i~Y& \Y........
K'   K'L...........1                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          ~




STORIES
FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
FOR CHILDREN.
BY
GRACE GREENWOOD,
AUTHOR OF ".HISTORY OF MY PETS,"' RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOODS)
$MERRIE ENGLAND," "STORIES AND LEGENDS,"
ETC. ETC. ETC.
WITII ILLUSTRATIONS BY BILLINGS.
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LX.




Fntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
LEANDER K. LIPPINCOTT,
In the Dlerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
PRINTED BY
SABiUEL B. HOWARD.




CONTENTS.
PAGE
PATIENT GRISELDA,.......................................... 1
THE  KING  OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER,..................... 21
CHEVY  CHACE............................................. 33
THE  KING  AND  TlIE  MILLER  OF MANSFIELD............. 42
THE ENGLISH MERCHANT AND THE SARACEN LADY,.... 60
THE  BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER, OF BEDNALL-GREEN,....... 72
THE  HEIR  OF LINNE,.................................. 95
SIR  PATRICK  SPENS.........................................109
AULD  ROBIN  GRAY,.......................................118
FRIDOLIN; OR, THE  MESSAGE  TO  THE  FORGE,............125












~~ j~.. -
r,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. —
~~~~r~aient~ Gri~~lselda.t~~4~




STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
PATIENT GRISELDA.
THE Marquis of Salusa, a great nobleman of Italy, one day set forth on a hunt,
with a large party of gentlemen,- gallant
young knights and courtiers. As the marquis was riding by himself, a little in advance of his company, along the borders of
a great forest, he heard a sweet, womanly
voice singing a gay ballad of love. Curious to see from whence came that voice,
the marquis rode cautiously along till he
came upon a simple little cottage, hidden,
like a bird's nest, amid the thick, green
foliage. Beside the door sat a beautiful
young maiden, spinning and pouring out
the gladness of an innocent heart in song.
Her voice was so delicious that the linnets and thrushes in the trees around were
1              A




2   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
hushed in listening wonder. Only a knowing old sparrow, Bitting on the low thatch
of the cottage, eying the singer, with his
head on one side, filled the pauses of her
song with chirps of gracious applause; and
an enthusiastic young robin, balancing himself on a slender spray, burst, every now
and then, into a low gurgle of delight. It
was a voice which seemed to belong to the
young girl by right, it so expressed her
beauty aid sweetness. It was to her what
perfume is to the rose.
This maiden was clad in a simple russet
gown, the dress of a peasant.  She wore
no ornaments, and she needed none. Fairer
than pearls were her lovely arms and neck,
and more beautiful than a coronet of gold
and jewels were the rich masses of sunny
curls flowing to her waist, and softly shading her sweet face, as she sat and sang.
The marquis thought he had never beheld so lovely a creature.  Though he
knew many fair court ladies —proud dames
of high degree-his heart had never been




PATIENT GRISELDA.         3
touched by their haughty beauty and studied graces as by the simple loveliness of
this poor peasant girl, - this wild rose of
the forest.  He sat very'still in his saddle, gazing at her, - while she, all unconscious of his presence, sang on and whirled
the swift wheel, thinking of anything else
in the world but noble marquises, — till his
company joined him.  Then he advanced
to the cottage door, and, taking off his
plumed and jeweled hat, said, courteously,
"Good day, fair mistress of this homely
bower, — this abode of virtue, love, and
sweet content."
The maiden was very much surprised,
but not overcome. She had seen fine court
gentlemen before, as they rode through the
forest, chasing the deer.  She rose, and,
modestly greeting the marquis,. welcomed
him  and his company to her father's poor
cottage, where she and her mother set
before them some simple refreshments.
In those days short courtships were the
fashion, especially where the suitor was a




4   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
noble lord, and his love a poor peasant
girl. So it was hardly a matter of surprise to any present, except the cottagers,
when the marquis turned from the brown
bread and milk, which he had been making
a brave effort to eat, and, taking the little
white hand of the golden-haired maiden,
said, " What is thy name, fair damsel?"
" Griselda," she replied, with a blush.." Ah, well, Griselda, thou pleasest me;
and I mean to make thee my wife."
But the maid, blushing yet more deeply,
and trying to withdraw hen hand, replied,
"Nay, my lord marquis, that must not be;
for I am a poor, ignorant peasant girl, too
far below thy high estate to wed with thee.
Surely thou dost jest."
Then the marquis swore a great oath -
which I cannot think of repeating herethat he would marry her, and no other;
and as he was. very powerful indeed, and
very self-willed and obstinate, — as lords are
likely to be, - and as the maiden's father
and mother were only too proud and happy




PATIENT GRISELDA.         5
to give their consent, and as Griselda
herself had, on beholding the handsome
young huntsman, been seized with an instantaneous and overpowering affection for
him, she consented, as we knew she would
all along.
Then the gay young knights came forward and congratulated their lord, and
begged leave to kiss the fair hand of his
lady-loye.  They bowed low before Griselda, and pretended to be quite overwhelmed by her beauty and grace; but
they laughed behind her back at her rustic
air and russet gown -the rogues!
In a day or two there arrived for Griselda, from the marquis' palace, a great
many parcels and band-boxes, containing
splendid dresses and ornaments, accompanied by a smart waiting-woman, who put
on such airs when she found herself in a
cottage that Griselda thought her some
great lady, and addressed her with profound respect, which did not tend to lesson
her airs. She condescended, however, to




6    STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
dress the bride in the silk, and velvet, and
jewels her lord had sent to her; to comb
out her sunny locks, and confine them with
a band of gold, set thick with diamonds.
The marquis: came, with a company of
noble lords and ladies, to conduct the bride
to church.  Griselda came forth from her
chamber, looking more beautiful than words
can tell:, and greeted her lord with joyful
smiles. Yet, as he led her forth, and set
her on her snow-white palfrey, who tossed
his mane and pawed the earth, as though
proud of his trappings of crimson and gold,
she did not glance back upon the humble
cottage of her parents with haughty scorn,
but with tears in her soft blue eyes.
She was married in a great church, with
any amount of pomp and ceremony, two
envious court ladies holding her train. And
so the lowly born Griselda became Mar-,chioness of Salusa.
When the marquis took his bride away
to.court, her father and mother returned
proud and sad to their cottage, which had




PATIENT GRISELDA.         7
become a very lonely and silent place.
Everything seemed to miss Griselda; the
birds she had, fed and sung to; the flowers
she had tended; even the wild vine that
clambered up the wall, and peeped in at
the little window of her vacant chamber.
"How grand our Grisel looked, in silk
and velvet! She seemed made for such royal
attire," said the peasant mother to her good
man, more than once, after that great wedding. Yet the first thing she had done, on
their return from the church, was to take
up the russet gown which the tiringwoman had contemptuously flung by, fold
it carefully, and lay it away in a chest, with
all the other articles of her daughter's simple wardrobe.  Then she knelt down and
looked at them all, — russet gown, scarlet
petticoat, snowy apron and hose, and little
wooden shoes, — pot with smiles of scorn,
but with tears of tenderest love. You would
have almost thought it was Griselda's coffin
she was looking into so mournfully.
At court, Griselda's beauty so far out



8    STORIES FROMI FAMOUS BALLADS.
shone that of the dames of high degree
that they were all filled with envy and ill
will. Soon they endeavored to make strife
and unhappiness between her and her lord,
- dispraising her for her lowly birth and
simple, innocent ways, even while praising
her beauty, and pretending to admire her
healthy, country bloom.  They said very
bitter, disagreeable things, with the sweetest voices and softest smiles; affected to
pity the marquis for his infatuation, and
to believe that he already repented his unlucky choice of a wife.
The Salusas were a very proud and aristocratic family, wonderfully ancient and
exclusive.  They could trace back their
splendid line for ever so many centuries,
— some said, playfully, to the creation;
and that they laid claim to a separate
Eden, and an Adam  and Eve of their
own.  So it was little wonder that the
marquis' kinswomen were all especially
indignant and scornful; and being such




PATIENT GRISELDA.         9
mighty personages, they did not scruple to
speak out plain and strong.
" Thou hast wronged us, cousin," they
said.  "Thou, a noble marquis, a Salusa,
to wed with one so basely born.  Thou
shouldst have taken a princess for thy
wife.  Put away this mean peasant girl,
who brings upon thee and thy race only
scorn and reproach, and take  another
bride, - a lady of rank equal to thine
own. "
All these things were reported to Griselda; but she bore them with sweet patience and unfailing humility, saying that
her dear lord must do as seemed to him
best  hold to her, or put her away; that
she grieved to have offended the noble lords
and ladies by her lowly birth; but that that
was a thing she could not undo, else would
she gladly right it. And yet it seemed to
her, she said, that her lord's high estate
should make her humbleness to be forgotten; as when the lark soars singing in




10   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
mid-heaven, none think of his mate, lownested in the meadow-grass.
Well, those gay lords and proud ladies
grew more and more interested in their
game of hunting down poor Griselda, and
worrying her noble husband; till at last,
the marquis secretly laid a plan for mortifying them, and proving his wife's patience
and constant love.  This plan has been
greatly admired and commended, especially by poets; but I cannot say that I
approve of it-at all.  From beginning to
end I think it was most unkind and ungenerous.  I must confess, too, that I cannot altogether -admire Griselda's wonderful
" patience."  In my opinion she had altogether too much of a good thing. But to
my story.
Griselda was now the mother of two
pretty twin babies. At the christening of
these there was great rejoicing among the
retainers of the marquis.  A great company of knights and ladies were entertained at his palace with feasts and tour



PATIENT GRISELDA.        11
neys, and all sorts of pleasant games, for
full six weeks.
