"And when no tidings he could learn
Of his much-wronged wife,

He vow'd thenceforth within his court
To lead a hermit's life."

"Now Heaven is kind!" the lady said,
And dropp'd a joyful tear:
"Shall I once more behold my lord-
That lord I love so dear?"

"But, madam," said Sir Valentine, And knelt upon his knee,

"Know you the cloak that wrapp'd your babe, If you the same should see?

And pulling forth the cloth of gold
In which himself was found,
The lady gave a sudden shriek,
And fainted on the ground.

But by his pious care revived,
His tale she heard anon;
And soon by other tokens found
He was indeed her son.

"But who's this youth?" she wond'ring said;

"He much resembles thee:

The bear devour'd my younger son,
Or sure that son were he."

"Madam, this youth with bears was bred,

And rear'd within their den:

But recollect ye any mark

To know your son agen?"

Upon his little side," quoth she,

"Was stamp'd a bloody rose."
"Here, lady, see the crimson mark
Upon his body grows!"

Then clasping both her new-found sons,
She bath'd their cheeks with tears;
And soon towards her brother's court
Her joyful course she steers.

What pen can paint King Pepin's joy,
His sister thus restor'd!

And soon a messenger was sent
To cheer her drooping lord;

Who came in haste, with all his peers,
To fetch her home to Greece;
Where many happy years they reign'd
In perfect love and peace.

To them Sir Ursine did succeed,
And long the sceptre bare.
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,
And was his uncle's heir.

THE BARON AND THE MAIDEN

OF

LOW DEGREE.

THE baron sat on his castle wall,
And beheld both dale and down;
The manors that stretched so far around,
He knew to be all his own.

The wardens blew their sounding horns,
And their banners waved in air;
Their horns resounded o'er the dale,
Their colours shone afar.

The baron he sighed as he looked above,
And he sighed as he looked adown;
Although the rich manors that stretched so far,
He knew to be all his own.

Up, then, came his ancient nurse

That had borne him on her knee

"And why dost thou sigh, thou noble youth, At a sight so fair to see?"

Oh! then, up spake that noble baron,
And heavily spake he,

"But I've never a true and faithful wife
To share it all with me.

"And if I should marry a courtly dame,
(Alas that it so should be,)
She'd love my castles, and love

my

But she would not care for me.'

lands,

Oh! then, up spake that ancient nurse,
"Now take advice of me:

If you'd have a true wife, then go and find
A maiden of low degree.

"And be disguised in plain attire, And like a peasant rove,

But let her not know thy high degree;

So shalt thou prove her love."

Then called the baron his young foot-page,

Full loudly called he,

The bonny foot-page full swiftly ran

And knelt him on his knee.

"Oh! hark thee well, my young foot-page,

To what I tell to thee;

And keep thee my secret faithfully,

And thou shalt have gold and fee.

"Go bring me here a peasant's coat,
With hose and shoon also;

And artfully disguise my face,
That no one may me know.

"And when I go, and when I come,
Let no one hear from thee,

But keep my secret faithfully,

And thou shalt have gold and fee."

The sunbeam gilt the distant hills,
And on the streams did play,
When in a peasant's homely garb
That baron took his way.

The early pilgrim blithe he hail'd,
That o'er the hills did stray,
And many an early husbandman
That met him on his way.

And blithe and merrily did he wend,
And blithe and merrily hied,

Until he came to a rural cot,

Where a maiden fair did bide.

Though lowly and unknown to fame,
This maid was passing fair;
Like some sweet violet that in vale
Sequestered scents the air.

Sweet was the melody of her voice
The woodland wilds among,

So sweet, that thrushes on the spray
Sat list'ning to her song.

But more than all, her youthful heart
Was fraught with virtue's lore;
More pure, more tender, and more true,
Was maiden ne'er before.

The maiden stood at her cottage gate
Her nursling lamb to feed,

And she saw the blithesome stranger youth
Come tripping o'er the mead.

And lo! with many a fond excuse
The youth would there remain,
While many a wily tale he told,
Her simple heart to gain.

And soon her sighs and blushes told
She did the youth approve;

For where's the heart that can resist
The vows of faithful love?

F

"Lo! I've a cottage, and I've a cow,

And many sheep beside;

And I've a field of ripening corn;
And I'll make thee my bride.'

The listening damsel heard his vows,
And thrice for joy she sighed;
She thought the stranger passing rich,
And said she'd be his bride.

And oft her mother heard the tale,
Nor did the dame repine;

"And if thou canst keep her, stranger youth,

The damsel shall be thine."

"Ah, then, farewell, my charming fair,"

The lordling peasant cries,

"For I must wend for many a mile

Ere I can take a bride."

"Oh! say not so, then, stranger youth,
Oh say not so, I pray!

For if thou dost go-oh, I shall rue
That e'er you came this way."

"Yes, I must go, thou charming maid,
I can no longer stay;

Though ever until I here return,
Must I moan the livelong day.

"But if before I come again,
This passing month shall slide,
Oh, then no more await for me,
But be another's bride.

"For death may meet me on the way,

And from thy arms divide;

Or dire misfortune blast my joys,

And 'rive me of my bride.'

Oh! then fast flowed the maiden's tears,

While tenderly she cried,

"Oh! no, dear youth, though thou shouldst die, I'll be no other's bride!"