Now, dame, that traitor should be sent

Across the salt sea foam:

But here I will make thee a band-
If ever he come within this land,
A foul death is his doom.

All woe-begone was that gentle knight,
To part from his lady:
And many time he sighed sore,
And cast a wistful eye,—

Fair Christabelle, from thee to part,
Far lever had I die!

Fair Christabelle, that lady bright,
Was had forth of the tower:
But ever she droopeth in her mind,
As nipped by an ungentle wind,
Doth some fair lily flower.

And ever she doth lament and weep,

To tint + her lover so :

Sir Cauline, thou little think'st on me,
But I will still be true.

Many a king, and many a duke,
And lord of high degree,
Did sue to that fair lady, of love,

But never she would them nee. ‡

When many a day was passed and gone,
No comfort she could find:

The king proclaimed a Tournament,

To cheer his daughter's inind.

And there came lords, and there came knights,

From many a far country,

To break a spear for their lady's love,

Before that fair lady.

* Rather.

+ Lose.

+ Approach.

And many a lady there was set

In purple and in pall :*

But fair Christabelle so woe begone,
Was the fairest of them all.

Then many a knight was mickle of might,
Before his lady gay:

But a Stranger wight, whom no man knew,
He won the prize each day.

His acton + it was all of black,

His hewberke, and his shield;

Nor no man wist whence he did come,
Nor no man knew where he had gone,
When they came from the field.

And now three days were prestly past
In feats of chivalry,

When lo! upon the fourth morning,
A sorrowful sight they see.

A hughy giant stiff and stark,
All foul of limb and lear,

Too goggling eyen, like fire farden,
A mouth from ear to ear.

Before him came a dwarf full low,

That waited at his knee;

And at his back five heads he bore,
All wan and pale of blee. §

* From pallium, Lat.—any cloak or robe, of velvet, or other rich stuff.

+ A quilted vest of taffety, worn under the armour, to protect the body from bruises; but sometimes it is taken for the armour itself: its proper title is acquetoun, or hocqueton.

A coat of armour, composed of an infinite number of small chains or rings, so close as to be impervious to the point of a weapon: chain-mail.

§ Complexion.

Sir, quoth the dwarf, and louted low,
Behold that hend Soldain,*-

Behold these heads I bear with me,

They are kings which he hath slain.

The Eldridge knight, is his own cousin,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent,
And he is come to avenge his wrong,
And to thee, all thy knights among,
Defiance here hath sent.

But yet he will appease his wrath,
Thy daughter's love to win,

And, but thou yield him that fair maid,
Thy halls and towers must brenne. †

Thy head, Sir King, must go with me,
Or else thy daughter dear,

Or else within these lists so broad,
Thou must find him a peer. ‡

The king he turned him round about,
And in his heart was woe:

Is there never a knight of my round table, §,
This matter will undergo?

Is there never a knight amongst ye all,

Will fight for my daughter and me?
Whoever will fight yon grim Soldan,
Right fair his meed shall be.

* Soldan, or soudain, a corruption of sultan.-Hend, according to Dr. Percy, is kind, or gentle.

+ Burn.

An equal champion.-PAR, Lat.

The title of round table was not confined to the time of King Arthur, but was often applied to lists and tournaments: it is said, in these later instances, to have been derived from the circular form of the enclosed ground.

For he shall have my broad lay lands,
And of my crown be heir,
And he shall win fair Christabelle
To be his wedded feere.

But every knight of his round table

Did stand both still and pale,

For whenever they looked on the grim Soldan, It made their hearts to quail.

All woe-begone was that fair lady,

When she saw no help was nigh;

She cast her thought on her own true love,
And the tears gushed from her eye.

Up then starts the Stranger knight,

Said, Lady be not afraid,

I'll fight for thee with this grim Soldan,
Tho' he be unmackly* made.

And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sword
That lieth within thy bower,

I trust in Christ for to slay this fiend,
Tho' he be stiff in stower.

Go fetch him down the Eldridge sword,
The king, he cried, with speed;

Now Heaven assist thee, courteous knight!
My daughter is thy meed.

The giant he stepped into the lists,

And said, Away! away!

I swear, as I am the hend Soldan,

Thou lettest + me here all day.

Then forth the Stranger knight he came,
In his black armour dight;

The lady sighed a gentle sigh,
"That this were my true knight!"

And now the giant and knight be met
Within the lists so broad,

And now with swords so sharp of steel
They 'gan to lay on load.

The Soldan struck the knight a stroke
That made him reel aside;
Then woe-begone was that fair lady,
And thrice she deeply sighed.

The Soldan struck a second stroke,
And made the blood to flow;
All pale and wan was that lady fair,
And thrice she wept for woe.

The Soldan struck a third fell stroke,
Which brought the knight on his knee;
Sad sorrow pierced that lady's heart,

And she shrieked loud shriekings three.

The knight he leapt upon his feet,

All reckless of the pain;

Quoth he, But Heaven be now my speed,

Or else I shall be slain !

He grasped his sword with main and might,
And spying a secret part,

He drave it into the Soldan's side,
And pierced him to the heart.

Then all the people gave a shout
When they saw the Soldan fall;
The lady wept, and thanked Christ,
That had rescued her from thrall.

And now the king with all his barons,
Rose from off his seat,

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