Griselda mingled as little as possible in
these sports.  She loved better to stay in
the nursery, beside the cradle of her babies,
where she was happier than she had ever
been since she became a great lady. One
day, after all the guests were gone, she
was sitting by the children, watching them
in their sleep, and wishing, perhaps, that
her own deai' mother were there to look
with her on their pretty little rosy faces
and chubby, dimpled hands, when a rude
servitor entered, and told her that his lord
had sent him to remove the babies forever
out of the way; as, on their mother's side,
they were too base-born to inherit the riches
and titles of the noble house of Salusa.
"So let me have the children, without
delay," he said, stretching out his hands
towards the cradle.
Poor Griselda burst into tears and sobs,
and wrung her hands wildly, for a few moments. But she soon calmed herself, stayed




12   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
her sobs, dropped her hands upon her knees,
and said, meekly.,'"My gracious lord must
have his will obeyed."
Then she took her little son and daughter
from their cradle, kissed them many times,
with tears and blessings and sorrowful farewells, and gave them to her lord's messenger, saying, "Alas! alas! had I been of
royal race, I might have kept my dear babies; now they must die for my unworthiness. Take them, messenger of death though
thou be, and commend me to my lord."
The servitor took the children to his
master, who secretly sent them to a noble
lady, to be brought up tenderly, as became
their rank.
After he had done this, he went to seek
his wife.  He found her sitting in the
nursery all alone, beside the empty cradle,
very white and still, with her hands tightly
clasped on her bosom.  She tried to smile
when her lord drew near, and though she
could not quite do it, she looked very sweet
and patient as usual.




PATIENT GRISELDA.        13
"Well," he said, "thy children are
now disposed of,- safe from  the scorn of
the great world.  What dost thou think
of this deed?  Answer me, my pretty
G-riselda."
She replied," If thou, my lord, art well
pleased with it, poor Griselda can say
naught against it.  Both I and mine are
at thy command."
A few days after this, the marquis came
to his'wife's chamber, apparently very much
disturbed in his mind.
"My fair Griselda," he said, rather
bluntly, "matters have come to such a
pass here at court, - my nobles and -their
wives so murmur and rail at the great
honor I have done thee, - that I can have
no peace till thou' art banished.  I am
sorry, but I really cannot hold out any
longer. I have made up my mind to send
thee home, and let thee return to the lowly
fortune to which thou wert born.  Thou
must take off thy stately garments, which
ill befit thee now, and put on again the
2




14   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
russet gown thou didst wear when I saw
thee first. I have had it brought hither,
with the rest of thy peasant garb. I would
be willing to grant thee a pension from my
purse, but for the exceeding bitter outcry
against thee. My kinsfolk will not allow
me to give thee a groat. It is a grievous
case, but so it must be."
Griselda heard these cruel words quietly,
and submitted without a murmur or comn-.plaint. She rose up meekly, stripped off
her laces and her jewels, her robe of velvet
and her kirtle of silk, and put on her russet gown. When she was dressed in the
old humble way, though her insolent waiting-woman laughed, she was not ashamed,
only sorely grieved.  As she was ready to
depart from her splendid palace-home she
thought only of the beioved though cruel
husband she must be separated from forever; and looking up, into his face with
tearful eyes she said, softly, " God send
long life to thee, my dear lord."
The marquis' own eyes looked a little




PATIENT GRISELDA.       15
watery at these words. He bent down and
kissed her, saying, "Farewell, my dear."'
And so the Marquis of Salusa put away
his wife; and she, all clad in russet gray,
went back to the little cottage by the great
forest, and said, " My father and mother,
I have come back to you and the lowly
estate to which I was born. My noble lord
has wearied of me."
Griselda continued to live with her parents some years. She was still very beautiful, though not so blooming and gay as
in her humble, happy girlhood. She never
sang now, and secretly she wept much for
her lost children and the husband who had
forsaken her.  But she was gentle and
good, and as " patient" as ever.  No one
could speak evil of her. At court she was
soon forgotten; and at last there were
rumors that the Marquis of Salusa was
about to make a new marriage, — one
worthy of hi's exalted rank and ancient
family. The first that Griselda knew of
it she was summoned by the marquis to




16   STORIES. FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
his palace, to attend the wedding and wait
on the fair bride.
"Do not go, my Grisel," said her
mother.  " Thou owest that wicked man
no duty, now that he has put thee away.
Go not, I pray thee."
"Nay, mother," she replied, "I owe
my dear lord duty while I live; and I will
go, if only to look on his face once more,
and for the last time ere I die."
So she went to. the palace with her
brother, - she looking very meek and patient, as usual; he with a fiery glow in his
swarthy cheeks, and an angry flash in his
eyes; for he loved his fair sister, and fiercely
resented her wrongs.
The new bride of the marquis was very
unlike the old; a proud and haughty dame
was she, and crafty withal.  She had
wished and schemed to marry the marquis before lie had wedded Griselda, and
afterwards had been the poor wife's bitterest enemy.
Ah! it was a sore trial of Griselda's




PATIENT GRISELDA.        17
patience, when she was charged with the
task of attiring this proud dame for the
altar. Yet she did as she was commanded,
- meekly bore the lady's scoffs and gibes,
and tried hard to make her look beautiful
in her costly bridal array.
When all was done, and the marquis
had entered, with all his lords and gentlemen, she was about to shrink away, feeling that she really could endure no more,
and that she must get home to her mother,
or die at once, when the marquis stepped
up to her and said, "Now, Mistress Griselda, I would know if thou agreest to this
marriage. I have chosen, at last; a right
noble and stately bride, of ancient family,
and exceeding rich withal. What sayest
thou?  Methinks thy looks are wondrous
coy. Art well content?"
With this, all around began to laugh at
the poor woman's distress. But she looked
up in her old, patient, loving way; and
though her lip quivered, and her eyelashes
glistened with tears, she said, firmly,
2*             B




18   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
" God send my lord marquis many years
of joy! "
At that meek answer, all present, except
only the proud dame who was to be the
bride, were moved'with pity and admiration. More than one great lord, with an
immense pedigree, and a brilliant string
of titles streaming after his name, like the
tail of a comet, became conscious, for the
first time for many years, that he had such
a thing as a heart, by its suddenly softening and warming toward that marvelously
loving and long-suffering wife. More than
one haughty lady, amazed at such goodness and gentleness, forgot or forgave poor
G.riselda's surpassing beauty, and, cried,' Gramercy t she is an angel, and no
mortal woman."
But most of all was the marquis moved
by her humble words, her uncomplaining
sweetness; by all the mournful tenderness
and patient suffering which spoke in her
tones and looked out of her eyes. Ile took
her by the hand, and said, in a loud, clear




PATIENT GRISELDA.        19
voice, " T1hou art my bride,-all the bride
I want, or mean to have." Then, pointing
to a noble boy and a beautiful young girl,
standing somewhat apart and gazing wistfully upon her, he added, " There are thy
children!" and in another moment, Griselda was warmly embraced by her long
lost son and daughter.
The marquis then asked pardon of the
disappointed bride, —who, after all, was no
bride,- and begged her still to retain, as
some slight consolation for the loss of his
rank and fortune, the costly jewels he had
that morning presented to her. She refused to grant the pardon, but she kept
the jewels.
Then, again taking the hand of his wife,
the marquis made a little speech to the
lords and ladies present, which considerably lowered their lofty crests.
"You who once envied and despised
my dear and loving wife," he said, " may
now blush for shame, and learn to honor
virtue and goodness. I tell you, that long




20   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
after the proudest of you is forgotten, fame
shall extol the patient constancy of Griselda, whom I again take to my arms, -
my most noble and beloved wife."
Now, if I had been Griselda, I am almost
sure I should have drawn back at this, and
said, "Pardon, my lord marquis, but this
must not be.  Thou didst never truly love
me, if, having no reason to doubt my constant affection, tliou couldst, for a mere
whim, so cruelly rend my heart, and so
severely try my patience, through these
long years.  I cannot be again thy wife.
Give men my children, and let us part in
peace. "
But then I should have spoiled more
than one quaint old ballad and charming
romance, and robbed the husbands of many
generations of a valuable example to hold
up before their wives. So, on the whole, I
suppose it is as well that I was not in
"Patient Griselda's" place.




THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.
A LONG time ago, there ruled in France
a famous monarch, called " Charles. the
Bald," who had a fair daughter named
Judith, the only child of his dead queen.
She was a very sweet young princess;
graceful and beautiful, as only a princess
in a ballad or a fairy story can be. The
king doted on her with all his heart, was
proud of her beauty and accomplishments,
and resolved to wed her to some rich and
powerful prince.  But, unfortunately for
his ambitious plans, there came to his
court a young prince of England, named
Ethelwulph, brave and renowned, but,
because of a revolution in his native land,
an exile, poor and powerless.  He was
handsome and amiable, and, falling in love
with the princess of France, had little difficulty in winning her love in return. This,




22   STORIES FROMN FAMOUS BALLADS.
was not at all pleasing to the king, her
father; indeed was so displeasing that
he frowned on his young guest in awful
indignation and reproach. This made Ethelwulph's residence at court very uncomfortable, as all the courtiers - who copied
after their liege lord. so servilely that to'
the youngest they shaved their crowns, in
imitation of the royal baldness - frowned
with double blackness on the unlucky
stranger; and all the fair ladies of the
court, except the princess, looked most
ungracious, or coolly turned their backs
upon him.
