeks,
And plooky is your chin,
And plooky are your armis twa, 55
My bonny Queen's layne in.

"Since she has lain into your arms,
She shall not lye in mine;
Since she has kiss'd your ugsome mouth,
She never shall kiss mine."-- 60

In anger he went to the Queen,
Who fell upon her knee;
He said, "You false, unchaste woman,
What's this you've done to me?"

The Queen then turn'd herself about, 65
The tear blinded her ee--
"There's not a knight in a' your court
Dare give that name to me."

He said, "'Tis true that I do say;
For I a proof did make: 70
You shall be taken from my bower,
And burned at a stake.

"Perhaps I'll take my word again,
And may repent the same,
If that you'll get a Christian man 75
To fight that Rodingham."--

"Alas! alas!" then cried our Queen,
"Alas, and woe to me!
There's not a man in all Scotland
Will fight with him for me."-- 80

She breathed unto her messengers,
Sent them south, east, and west;
They could find none to fight with him,
Nor enter the contest.

She breathed on her messengers, 85
She sent them to the north;
And there they found Sir Hugh le Blond,
To fight him he came forth.

When unto him they did unfold
The circumstance all right, 90
He bade them go and tell the Queen,
That for her he would fight.

The day came on that was to do
That dreadful tragedy;
Sir Hugh le Blond was not come up 95
To fight for our ladye.

"Put on the fire," the monster said:
"It is twelve on the bell."
"'Tis scarcely ten, now," said the King;
"I heard the clock mysell."-- 100

Before the hour the Queen is brought,
The burning to proceed;
In a black velvet chair she's set,
A token for the dead.

She saw the flames ascending high, 105
The tears blinded her ee:
"Where is the worthy knight," she said,
"Who is to fight for me?"--

Then up and spak the King himsell,
"My dearest, have no doubt, 110
For yonder comes the man himsell,
As bold as e'er set out."--

They then advanced to fight the duel
With swords of temper'd steel,
Till down the blood of Rodingham 115
Came running to his heel.

Sir Hugh took out a lusty sword,
'Twas of the metal clear,
And he has pierced Rodingham
Till's heart-blood did appear. 120

"Confess your treachery, now," he said,
"This day before you die!"--
"I do confess my treachery,
I shall no longer lye:

"I like to wicked Haman am, 125
This day I shall be slain."--
The Queen was brought to her chamber,
A good woman again.

The Queen then said unto the King,
"Arbattle's near the sea; 130
Give it unto the northern knight,
That this day fought for me."

Then said the King, "Come here, Sir Knight,
And drink a glass of wine;
And, if Arbattle's not enough,[L135] 135
To it we'll Fordoun join."

135. Arbattle is the ancient name of the barony of Arbuthnot. Fordun has long been the patrimony of the same family. S.

THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.

"This ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections) was popular in the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually printed with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to Gul. Neubrig, _Hist. Oxon_, 1719, 8vo. vol. i. p. lxx. It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the _Pilgrim_, act 4, sc. 2." PERCY'S _Reliques_, iii. 114.

The Scottish ballad corresponding to Percy's has been printed by Kinloch, p. 25. Besides this, however, there are three other Scottish versions, superior to the English in every respect, and much longer. They are _Earl Richard_, Motherwell, p. 377; (also in Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 81;) a ballad with the same title in Kinloch's collection, p. 15; and _Earl Lithgow_, Buchan, ii. 91. In all these, the futile attempts of the knight to escape marrying the lady, and the devices by which she aggravates his reluctance to enter into the match, are managed with no little humour. We give Motherwell's edition a place next to Percy's, and refer the reader for Kinloch's to the Appendix.

There was a shepherds daughter
Came tripping on the waye,
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.

"Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide," 5
These words pronounced hee;
"O I shall dye this daye," he sayd,
"If Ive not my wille of thee."

"The Lord forbid," the maide replyd,
"That you shold waxe so wode!" 10
But for all that shee could do or saye,[L11]
He wold not be withstood.

"Sith you have had your wille of mee,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 15
Tell me what is your name?"

"Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,
And some do call mee Jille;
But when I come to the kings faire courte,
They calle me Wilfulle Wille." 20

He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.

But when she came to the brode water, 25
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.

He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, "Faire maide, will ye ride?" 30
And she was ever too loving a maide
To saye, "Sir knighte, abide."

When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring;
So readye was the king himself 35
To let this faire maide in.

"Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ you save and see;
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee." 40

"What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?"

"He hath not robbed mee, my liege, 45
Of purple nor of pall;
But he hath gotten my maidenhead,
Which grieves mee worst of all."

"Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye Ile give to thee; 50
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall bee."

He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first, 55
But nowe the last came hee.

He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
"Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love." 60

"O Ile have none of your gold," she sayde,
"Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee."

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, "Faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde."

"Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,"
These words then answered shee, 70
"But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee."

"Would I had drunke the water cleare,
When I did drinke the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat 75
Shold bee a ladye of mine!

"Would I had drank the puddle foule,
When I did drink the ale,
Rather than ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale!" 80

"A shepherds brat even as I was,
You mote have let mee bee;
I never had come to the kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee."

He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.

But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage-rites were done, 90
She proved herself a dukes daughter,
And he but a squires sonne.

"Now marrye me, or not, sir knight,
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95
Ile make you lord of three."

"Ah! cursed bee the gold," he sayd;
"If thou hadst not been trewe,
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changed her for a newe." 100

And now their hearts being linked fast,
They joyned hand in hande:
Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.

11, 12, Percy's.

EARL RICHARD (B).

Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 377. From recitation.

Earl Richard once on a day,
And all his valiant men so wight,
He did him down to Barnisdale,
Where all the land is fair and light.

He was aware of a damosel, 5
I wot fast on she did her bound,
With towers of gold upon her head,
As fair a woman as could be found.

He said, "Busk on you, fair ladye,
The white flowers and the red; 10
For I would give my bonnie ship,
To get your maidenhead."

"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,
And drown you in the sea;
For all this would not mend the miss 15
That ye would do to me."
"The miss is not so great, ladye,
Soon mended it might be.

"I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland,
Stands on the water Tay; 20
You'll have them, and as much flour
As they'll grind in a day."

"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,
And drown you in the sea;
For all that would not mend the miss 25
That ye would do for me."
"The miss is not so great, lady,
Soon mended it will be.

"I have four-and-twenty milk-white cows,
All calved in a day; 30
You'll have them, and as much hained grass
As they all on can gae."

"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,
And drown ye in the sea;
For all that would not mend the miss 35
That ye would do to me."
"The miss is not so great, ladye,
Soon mended it might be.

"I have four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,
All foaled in one year; 40
You'll have them, and as much red gold
As all their backs can bear."

She turned her right and round about,
And she swore by the mold,
"I would not be your love," said she, 45
"For that church full of gold."

He turned him right and round about,
And he swore by the mass,
Says,--"Lady, ye my love shall be,
And gold ye shall have less." 50

She turned her right and round about,
And she swore by the moon,
"I would not be your love," says she,
"For all the gold in Rome."

He turned him right and round about, 55
And he swore by the moon,
Says,--"Lady, ye my love shall be,
And gold ye shall have none."

He caught her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve; 60
And there has taken his will of her,
Wholly without her leave.

The lady frowned and sadly blushed,
And oh! but she thought shame:
Says,--"If you are a knight at all, 65
You surely will tell me your name."