VII.-A BALLAD BY THE EARL RIVERS.

THE amiable light in which the character of Anthony Widville, the gallant Earl Rivers, has been placed by the elegant author of the Catalogue of Noble Writers, interests us in whatever fell from his pen. It is presumed, therefore, that the insertion of this little sonnet will be pardoned, though should not be found to have much poetical merit. It is the only original poem known of that nobleman's, his more voluminous works being only translations. And if we consider that it was written during his cruel confinement in Pomfret Castle, a short time before his execution in 1483, it gives us a fine picture of the composure and steadiness with which this stout earl beheld his approaching fate.

SUMWHAT musyng, And more mornyng,
In remembring The unstydfastnes;
This world being Of such whelyng,
Me contrarieng, What may I gesse?

I fere dowtles, Remediles,

Is now to sese My wofull chaunce. [For unkyndness, Withouten less,

And no redress, Me doth avaunce,

With displesaunce, To my grevaunce,
And no suraunce Of remedy.]

Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce,
Such is my dawnce, Wyllyng to dye.
Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I,
And that gretly, To be content:
Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry
All contrary From myn entent.

My lyff was lent Me to on intent,

Hytt is ny spent. Welcome fortune But I ne went Thus to be shent,

But sho hit ment; such is hur won.

VIII.-CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX.

It is supposed with much reason that this poem was not written by Sir Nicholas Vaux, who died 1523, as some have believed, but by a Lord Vaux mentioned by the old writers as a poet contemporary with or rather posterior to Sir Thomas Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey, who neither of them made any figure until after the death of the first Lord Nicholas Vaux.

Thomas Lord Vaux of Harrowden in Northamptonshire was summoned to Parliament in 1531. When he died, does not appear, but he probably lived to the latter end of Queen Mary's reign, and is most likely the poet who wrote the following ballad. In silver and sable to declare

WHEN Cupide scaled first the fort,

Wherein my hart lay wounded sore;

The batry was of such a sort,

That I must yelde or die therfore.

There sawe I Love upon the wall,

How he his banner did display : Alarme, alarme, he gan to call :

And bad his souldiours kepe aray.

The armes, the which that Cupide bare, Were pearced hartes with teares besprent,

The stedfast love, he alwayes ment.

There might you se his band all drest

In colours like to white and blacke, With powder and with pelletes prest To bring the fort to spoile and sacke.

Good-wyll, the maister of the shot,

Stode in the rampire brave and proude, For spence of pouder he spared not

Assault! assault! to crye aloude.

There might you heare the cannons rore;
Eche pece discharged a lovers loke;
Which had the power to rent, and tore
In any place whereas they toke.

And even with the trumpettes sowne
The scaling ladders were up set,
And Beautie walked up and downe,
With bow in hand, and arrowes whet.

Then first Desire began to scale,

And shrouded him under "his" targe; As one the worthiest of them all,

And aptest for to geve the charge. Then pushed souldiers with their pikes, And halberdes with handy strokes ; The argabushe in fleshe it lightes,

And duns the ayre with misty smokes.

And, as it is the souldiers use

When shot and powder gins to want,

I hanged up my flagge of truce,

And pleaded up for my livès grant.

When Fansy thus had made her breche,
And Beauty entred with her band,
With bagge and baggage, sely wretch,
I yelded into Beauties hand.
Then Beautie bad to blow retrete,

And every souldier to retire,
And mercy wyll'd with spede to fet
Me captive bound as prisoner.
Madame, quoth I, sith that this day
Hath served you at all assayes,
I yeld to you without delay

Here of the fortresse all the kayes.

And sith that I have ben the marke,

At whom you shot at with your eye; Nedes must you with your handy warke, Or salve my sore, or let me die.

IX.-SIR ALDINGAR.

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 that the author of this poem seems to have had in his eye the story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes called Eleanor, and who was married to the Emperor (here called King) Henry.

Sir Walter Scott regards Sir Aldingar as founded on the kindred ballad of Sir Hugh le Blond. "The incidents," he says, "are nearly the same in both ballads, excepting that in Aldingar an angel combats for the queen instead of a mortal champion." But it appears that it was not simply an angel who fought for Queen Elinor, but that the author has intended the relief to come from the "Christchild," the legends of whom were in those days very prevalent among the medieval Christians. And this supposition is greatly favoured by the last act of the child-champion being to touch the lazar or leper, who is immediately healed of his leprosy.

OUR king he kept a false stewàrde,

Sir Aldingar they him call;

A falser steward than he was one,
Servde not in bower nor hall.

He wolde have taken our comelye queene,
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,
Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,
In a fyer to have her brent.