The king reproved his daughter sternly,
and commanded her to think no more of
that penniless and proscribed young Englishman. A great king was Charles, but
his power did not reach quite so far as:that; Judith thought of her lover more
than ever, pitied him, and resolved to
cling to him  all the more for his misfortunes.
At length her father began to treat her




THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 23
severely, and wished to marry her to a
gray-headed old royal suitor, whom she
detested; and, getting very desperate, she
agreed to escape from court with her lover,
to some safe refuge, where they could wed
and live in peace. So she disguised herself in humble attire, and, taking only, of
all her royal goods, a casket of jewels and
gold, stole forth, one summer night, from
her father's stately palace, away to the
great hunting forest, on the borders of
which her English lover had promised to
meet her.
The young prince reached the spot
agreed upon for the meeting before his'
fair lady, and sat down under an oak tree,
to wait her coming.  But most unluckily,
as he waited there, all fond impatience, he
was attacked by outlaws, robbed, and mortally wounded by dagger-strokes.
The princess came to the wood, yet could
not for a long time find the spot where he
lay, but wandered about, listening for his
voice, and calling him  softly, for fear of




24   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
being overheard by robbers, or some of the
king's foresters. At length she was startled by hearing piteous sobs and groans,
and then a mournful voice, saying, " Farewell, my beloved, whom I must never more
see! My days are at an end, and for thy
love I die. While I lie here, bleeding all
my brave young life away, I think only
of my beautiful lady, and I am not sorry
that I loved her. Ah, little knows she
that my heart's blood is flowing on the
ground! "
At these words, the princess, struck with
a sad foreboding, rushed forward to the
side of the dying man. The robbers had
dragged him out from under the oak tree's
shadow into an open glade, where the full
moon shone down on his ghastly face. It
was, indeed, her beloved prince.  She
flung herself down by him, raised his head
on her knee, and called him by his name
very tenderly and sorrowfully. Alas! he
could not answer her. Once he looked at




THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 25
her; then, with a low, sad sigh, his life
fled away forever.
For a long time the princess would not
believe Prince Ethelwulph dead, but continued to call on his name more and more
wildly, striving to rouse him from his deep
swoon, and to staunch his bleeding wounds.
At last she resigned all hope, and, lying
down by his side, with his cold hand
pressed close to her heart, she wept bitterly till morning. Then she rose up and
looked about her, wearily and desolately.
" Alas! " she murmured, " what will' become of me? I cannot bear to return to
the court of my father; — my father, who
scorned him, —my gracious and right royal
love; the princeliest man under the sun,
— and drove him forth to die in this savage
wood!  Rather will I seek a servant's
lowly place, in some stranger's family, and,
all unknown, live out my few sad days,my woful, widowed days."' Then she fell
to weeping again very drearily, and calling
on the name of her dead love.
3




26   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
It happened that a forester-a very
brave and comely youth — was that morning ranging the wood, and came suddenly
upon the maiden. Seeing that he looked
gentle and full of pity, she told him a part
of her sorrowful story, and shewed him her
dead lover, but did not reveal his rank or
her own. Her distress moved him to tears.
He comforted her all he could; he took up
the body of the prince, and bore it tenderly
to his cottage, where he washed its wounds,
composed its limbs, and laid it to rest in
the flowery earth, under an old forest-tree.
Then, as the princess had spoken to him
of wishing to go to service, he placed her
with his mother, who was very kind to her,
and soon grew to love her very dearly.
And not alone did that good old dame love
the fair and sorrowful stranger, but all her
household; and most of all, the handsome
young forester. lEe had never beheld a
maiden of such refined beauty, such grace,
and such gentle manners; and he thought




THE KING OF FRANCE S DAUGHTER. 27
it would be the happiest thing in the
world if he could win her for his wife.
It was a long time before the princess
would consent to marry him. IHer love
and her joy seemed all buried with her
murdered prince. But the forester was so
kind and generous, and she was so grateful
to him, and honored. him so sincerely, that
she finally granted him her hand; and he
proved so good a husband that at last she
grew very happy and contented, and almost
forgot the lofty rank to which she was born,
and the bitter sorrow of her girlhood.
It was not till after years had gone by,
and she was the mother of seven children,
that the Princess Judith revealed the secret
of her royal ~birth to her husband. I[e was
greatly astonished; and, though he did not
love his beautiful wife any better than before, he wondered that she could have ever
loved him  and married him, - a man of
low degree. He besought her to allow him
to proclaim  her ran.k to the world; and
from that time he clothed his children in




28  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
a very curious manner. Ite had made for
them  parti-colored garments, — the right
side of cloth of gold, the left of gray frieze,
as emblematical of the rank of the mother
and of the father.  When he next heard
that the king was coming to chase the deer
in the forest, he persuaded Judith to place
herself and her children near a path along
which his majesty must ride.
The princess was dressed in robes of
crimson velvet, and wore the royal jewels
she had secretly treasured through all these
years.  Her husband stood beside her,
dressed all in sober gray, but a right
gallant figure to behold; and the seven
beautiful children, in their parti-colored
dress, -haleI cloth of gold, half gray frieze,
like sunshine and shadow, — were grouped
around their parents.
Judith started and turned pale when
she heard the horn of the hunters, and the
dull sound of their horses' hoofs on the
grassy forest paths.  Her heart yearned
lovingly toward her father, as it had often




THE KING OF FRANCE S DAUGHTER. 29
done since she had been a mother; but she
feared to meet him face to face, —feared
that he would reproach and disown her;
or, what would be far worse, treat with
lofty scorn her good and noble husband.
At length the monarch came in sight,
followed by a long cavalcade of knights and
gentlemen. Judith looked at him eagerly.
I-le did not seem greatly changed; he had
grown a little stouter and ruddier, a little more bald, and his face seemed somewhat softened, as by sorrow and regret.
Charles was a keen-eyed monarch, who
saw everything in his way; so that singular
group by the roadside did not escape his
notice. tie checked his horse, and looked
at them curiously for a few moments; then,
calling the forester to him, asked how he
dared to dress his wife in such a royal
way, and to put cloth of gold on his
children.
"Because, sire," replied the forester,
"she hath, by birth, as well as by sovereign beauty, the right to be so arrayed;
3*




30   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
and the children, through her, are entitled
to cloth of gold and pearls; she being a
princess -the highest in the land."
On hearing this reply, the king looked
more earnestly at Judith, and his stern
face lighted up with a great joy, as he
said to the forester, "The more I look at
thy wife, the more it seems to me that she
is my long lost daughter, whom I have
mourned as dead."
At these words the princess sprang forward, and, kneeling before him, cried, "I
am thy daughter, - once thy little Judith.
Pardon me, my dear father and sovereign
liege!"
The king at once dismounted and raised
her in his arms, kissed her, and wept over
her. Then he embraced her husband, and
kissed and blessed her children- all seven
of them - right tenderly and joyfully.
Afteri this glad meeting, the king gave
up hunting for the day; and,' turning about
with all his train, went home with the forester and his family. There, in that rustic




THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 31
cottage, which, though not very small,
quite overflowed with all that gay retinue,
Charles the Bald —no longer the proud and
ambitious monarch who frowned on poor
Ethelwulph, and so cruelly treated his only
daughter- dubbed the lowly-born forester
knight, and made him Earl of Flanders,
and chief of all the royal. forces.
Soon after this time, the earl and the
princess went to live in a royal castle, and
had hosts of servitors; and, though they
saw less of each other than formerly, they
saw a great deal of good company, to make
up for it. Their seven children no longer
wore parti-colored clothes, but dressed in'
velvet and clot~h of gold every day, and
had tutors and governesses, and were
taught to behave like fine ladies and
gentlemen.
But I doubt if they were, any of them,
happier than in the old days, before the
princess revealed that she was a princess,
and when the children ran free about the
forester's cottage, and grew strong and




32   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
beautiful in the breezy old wood; when
they gathered wild flowers, waded in the
brook, and tumbled in the grass, without
fear of soiling their clothes, —their gray
peasant gowns, jerkins, and hose, - and
without fear of tiresome reproofs for their
merry frolics and joyous laughter.  But
people can't.be great princes and princesses withoutpaying for their grandeur,
in quiet ease, healthy sport, and careless
happiness.




CHEVY CHACE.
IT was in, the reign of Henry the Sixth,
of England, and of James the First, of
Scotland, that the hot-headed Percy, Earl
of Northumberland, made a vow, and swore
a great oath, that he would hunt for three
good days among the Cheviot Hills, in
spite of his Scottish foe- the brave and
mighty Earl Douglas- and all his clan.
He declared that he would kill the fattest
harts in all the forest, and carry them
away to feast upon in his grand castle.
When the bold Douglas heard this, he
laughed, in a grim, mocking way, and sent
the Percy word to look for him, also, at that
merry hunting.
Lord Percy came out of Bamboro, with
a company of fifteen hundred archers, and
began the chase among the beautiful Cheviot Hills, early on a Monday morning, in
C




34  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
the golden autumn time.  Fast and far
they rode through the forest, following
their eager hounds, which pressed close
upon the flying deer.'Now they galloped
up hills; now they floundered through
marshy places; now they leaped fallen
trees; now they tore through thick brushwood; now they dashed through quiet
streams, breaking down flowering shrubs,
crushing small wild-wood flowers, startling
little song-birds from their nests, shaking
down showers of many-colored leaves, chasing down the panting hart, and bathing
their swift arrows in his gushing blood;
so carrying noise, and tumult, and terror,
and death wherever they went.
By noon they had killed a hundred fat
deer. Then they blew a loud bugle-call,
and all came together to see the quartering of the game. Then the proud Lord
Percy said, "The doughty Douglas promised to meet us here, to-day; but I knew full
well the braggart Scot would fail to keep
his word."




