Caerwent on the Doglas, and lord of the surrounding country. Desirous of having an heir to his estates, he espoused a maiden "courteous and sage, and passing fair." She was given to him because he was rich, and loved by him for her beauty. Why should I say more, but that her match was not to be found between Lincoln and Ireland? "Great sin did they who gave her him."

On account of her rare beauty, the jealous husband now turned all his thoughts to keeping her safe. To this end he shut her up in his tower, in a large room, to which no one had access but himself and his sister, an old widow, without whose permission the young wife was forbidden to speak to any even of her female attendants.

In this tower the suspicious husband immured his lovely bride for seven years, during which time they had no children, nor did she ever leave her confinement on any account. She had neither chamberlain nor huissier to light the tapers in her chamber when she would retire, and the poor lady passed her time weeping, sighing, and lamenting; and from grief and neglect of herself losing all her beauty.

The month of April was ent'ring,
When every bird begins to sing;
Her lord arose at early day,

And to the wood has ta'en his way.

Before he set out he called up the old dame to fasten the door after him. This done, she took her psalter and retired to another room to chant it. The imprisoned lady awoke in tears, seeing the brightness of the sun, and thus began her

moan:

Alas! said she, why born was I?
Right grievous is my destiny:
In this tower* imprisoned,

I ne'er shall leave it till I'm dead.

She marvels at the unreasonable jealousy of her old husband, curses her parents, and all concerned in giving her to a man not only so unamiable, but who was of so tough a constitution that the chance of his dying seemed infinitely remote.

When baptized he was to be,

In hell's river deep dipt was he;
Hard are his sinews, hard each vein,
And lively blood they all contain.

Oft have I heard the people tell,
That in this country there befell
Adventures in the days of yore,

That did to joy grieved hearts restore;
Knights met with damsels, fair and gent,

In all things unto their talent;

* Few readers, we presume, need to be told that the old English poets whom here and elsewhere we attempt to imitate, varied the accent to suit their purpose.

And dames met lovers courteous,
Handsome, and brave, and generous;
So that they never blamed were,

For save themselves none saw them e'er*.

If this may be, or ever was,

Or any e'er befallen has,

May God, who hath all might and power,
My wish perform for me this hour.

Scarcely had she uttered this pious wish, when she perceived the shadow of a large bird at a narrow window. The bird now flew into the room. He had jesses on his legs, and appeared to be a goss-hawk t. He placed himself before the lady, and in a few minutes after became a handsome gentle knight. The lady was terrified at the sight, and covered her head; but the knight was courteous, and addressed her,

Lady, said he, be not thus stirred;
A goss-hawk is a gentle bird.
If my secret should be obscure,

Attend, and I shall you assure;

This manifestly alludes to Lanval or Graelent, or similar stories.

+ It follows, in M. de Roquefort's edition,

"Deci ne muez fu ou désis."

Of which we can make no sense, and the French translation gives no aid. In the Harleian MS. it is

"De cinc muez fu ou de sis,"

which is more intelligible.

Make now of me your lover,
For that it is I am come here.
Long have I loved you and admired,
And in my heart have much desired;
I ne'er have loved save you alone,
And save you never shall love one;
But I could never come to you,
Nor from my country e'er issue,
If you had not required me:

Your lover now I may well be.

The lady was now reassured: she uncovered her head, and told the knight she would accept him as her Dru, if she were satisfied that he believed in God. On this head he assures her,

I in the Creator believe,

Who did from misery us relieve,
In which us Adam our sire put,
By eating of that bitter fruit:
He is, and was, and ever he

To sinners life and light will be.

And to put the matter out of all doubt, he directs her to feign sickness, and send for the chaplain, and when he undertakes to assume her form, receive the holy Sacrament. The dame does accordingly; and the old woman, after many objections, at length sends for the chaplain.

And he with all due speed did hie,
And brought the Corpus Domini.
The knight received the holy sign,
And from the chalice drank the wine:

The chaplain then his way is gone→→

The old dame shut the doors anon.

The scruples of the lady being now entirely removed, she grants le don d'amoureuse merci, and the bliss of the lovers is complete. At length the knight takes his leave, and in reply to the lady's question, of when she should see him again, he tells her that she has only to wish for him, and the wish will be fulfilled by his appearance; but he warns her to beware of the old woman, who will closely watch her, assuring her at the same time that a discovery will be his certain death.

The lady now bids adieu to all sadness and melancholy, and gradually regains all her former beauty. She desires no longer to leave her tower; for, night or day, she has only to express a wish, and her knight is with her. The old lord marvels greatly at this sudden change, and begins to distrust the fidelity of his sister. On revealing his suspicions, her replies fully satisfy him on that head, and they concert between them how to watch the young wife, and to discover her secret.

After an interval of three days, the old lord tells his wife that the king has sent for him, and that he must attend him, but will soon return. He sets out, and the old woman having closed the door as usual after him, gets behind a curtain to

VOL. II.

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