CHEVY CHACE.          35
Just then, one of his squires called his
attention to a sight which quickly changed
his opinion of the Scottish chief.
Down below, in Tiviotdale, along the
borders of the Tweed, came a host of full
two thousand men, armed with bows and
spears, bills and brands. As soon as they.
came near to the hunters, they cried out,
"Leave off quartering the deer, and look
to your bows; for never, since you were
born, have you had greater need of them
than now."
The Douglas rode in front of his men,
his white plumes dancing in the wind, and
his brazen armor flashing in the mid-day
sun; and when he spoke his voice was
-like a trumpet, -so clear, and strong, and
threatening.
" Ho, there!" he cried; "what men,
or whose men are you?  And who gave
yoft leave' to hunt in Cheviot, in spite of
me?"
Then Lord Percy, with a black frown,
and a voice like thunder, answered, "We




3`6 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
will not tell thee what men, nor whose
men we are; but we will hunt here, in
this chace, in spite of thee and all thy
clan., We have killed the fattest harts in
all these forests, and we intend to take
them home and make merry with them."
"By my troth!" answered the Douglas, "for that boasting speech, one or the
other of us must die this day!  But, my
Lord Percy, it were a great pity to kill all
these guiltless men, in our quarrel. We
are both nobles of high degree, and well
matched; so let our men stand aside,
while we two fight it out."
The Percy agreed to this; but neither
his nor the Douglas' men would consent to
stand still while their lords were fighting.
So the English archers bent their bows,
and let fly a perfect shower of arrows, and
the Scottish spearmen charged upon them.
Then the English and Scots both drew their
swords, and fought face to face, and foot to
foot. And so began one of the most terrible fights that the sun ever looked upon.




CHEVY CHACE.          37
Soon the Douglas and the Percy came together, and fought till the blood spurted
through their armor, and sprinkled all the
ground around them in a thick, red rain.
At last, the Douglas cried, " Yield,
Percy, and I will take thee to our Scottish king, and thou shalt be nobly treated,
and have thy ransom free; for thou art the
bravest man that I ever conquered in all
my fighting  "
"No!" replied the proud earl; "I
have told thee before, and I tell thee
again, I will never yield to any man living; so lay on  "
Just then an arrow, sent by a stout English archer, came singing sharply through
the air, and pierced deep into the breast
of the Douglas.  I-le gave one cry, -
"Fight on, my merry men, while you
may; for all my days are over!" and then
straightened himself out and died.
Lord Percy took the dead man's hand,
and said, " Wo's me! to have saved thy
life I would have parted with my lands;
4




38  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
for in all the country there was not a
braver or better man! "
As he stood there lamenting, a Scottish
knight, called Sir Hugh Montgomery, came
galloping up on a swift steed, and drove his
spear clean through Lord Percy, so that he
never spoke more;  Then an archer of
Northumberland took aim at Sir Hugh,
with an arrow tipped with a white swan's
plume, and the next moment the knight
fell from his saddle; and the plume on the
arrow that stuck in his breast was no
longer white, but red.
And so they went on till evening, and
still the battle was not done. Then they
fought by the moonlight, until the night
winds sighed about them, and the skies
wept still tears of dew, and the fearful little
stars glinted down upon them through the
moaning trees.
In the morning, it was found that of the
fifteen hundred archers of England, there
were living but fifty-three; and of the two
thousand spearmen of Scotland but fifty



CHEVY CHACE.          39
five, and these were so weary and wounded
that they gave up the\fight.
But there were seen many yet sadder
sights on Cheviot battle-field, when the
widows and orphans, the fathers and mothers, and sisters and young brothers, came
to search for their dead.'They looked
eagerly here and there; and when they
found the beloved forms, still and cold,
and ghastly with red death-wounds, there
was weeping and bitter mourning; and
many a cry of despairing agony rung out
on the dewy morning air.
At length, homeward turned the mourners, bearing their dead on rude biers, made
of birch and hazel branches.'As they
passed slowly through the shadowy wood,
the wind blowing through the old oaks
and mournful pines above them made a
sad and solemn music; and the young
trees murmured and trembled at their
steps, and flung down pitying dew-drops
upon the dead.  The birds ceased their
singing till the procession passed by; and




-40   STORIES' FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
now  and' then.a wilt  doe looked  out
through the thick branches, and seemed,
with her soft, melancholy. eyes, to sorrow
rather than rejoice over the brave hunters,
who would level the lance and direct the
arrow no more.
When it was told to the ScottiSh King
James, at Edinburgh, that the noble Douglas had been slain at Cheviot, he cried,
"Alas, woe is me! for there is not aind
never will be such another captain in all
Scotland."
But when word was carried to King
lHenry, at London, that Lord Percy had
been killed at Cheviot, he said, " May
God have mercy on his soul!  I have a
hundred captains in England as good as
ever he was; nevertheless, I pledge my
life to avenge thy' death, my gallant
Percy!"
To fulfil this angry vow, he went to battle against the Scottish king, and made the
lives of six-and-thirty of his bravest knights,
and many hundred gentlemen and soldiers,
pay for the life of the Percy.




CHEVY CHACE.            41
Soon, the Scots avenged themselves;
then, the English; till it seemed that there
would be no end to the fighting, and bloodshed, and sorrow that came from that hunt in
the Cheviot Hills, most often called ". Chevy
Chace."  For century after century, the
descendants of the men who fought there
were at deadly strife; and few, I fear,
were as noble foes as the great Douglas
and Lord Percy. At last, they forgot that
the first cause of the quarrel was a dispute
about the right. to kill a few deer, between
two chieftains who were reconciled in death,
and they went on hating, and robbing, and
killing one another; fighting, all the while,
in the darkness of ignorance, and superstition,.; and fierce, wicked passions. But after
a while,-God sent a better day to England
and Scotland, —a day of knowledge and
true religion; and by its light these men
saw that they were brothers, - flung down
their swords, clasped hands, and were at
peace forever.
4,




THE KING  AND  THE MILLER  OF
MANSFIELD.
ONCE upon a time, the young King
Henry the Second, of England, was chasing the deer in his forest of Sherwood, —
a sport of which he was exceedingly fond.
All day long he rode with his princes and
nobles; but being mounted on the swiftest
horse, and being the most gallant and determined huntsman, he at length outrode
them  all, and found himself, at twilight,
qtite alone, and lost in the mazes of the
wood. In vain he wound his horn, shouted,
and halloed.  There came to his ear no
answering sound of bugle, or voice, or galloping horses, or baying hounds.
In this strait, the king felt no longer the
ardor of the chase; but he did feel weariness and hunger, and longed for a shelter,
supper, and a bed, however rude. TIe wandered up and down for a while, all bewil



THE KING AND THE MILLER.    43
dered, and not a little troubled, lest he
should fall a prey to the outlaws who infested those dense forest shades.  But at
length, quite by accident, he struck upon
a path which led him out into the open
country, and on to a public road.  Here
he happened to meet a man whom, by his
whitened dress, he knew to be a miller,
and whom he courteously accosted, asking
the near'est way to Nottingham, where, at
that time, he was holding his court. The
miller looked up at him very suspiciously,
and answered, "Sir, I intend no saucy
jest; but I think what I think, and that
is, that thou dost not come so far out of
thy way for nothing."
" Why, man," said the king, pleasantly,
"what dost thou take me for, that thou
passest such sudden judgment upon me?"
" Good faith, sir!" replied the miller;
"and to speak plain, I think thou art
some gentleman-thief of the forest.  So
stand back there in the dark.' Don't dis



44  STORIES FRO-M FAMOUS BALLADS.
mount, lest I crack thy knavish crown with
my cudgel! "
"Nay, friend, thou dost do me great
wrong," answered the king.  "I am an
honest gentleman.  I have lost my way,
and I want supper and lodging for the
night."
"I do not believe that thou hast one
groat in thy purse, for all thy gay clothes,"
said the miller.  "Thou dost carry all thy
silver on thy outside, like a pheasant."
" Wrong, again. I have money enough
to pay for all I call for."
" Well, if thou art truly an honest man,
and canst pay for it, I will gladly give thee
lodging and food."
" I have always been accounted such a
man," said the king.  " -ere's my hand
on't."
"Not so fast," said the miller; " I must
know thee better, ere we shake hands.
Thou mayst be a hobgoblin for all I know."
With that, the good man led the way to




THE KING AND THE MILLER.    45
his house, which he entered, his guest dismounting and following him.
When they stood in the full firelight," Now, sir, let me see what thou art like,"
said the miller.
" Look thy fill. Do not spare my modesty," replied the merry monarch.
"Well," said the miller, after a close
and curious inspection, "on the whole, I
like thy face;* it is an honest one. Thou
mayst stay with us till the morning."
The. miller's buxom wife, who was busy
cooking a supper; the savory steam of
which was filling all the cottage, here
paused from her work, to put in a word,"Ay, by my troth, husband, he is a comely
youth; yet it is best to have a care. Art
thou no runaway servitor, my pretty lad?
Show us thy passport, and it please thee;
so all shall be well."
The young king, taking off his hat, and
bowing low, replied, " I have no passport,
my fair mistress; and I was never a servitor. I am but a poor huntsman, belong



46   STORIES FROM- FAMOUS BALLADS.
ing to the court, who has been parted from
his fellows and lost his way. I am too
wearied to ride to Nottingham to-night, so
crave your kind hospitality."
The good woman was so well pleased
with these words that she whispered to
her husband, — " It seems this youth is of
respectable family. Both his dress and his
manners prove it-.; and it were a sin to turn
him out of.doors."
" Ay, good wife," said the miller, "he
shows he has had some breeding, by the
respectful way he has of speaking to his
betters.  A decent lad, I doubt not."
"Well, young man," said the dame,
turning to her guest, " thou art welcome;
and, though I say it, thou shalt be well
lodged, in my house.  I will give thee a
bed of fresh straw, and good brown hempen
sheets, span clean; and thou shalt sleep
like a prince.""Ay, sir," put in the miller; "and
thou shalt have no worse a bed-follow than
our son Richard."




THE KING AND THE MILLER..47
The king made a wry face, at the idea
of sharing his bed with a stranger; but
Master Richard — a boorish, bushy-headed,
but jolly-looking youth, who sat in the
chimney corner, watching the pot boilcalled out, bluntly, "Nay, father, I have
a word to say to that. First, my good
fellow, tell me truly, art thou right cleanly
and wholesome?"
The king burst into a hearty laugh, as
he answered, " Ay, friend; I'll answer for
it, thou'lt have no cause to complain of
me on that score."
Soon after this, they all sat down to supper, which consisted of hot bag-puddings,
apple-pies, and good, foamy ale, which last
was passed from one to another in a large
brown bowl. The miller drank first, to his
guest's good health; and. the merry king
did not disdain to take the bowl in turn,
and drink to his host and hostess, with
thanks for their good cheer; "And also,"
he added, with a courtly bow toward Rich



48. STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
ard, "permit me to drink to your gallant
son."
"Then do it quickly," said Dick, "and
pass the bowl; for I am dry."
"Now, wife," said the miller, "let us
have a taste of'lightfoot.' "  At this, the
good woman brought from  her pantry a
venison pastry, and set it before her husband. He helped his guest to a portion,
saying, "Eat, sir, but make no waste.
It's a dainty dish."
"Ay, by my faith! I find it the daintiest dish that ever I tasted," said the king,
who was hungry enough to relish much
worse fare.
"By my faith! it is no dainty at all,"
said'Richard, "seeing that we eat it every
day."
" In what place may the meat you call'lightfoot' be bought?" asked the king.
"Why, as for that," answered Dick,
" we don't buy it at all.  We fetch it on
our backs from the forest yonder.  To say
truth, we now and then make free with the




THE KING AND THE MILLER.    49
king's deer, seeing that he hath more of a
good thing than he needs, or deserves."
"So, then, this is venison?" said the
king.
" Ay,- any fool may know that. We
are never without two or three, up there
under the roof, -excellent fat bucks. But
mind thou tell no tales, when thou leavest
us. We would not for two-pence that the
king should know of it; he might be villain enough to hang us."
cc Don't be uneasy, my friend," said
royal Henry.  "tie shall never know any
more of it through me, I promise thee."
After this, they took a hearty draught of
ale all around, and went to bed.
The king slept soundly all night, on his
rude couch of straw, being too tired to be
kept awake even by the lusty snoring of
his bed-fellow, Richard.
In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, - for which, as for his supper and
lodging, he paid handsomely in gold, - as
the king was about mounting his horse to
5             D




50   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
depart for Nottingham, a large party of
his nobles, who had been hunting for him,
in all directions, for many hours, galloped
up to the miller's cottage; and, seeing
their sovereign, dismounted instantly, and
knelt before him, craving his pardon for
having lost sight of him in the chase, the
day previous.
When the miller perceived the lofty rank
of his guest, and remembered how familiarly he had treated him,. he stood speechless
with terror, trembling from head to foot,
expecting nothing less than that he should
be hanged before his own door. The king
saw his fright, and was secretly amused,
but said nothing. Presently, he drew his
sword slowly from its scabbard. At this,
the poor miller dropped on his knees, and
begged for his life, with big tears rolling
down his cheeks.  Just behind him  knelt
his wife, crying piteously. As for Master
Richard, he had valiantly turned and run
for Sherwood Forest, as soon as he found
who had been his bed-fellow.




THE KING AND TEIE MILLER.    51
The king lifted his sword.  "Don't cut
off my head, your majesty! It wont do
anybody else as much good as it does
me! " cried the miller.
The king brought down his sword, -
not on the miller's neck, but lightly on
his shoulder,-and said, " Rise, Sir John
Cockle!"
When King HIenry had returned from
Nottingham, to his palace, at Westminster,
he was one day talking over with his nobles the sports and pastimes of the season; and he then declared that of all the
adventures he had ever had, his getting
lost in the forest of Sherwood, and his
entertainment by the Miller of Mansfield,
had afforded him the most amusement.
"A thought strikes me!" he exclaimed.
"The great feast of St. George is approaching. We will invite our'new knight, his
wife, and his son Richard, to be our guests
on that occasion. How say you, my lords;
does not the plan promise sport?"




52  STORIES FRO.M FAMO US BALLADS.
The proposal was received by merry acclamations and laughter, by the nobles;
and an officer (called a pursuivant) was
dispatched on the business at once..When the king's messenger entered the
miller's house, he addressed the simple old
countryman with the most profound respect,
saying, " God save your worship, and your
worship's fair lady, and send to your worship's son Richard-that sweet, gentle, and
gallant young squire   good fortune and
happiness! Our king sends you courteous
greeting, and begs that you will all three
come to court, on St. George's day."
"I doubt," said the miller, "this is a
jest of his majesty. What should we do
at court?  Faith, I'm  afraid of such
jests."
"As for me," said Richard, ruefully,
"I look to be hanged, at the very least."
"Nay, upon my word," answered the
pursuivant, " you mistake. The king is to
make a great feast, in your honor. So do
not fail to come."




THE KING AND THE MILLER.    53
"If that is the case, sir messenger,"
said the miller, pompously, "thou hast
pleased my worship right well.  So here
are three farthings for thy good tidings.
Let me see;-ah, commend my worship
to the king, and say that we will wait
upon him, with right good will, on St.
George's day, with the other nobles of
the realm."
The pursuivant, refraining with difficulty
from smiling at such simplicity, took the
reward, and bowed himself out of the cottagb, in the most humble and respectful
manner. He returned to Westminster, in
a merry mood, and showed his three farthings to the young king, who laughed
heartily at the knight's liberal bounty.
When the messenger was gone, the miller said to his wife, —" Here's a pretty
pass! There'll be no end of the expenses
we shall be put to for fine clothes, horses,
and serving men, saddles and bridles. A
plague on court feasts!  This one will
ruin us."
6*




54   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
" Tush, Sir John!" said the dame (she
always addressed her husband by his new
title; and she used it a great deal, to get
the hang of it) — " tush, Sir John!
Folk cannot consort with kings, and spend
naught, Sir John. But thou knowest I am
a thrifty dame, and thou shalt be at no expense for me, I promise thee, Sir John. I
will turn and trim up'my old russet gown,
and make it as goodl as new.  Then, Sir
John, we can ride on our good mill-horses,
— I on a pillion behind thee, and Dick
by himself, as becomes a gallant young
squire."
The miller — who had always, even since
he was made a great man, done pretty
much as his good wife advised- consented
to this. And so they set forth;-jolly Master Richard, in a new leathern jerkin, with
a brave cock's feather in his cap, riding
proudly in front of his parents, who, on one
stout mill-horse, jogged leisurely along.
The king and his nobles, being apprised
of the approach to the palace of their rus



THE KING AND THE MILLER.    55
tic guests, went out to meet them, in great
state.
"Welcome, sir knight! " said the merry
monarch; "welcome to court, with thy
gay lady, and that brave squire, thy son."
"Out on thee!" said Dick, sheepishly.
"Thou dost not know me."
"Surely, I do," replied the king, smiling.  "Thou didst sleep in the same bed
with me, once upon a time."
"Ay, sir, I mind it well," said Dick;
cc and a most uncomfortable bed-fellow
thou wast, - taking a royal share of the
straw. Save me from such grand bedfellows, say I! "
",Speak civily to my friend, the king,
thou unmannerly knave, or, by my knighthood, thou shalt rue it! " cried Sir John,
in wrath.
But the king only laughed good-humoredly, and conducted his guests into the
great hatll of his palace. Here, giving a
hand to the miller and his wife, he presented them  to the stately court ladies,




56   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
princesses, and duchesses, who were all,
in their turn, extremely polite.  Dame
Cockle, who would n'ot be outdone in good
manners, dropped a funny little curtsey at
every word, and smiled graciously upon all
around her.
At length they all sat down to the feast,
-a sumptuous banquet of richly-cooked
viands and costly dainties, served -with
great ceremony, in vessels of silver and
gold. When they had eaten heartily, the
king drank to the health of Sir John
Cockle, in a cup of malmsey wine, and
again thanked him for his hospitality.
"Now I think of the thing," he added,
with a sly smile, " I would that we had
here some of thy'lightfoot' pastry, Sir
John."
" Ho, there!" cried Richard; "I make
bold to say it is knavery, after having eat-'
en of it, to betray us."
"Why, friend, art thou angry?" asked
the king.. "That is unkind; I thought
thou wouldst take the joke, and pledge




THE KING AND THE MILLER.    57
thy bed-fellow  heartily in wine, or good
Nottinghamshire ale."
"Wait, then, till I have dined," said
Dick.  "Thou dost feed us with so many
little fiddling dishes, that a man is never
filled. One black pudding we're worth
them all."
" Ay, Master Richard, that were a rare
good' thing, could a man but have one
here," replied the king.
At this, Dick rose and pulled an enormous one out of his wallet,  a portion of
the refreshment provided for his journey.
The king, pretending great eagerness, attempted to snatch it; but Dick drew it
back, saying, "Hold, my good sir! Keep
to thy court dainties; this is meet for thy
master."
Even this saucy speech, as the king
took it merrily, was followed by roars
of laughter; and the fun and frolic continued, to the end of the banquet, and for
a long time after.  For, as soon as they
rose from the table, king, courtiers, and




58 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
gay ladies, prepared to dance.  HIenry,
selected partners for Sir John and Master
Richard, and himself danced with Dame
Cockle. Such sport as those rustics made
for them, - with their awkward blunders,
and their wild rollicking ways,-those great
lords and ladies had never known.before.
They laughed till the tears ran down their
cheeks, and their sides did ache; and the
good-humored country folk laughed with
them, taking all the merriment in good
part.
After the dance, King Henry thanked
his guests for joining in and adding to his
amusement; and then, looking round on
the young court ladies, he said to Richard,
"And' now, my gallant young friend, of
all these noble damsels, which one dost
thou like best? And which will it please
thee to wed?"
At these words, all the smiling beauties
grew suddenly serious, thinking that his
majesty was carrying the joke a little too
far. But Master Richard, merely glanc



THE KING AND THE MILLER.    69
ing at the fairest of them, coolly replied,
"Faith, I want none of them.  I like better my own red-headed sweetheart, Judy
Grumble."
At this, there was more laughter, and
all those pretty young ladies tossed their
heads in merry disdain.
Then the king, calling to him the jolly
miller, appointed him overseer of Sherwood
Forest, with a pension of three hundred
pounds, yearly.  "Adieu, good friend,"
he said; "let us see thee once a quarter.
And, Sir John, take heed that thou steal
no more of my deer."
And this is the end of the story of' The
King and the Miller of Mansfield."




THE ENGLISH  MERCHANT AND THE
SARACEN LADY.
IN the reign of Henry the First, of England, called Beauclerc, or Fine Scholar
(for he was actually so learned that he
could write his own name, - a great attainment for a king, in those days), there
lived in London a rich young merchant,
~named Gilbert a Becket.
In that simple old time, the wonders of
science and art, among which we walk and
live just as if they had always been, - like
the trees, the flowers, the sky, and the
stars,-were never thought of, or dreamed
of, except by the great poets, who, maybe,
with their prophet-eyes, looked away into
the far future, and saw them looming up
above the coming ages, like mountainpeaks in the distance of a landscape. Then
the great oceans could heave, and swell,
and roar, and rage, and toss their mad




THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY.   61
frothing waves up at the sky, as if to defy
the great God; and then, obedient to his
will, grow quiet and smooth again - year
after year, without one single ship venturing over their vast expanse, to be made
afraid by their violence, or flattered by their
calm, - and all the commerce of the world
was scarcely equal to that of the smallest
and poorest kingdoms of our times. Then
going to sea was considered more perilous
than going into battle; voyagers neveI
failed to make their wills, and set their
worldly affairs in order, bjfore they weighed
anchor and set sail for foreign parts.  To
be sure, it has lately seemed very much as
though we were fast going back to those
old, doubtful, dangerous times,- those dark
ages of navigation; and that, after all our
wonderful improvements and discoveries,
we can count very little upon safe and
prosperous voyages.
But to return to Gilbert a Becket. He
was thought a brave and adventurous man,
when he left his comfortable English home,
13




62   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
and sailed for the Holy Land, to trade with
the rich Syrians for satins, velvet, and
gems, which he meant to bring to England
and sell at a great profit. He probably
calculated by this speculation to double
his fortune, and perhaps be able to buy a
title, and so become one of the nobles of
the land, and live in a brave castle, where
he would receive the king and court, and
entertain them  in princely style.  But,
alas! titles and royal guests were not for
him; and all the. castle he was ever to lay
claim to, was such "a castle in the air "
as any one of us may build. He was taken
prisoner by the Turks, robbed of'his ship,
sold as a slave, fettered, and set at work
in the palace gardens of Mahmoud, a terrible, fierce-eyed, black-bearded, big-turbaned Saracen chief.
It was a very hard fortune, that of poor
Gilbert. ~ He was obliged to toil from morning till night, digging and spading, planting and weeding; and all the while, with
the disadvantage of not knowing much




4 /i'   ~_______~                      j'i
j1 ~
1~~~'4
(  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   ~~~~ If              f
Gilbert a BeekeL  a slave to the Saracens   1111








THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY.   63
about the gardening business, and of having a heavy chain dragging and clanking
at his ankles.  You may depend that he
felt if he could get safe back to England
he would never more aspire to castles and
titles, nor trouble himself if the king and
the court never should eat a good dinner,
or shake their heels at a ball again.
But often out of our greatest misfortune
come our'best good and happiness; and
hope and joy often follow times of fear and
sorrow, as beautiful rainbows are made out
of storms that have just darkened the sky,
and beaten down the flowers.  One- evening, just as the muezzin from the minarets
was calling all pious Mussulmen to -prayers,
Gilbert.a  Becket stood leaning against a
palm tree, resting a little from his daily
t6il, and thinking longingly of his country
and home.  Just then, a noble young Saracen lady, of marvelous beauty, called
Zarina, chanced that way, on her evening
walk, and was very much struck by the
appearance of the stranger. In truth, as




64   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
Gilbert stood there, leaning so gracefully
~ against the palm, with his' pale face cast
down, and his soft, auburn hair, half veiling
his sad eyes, - to say nothing of his long
golden eyelashes, and his curling, silken
moustache, -he was a very handsome and
interesting young man; and, in spite of
that coarse gardner's dress, and that slavish chain, looked as proud and noble as a
prince.
Zarina thought so, and, though very modest and timid, drew near to speak'a few
kind words to him.  lHe looked up, at the
sound of her light step, and, for the first
time in many months, he smiled, gladdened by the sighfof her beautiful, innocent face.
The ballad does not tell just hoW, these
two became acquainted; but it is certain
that they soon grew to be excellent, friends,
and managed to meet often, and have long
walks and, talks in the shaded alleys and
bowers of Mahmoud's gardens.  They first
talked of the birds and flowers; then of




THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY.   65
the stars, and'the moonlight; then of love,
and then'of God.  Gilbert told Zarina of
the Christian's blessed faith, and related
all the beautiful and marvelous stories of
our Lord Jesus; and Zarina wondered, and
wept, and believed.
Gilbert had learned the Saracen language, and spoke it very well; but Zarina
did'not understand the English at all. The
first word of it that ever she spoke was
"yes," which Gilbert taught her to say
when:he asked her if she would be his
wife, whenever he could gain his freedom.
But month after month- a whole yearwent by, and Gilbert was still a captive.
One day, when Zarilmet her lover in
a shadygarden-walk, she said, in a low,
gentle voice, and with her tender eyes cast
down, "I am a Christian now, dear Gilbert; -I pray to thy God morning and
night.  Thou knowest I am an orphan.
I love no one in all the world but thee;
then why should I stay here?   Why
shouldst thou linger longer in bondage?
6*             E




66   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
Let us both fly to England.  God will
guide'us safely over the wide, dark waters;
for we are Christians, and need not fear
anything. I will meet thee to-night, on
the sea-shore, and bring gold and jewels
enough to purchase a vessel and hire a
skillful crew. And when, 0, my Gilbert,
we are afloat on the broad, blue sea, sailing toward thy home, thou wilt bless me,
and love me; wilt thou not.?"
The merchant kissed the maiden's hand,
and promised to meet her on the strand, at
the appointed hour.  And he did not fail;
but long he walked the lonely shore, and
no light-footed Zarina came flitting through
the deep night-sltdows, and stealing to
his side. North, south, east, and west he
looked; but all in vain. The night was
clear, the winds whispered low, the little
waves slid up the shining shore, and seemed
to invite him to sail away over them, to the
great sea beyond; but the stars overhead
twinkled so merrily, and winked so knowinfgly, that he almost fancied they had be



THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY.   67
frayed the story of his and Zarina's love
and intended flight. At length he heard a
quick, light step, and sprang forward with
a joyful cry.  Alas! it was not Zarina, but
her faithful nurse, Safie, who came to tell
him that Zarina's love had been discovered,
that her kinsmen had confined her in a
strong, guarded tower, and that he must
escape alone. She sent him a casket of
gold and gems, with a promise that as soon
as possible she would make her escape and
come to him in London.
There really was nothing for Gilbert a
Becket to do but to accept Zarina's casket
of jewels, and follow her advice. So, after
sending her many loving farewell messages'by Safie, he went.
lHe had a prosperous voyage, and reached
London in safety, where he gave his friends
a joyful surprise; for they had given him
up for dead.
Year after year went by, and still he saw
nothing, heard nothing, of his noble Saracen love, Zarina; and at'last he grew to




68  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
think of her very sorrowfully and tenderly,
as of one dead. But Zarina lived, and
lived for him whom she loved, and who had
taught her to love God. For years she
was kept imprisoned in that lonely, guarded
tower, near the sea, where she could only
put her sorrow into mournful songs, and
sigh her love out on the winds that blew
toward England, and gaze up at the bright,
kindly stars, and pray for Gilbert. But
one night, while the guard slept, the brave
maiden stole out on to' the parapet, and
leaped down many feet, to the ground below.
She soon sprang up, unharmed, and made
her way to the strand, when she took passage on a foreign vessel for Stamboul.
Now, all the English that this poor girl
remembered were the words " Gilbert" and
"London." These she repeated, in sad,
pleading, inquiring tones, to every one she
met; but nobody understood what she meant
by them.
From Stamboul she went on her weary,
wandering way, from port to port, and city




THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY.   69
to city, till she had journeyed through
many strange countries, repeating, every-.
where, those two words of English; but all
in vain; for, though everybody had heard
of London, none knew Gilbert,  Yet the
people were very kind, and gave her food
and shelter, -out of pity for her sadface,
and in return for the sweet songs which she
sung.
At, length, after many months of lonely
and toilsome wandering, she reached England, and found herself amidst the busy,
hurrying throngs of London. She gazed
about her bewildered, and almost despairing,
at finding it so large a place;-it would be
so much the harder to find him.  Yet still,
patiently and steadily, up -and down the
long streets, she went, - through marketplace and square, —past churches and palaces,- singing her mournful songs, -
speaking softly, and more and more sadly,.
the one beloved word, " Gilbert!t 
One evening, as Gilbert A; Becket, the,
rich merchant, sat at the banquet-table irn




70   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
his splendid London house, entertaining a
gay company of rich and noble guests, a
servant brought him word that a beautiful
Saracen maiden, pale and sorrowful-looking, stood in the square without, singing.sad, songs, and repeating his name over and
over.' In a moment Gilbert thought of his
beloved Zarina, and, springing up from the
table, he rushed out of his brilliant hall, into
-the street, where poor Zarina stood, with
her long, dark hair glistening with the chill
night-dew, and her sweet face looking- very
white and tearful in the moonlight.,-He knew her at a glance, though she
-was sadly changed from the fair young girl
he had left in the gardens of Mahmoud, as
gay-hearted as the birds, and as blooming
as the flowers.  Hie called her name, he
caught her in his arms, and the next time
that she spoke the dear word, "Gilbert!"
she murmured it against his heart, while
Lis lips pressed her cheeks, and his eyes
dropped happy, loving tears upon her brow.
HIe took her into his princely house, and it




THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY.   71
became her home from that hour. She was
baptized, and took the Christian name, of
Matilda; but Gilbert always called her
Zarina; for he said he loved that best.
The faithful lovers were married, and
lived together for many years, hrapy,
honored, and beloved.  Their eldest son,
Thomas A Becket, was a powerful and renowned archbishop in the reign of Henry
the Second.
And so ends the true story of the "English Merchant and the Saracen Lady."




THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER, OF BEDNALL-GREEN.
IN the old feudal times, some six hundred years ago, when England was in a
troubled, unsettled state, often convulsed
and desolated by civil wars, there might
have been seen, through many summers, sitting -in the shade of an oak'tree, on BednallGreen,-a.part of London town, —a certain beggar-man, blind, but of a very noble
and venerable appearance. He was led by
a dog, and sometimes he was accompanied
by his wife, - a handsome and stately person, though clad in gray russet, like any
poor peasant woman, — and sometimes by
his daughter, a beautiful little girl, whom
he called Bessee.
When this child grew into womanhood
her beauty was so remarkable that in spite
of her humble parentage she had many admirers and suitors.  But the fathers of her




THE BEGGAR S DAUGHITER.,    73
lovers would never consent to a marriage
with a beggar's daughter, and their mothers despised her, and would sometimes come
to reproach and scold her to her face, as
though the poor girl could help her beauty
or her birth.
At length she grew very discontented
and sorrowful, and told her father and
mother that she wished to leave BednallGreen, where she was creating so much
disquiet in respectable families, and that
she had resolved to go forth to seek her
fortune elsewhere.
It was long ere the beggar and his wife
would consent to part with their darling
Bessee.  But at last, as they saw  that
she was no longer cheerful or comfortable
at home, they gave her their- blessing, with
kisses and many tears, and bade her go.
She set forth at night, to avoid being fPllowed by her troublesome lovers. She kept
up heart until after she was out of sight or
hearing of her parents; then she burst-into
tears, and sobbed bitterly for many a weary




74 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
mile.  She walked all night long; and
just at daybreak entered the town of Rumford, where she found entertainment at the
Queen's Arms.
The mistress of the inn was so pleased
with the stranger that she wished to keep
her for a housemaid. Yet she was so puzzled by Bessee's appearance- for though
clad in gray russet, the maiden had the air
and delicate beauty of a born lady — that
she did not venture to offer her the situation. But after a little while Bessee very
humbly asked to be employed at the inn as
a servant; and both master and mistress
were glad to engage her. So amiable and
prudent was she that all in the household
grew to loving her very dearly.  And that
was not all; - greatly to the pretty maid's
annoyance, she was soon surrounded by as
many admirers as at Bednall-Green.  All
the gay young men of the town seemed
suddenly to have discovered that the finest
ale and the best cakes in Rumford were to
be found at the little roadside inn, where




THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER.      75
served the fair blue-eyed girl, to whom
every body gave the name of "Pretty Bessee."  Thither they flocked, in crowds,
greatly to the delight of the innkeeper and
his wife, whose business thrived the more,
the more the maid's beauty and grace were
noised about. But Bessee, though kind
and courteous to all, was modest and prudent; -and though her lovers sang her
praises in sweet songs, very tender and
mournful, and though they sent her beautiful gifts of silver and gold, when they
sewed for her hand, she always shook her
head firmly, and said with a sigh, "Nay,
nay; none of gentle blood or high estate
should wed with me."
Four suitors, at one time, fair Bessee had,
who loved her so fondly that they would
not be put off by a shake of her pretty
head, nor by her " Nay, gentles! " though:many times repeated. - The first was a noble young knight, who came to her disguised, so that she did not know his rank;
yet she liked him best of all. The second




76   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
was a country gentleman, of a proud and
ancient family, The third was a rich merchant of London; and the fourth was her
master's own son, a bold young gallant,
who swore big oaths of love, and declared
himself ready to die for "Pretty Bessee,"
at the shortest notice.
"If thou wilt marry me," said the
knight, "' I will make thee a lady, with the
greatest joy and pride; for I am not what
I seem, but a nobleman of high degree."
At these words, Bessee started and
turned very pale, feeling grieved, not glad,
to know that the man she liked best of all
the world was so far above heir.
Then spoke the country gentleman. "If
thou wilt wed me, thou shalt be a lady as
fine as any in the land, and never toil more
with those dainty hands. My life is drear
without thee,' Pretty Bessee'; a wretched
man am I, for want of thy dear love."
Then spoke the rich merchant, saying,
with a proud smile, " Choose me for thy
husband, gentle maid, and thou shalt live




THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER.      77
in London, after a gay and gallant fashion.
My ships shall bring home silks and jewels for thee, and I will love thee better
than all the world."
When the merchant said this, Bessee
looked at him very demurely, but with a
quiet little smile hovering round her sweet,
rosy mouth, - a smile that seemed to say,
" I know thee well, good sir, and just how
far this great love will go -just how much
thy brave vows are worth." She gave the
same look to the gentleman, and to the innkeeper's son; but when she glanced at the
noble face of the knight she sighed. Yet
to each one she returned the same answer:'"I mean always to obey my dear father
and mother.  Thou must first gain their
consent before I can promise thee my
love."
Each suitor willingly assented to this,
and eagerly asked, "Where does thy good
father dwell,'Pretty Bessee'?"
Truly and bravely then answered Bessee: "My father, alas! is well known as
7*




78   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
the old blind beggar of Bednall-Green.
Daily sits he there, asking charity of all
good Christians. You cannot miss him.
When he walks he is led by a dog with a
bell.  A poor, blind old man, God knoweth! Yet he is the father of Bessee, to
whom she oweth and giveth all love and
duty."
The rich merchant drew  himself up,
grew very red in the face, and said,
bluntly, "Then, fair damsel, thou art not
for me;" and went his ways in stately
haste, like one of his ships under full sail.
The inn-keeper's gallant son tossed his nose
high in the air, and said, insolently, " If it
be so, look not to be my wife.  I cannot
stoop so low from my degree, even for thy
pretty face, my winsome lass." As for the
gentleman, he took off his plumed hat, and,
bowing low, said, with a mocking smile,
I" I pray thy pardon, my fair  mistress, but
thy father's calling pleases me little.  In
truth, I loathe a beggar's degree; and so
am forced to say adieu to'Pretty Bessee.' 




THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER.      79
The beggar's noble daughter heard each
lover's reply without grief and without
shame, and looked him out of her presence
with a smile of quiet scorn.  But when it
came the young knight's turn to speak her
breath came fast, and she could not lift her
eyes to his face, for fear that he, too, might
disdain her. But there was little cause for
fear. With a frank laugh, and in a manly,
cheery voice, he said, "As for me, come
better or worse, I weigh not gold or rank
against true love; and beauty and goodness are the same in every degree. To me
thou wilt be welcome for thyself alone, my'Pretty Bessee.'"
You may be sure that the beggar's
daughter did not look cold or scornful at
this brave reply.  She blushed -with sudden joyfulness, while tears of gratitude and
affection shone in her sweet blue eyes.
She soon consented to accompany her
lover to Bednall-Green, to ask the consent
of her parents to her marriage.
But meanwhile the knight's kinsmen




80   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS,
had heard. of his strange choice of a wife,
and were greatly incensed against him;
declaring that their ancient and honorable
family should not be disgraced by such an
alliance.  To prevent their interference,with his plans, the knight stole away from
Rumford at daybreak, carrying Bessee before.him ona swift steed. Away sped they,
like the -wind, toward Bednall-Green; but
like the wind came on behind them certain
gallant young men of. Rumford, who had
heard of " Pretty Bessee's " elopement, and,
like so many dogs of the manger, were determined that if they could not marry her,
no one should. "Death," they cried, "to
the bold knave who would rob us of the
fair maid who pours our ale and serves our
cakes with such a dainty grace!
Just as the lovers had reached the blind
beggar's door, the young men overtook
them, set upon the knight most furiously,.
and would have slain him had not his kinsmen, also out in pursuit of him, come to
the rescue. When- the noble gentlemen




--- ~  ~\\\~IIII:'~......~   ~!~'~l~ ~  ~~   ~
r ~ ~ ~ ~ ~    ~     ~     ~ ~:f   
The Beggar (dioppltg Angels with the Knight for his Daughter.








THE BEGGAR'S DAUtGIITEP.    81
had sent the Rumford gallants about their
business they began to reproach the knight
for his folly, and to rail at Bessee for a
low-born, designing  beggar-girl.  Then
up spoke the maid's father, standing erect,
a tall, venerable figure,- the great white
cloud of his silvery hair flung back from
his brow, and his pale cheek flushing with
anger, -"Though I be a beggar-man,"
he said, "rail not in this unmannerly way
at my child, before mine, own  door!
Though she be decked not in velvet and
jewels, she is not so poor as she seems.  I
will drop angells * with you, for my dear
little girl; and if the gold that I shall
bring forth shall seem to you to make up
for her lowly birth, and equal what you can
lay down, you must no longer rail at her,
or forbid your kinsman to make a lady of
the blind beggar's daughter. But first you
must promise me that all the gold you lay
down shall be your own."
* An "angell" was an ancient English coin.
F




82 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
"So be it; we promise," cried the
chief nobleman of the knight's proud family, with a merry, derisive laugh.
"Well, then," says the blind beggar,
"here's for my Bessee!" throwing down
an angell. The nobles then threw down
one, the beggar another, and so oh; till
all their purses were exhausted, and the
blind man had dropped full three thousand
pounds, - often flinging down two or three
for the gentlemen's one. Then, when the
ground where they stood was completely
covered with gold, they cried out, " Hold,
thou wonderful beggar-man! We have no
more.  Thou hast fulfilled thy promise
aright."
"Then," said the old man, authoritatively, like one used to command, "marry
my daughter to your kinsman; and here
are a hundred pounds more, to buy her a
wedding gown."
"'Agreed, venerable sir!" was the response. "And now, we look at thy
daughter more closely, we see that she is




THE BEGGAR' S DAUGHTER.     83
of marvellous beauty and fairness."  This
said, they each and all took Bessee by the
hand, and adopted her into their great
family, with a brotherly kiss, vowing that
her lips were as sweet and soft as those of
any grand lady in the realm; whereat the
modest maid  blushed  scarlet, and the
knight at her side frowned with sudden
anger.
After this, Bessee's father and mother
embraced her, blessed her, and placed her
hand in that of her lover. And so was the
beggar's daughter betrothed to a great
noble, comely and passing rich, and, what
was better, a true and honorable man.
When the innkeeper's son heard of Bessee's good fortune he roared with grief and
spite.  "Three thousand angells!  Woe
is me!" he cried.  And the innkeeper's
wife said, " Now thou hast gone and done
for thyself, thou simpleton!"  When the
rich merchant heard of it, rich as he was,
he cursed his ill luck, as though his best
ship had foundered at sea. But when the




84   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
proud country gentleman heard of it, little
cared he;-  "Natheless, she is a beggar's daughter," he said.
It was soon announced that the wedding
of "Pretty Bessee " was to take place in
the great cathedral of Westminster, and
was to be followed by a banquet in the
palace of her noble lover. All was to be
conducted with the greatest possible pomp
and splendor. All sorts of rare dainties,
rich meats, and costly wines were provided
for the banquet.  Beautiful dresses and
magnificent jewels were, purchased for the
bride, with palfreys,, hawks, and hounds,
and all kinds of elegant pets and playthings. Ladies and pages were appointed
to wait on her, and her boudoir, or bower,
was'hung anew with lovely blue silk, that
seemed to drip with pearls, and decorated
with paintings and gilding, till it was fit
for a fairy princess.
This strange  and  romantic marriage,made such a noise among the high circles




THE -BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER.    8:5'
of England that all the nobles_ and great.
folk were eager to attend the wedding;.
the gentlemen curious to see: what manner
of damsel it was who had caused a great.
nobleman to forget his pride of birth, and
all he owed to: his high and mighty ancestors;.- the ladies longing yet. dreading: to
behold the face whose: beauty had made
him indifferent to all their high-born. pretensions to goods looks. 
Before the high altar of the great cathedral, Bessee, followed by her ladies- and
pages, and looking resplendantly lovely,
met her noble lord, in magnificent attire,.
accompanied by a gay troop of gentlemen,
all jewelled and plumed. most gallantly.
No less a dignitary than a bishop joined
the hands- of the loving pair, and gave
them his august blessing. Then from the
vast cathedral organ broke forth a mighty
melody, so grand, so solemn, that it was,
like, the great thunder of heaven softened.
and Christianized into music.  This was
followed by a burst. of singing, so: sweet,. so.
8




86.  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
triumphant, that it filled every heart, and
made every-soul feel as though it was putting on its angel-wings, to soar upward,
with those glad, delicious strains, to a
purer and brighter world than ours.
At the banquet, the guests gazed often
and long at the bride, who sat by her lord,
at the head of the table, looking so modest
and gracious that even the proud court
ladies forgot their envy, in admiration, and
the best eaters and drinkers slighted the
dainty dishes and rich wines before them,
to watch her, and talk of her beauty and
good fortune.
At length, one of the nobles exclaimed,
"I marvel that we do not see here the
jolly blind beggar.  Methinks he should
have been bid to his daughter's wedding."
The bride overheard this, and answered;.
very gently, " My lord, my father was
too humble, or too proud, to thrust himself
upon so stately a company. He thinks his
condition too lowly for such consorting."




THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER.            87
"If it were not too flattering a thing to
utter to a fair lady's face; we should say
we think thy father's lowliness would be
more than made up for by thine exceeding
beauty," replied the nobleman, with a
pleasant smile.
Just at this moment, there entered the
great hall the blind beggar himself, but
richly clad in a silk robe,; with a plumed
velvet cap; so that no one, save the bride.and bridegroom, recognized him. IHe carried a lute under his arm, and, askingopermission of the  company, began  to  play
upon it, with great skill and sweetness, to
the delight of all present, who declared
him  to  be  "'a marvellous cunning minstrel." After a delicate prelude, he sung
this song:
"A poor beggar's daughter did dwell on a green,
Who, for her fairness, might well be a queen;
A blithe, bonny lass, and a dainty was she;
And many one called her Pretty Bessee.
"Her father he had no goods, nor no land,
But begged for a penny, all day, with his hand,




B8    STORIES FROM  FAMOUS BALLADS.
And yet to her -marriage -he gave thousands three,
And still he hath somewhat for Pretty Bessee.
-" And if any one- here her birth do disdain,
Her father is ready, with might and with main,'To prove she is come of noble degree;
-Therefore never flout at Pretty Bessee.":On hearing the boast with which'this
song concluded, the gay company began to
laugh heartily; and one merrily cried out,
"I' faith, sir minstrel, the bride -and the
beggar are beholden to thee!  Thou dost
make quick work  at ennobling them, in
thy song."
Then up rose the bride, all blushing and
tearful, and said, "O, pardon my father,
I pray you, my lords and gentlemen-! He
dotes upon me with such blind affection
that he doth dream these things."
"If this be thy father, sweet lady,"
said one of the nobles, with grave courtesy,
"he may well be proud of this day,may well boast of thee; and it is plain to
be seen, by his countenance and air, that
his birth and his fortunes do not agree.




'THE BEGGAR S DAUGHTER.      89
And therefore," he continued, turning to
the beggar, "we pray thee to reveal the
truth, and, for the love thou bearest thy
fair daughter, declare thy rank and thy
parentage."
At these words, a smile, half proud,
half mournful, lit the melancholy face of
the blind man; and, running his slender,
white fingers over the chords of his lute,
le sung to the listening company another
song, which contained the true story of his
rank and fortune. This story I will tell
you, in prose.
The minstrel began by celebrating the
heroic fame of Sir Simon de Moptfort, the
great Earl of Leicester, who was the
chosen chief of the proud English barons,
in a rebellion against their king.  He was
victorious in several contests; but finally,
in the bloody battle of Evesham, the barons
were routed, and their brave leader slain.
Fighting -side by side with Sir Simon
de Montfort, on that fatal day, was his'
eldest son, Henry, who was often wounded,
8*




90  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
and finally struck down by a blow across
the eyes, which deprived him forever of his
sight. All the night which followed the
great battle, the poor young nobleman lay
among the dead and dying, bleeding and
helpless, and only knew when it was day
by the warmth of the sunlight falling upon
his face, - the beautiful sunlight he was
never more to behold! All day he lay
there, in darkness and pain, thirsting,
fainting, praying for death to give him release, and lead him to the light. He lay
there till he knew, by the dews falling
upon his parched lips, that another night
had come. Then God sent to his help an
angel, not of death, but of life. A baron's
fair daughter came forth, to seek among
the slain for her father's body, and seeing
young De Montfort, and hearing his piteous moans, she was so moved by compassion that she had her servitors bear him to
her castle. There she nursed him, secretly,
for many weeks, until he was cured of all
his wounds. ie thought himself well.




THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER.     91
enough to leave, his hiding-place before
his kind friend would hear of such a thing;
but one day, when he spoke of going, and
the lady still urged him to stay longer, he
broke out passionately, saying he must
go; —that already he had grown to love
his benefactress, whose face he had never
seen, more than all the beauty his losteyes
had ever beheld, - more than the glorious
green of his native fields, the bloom of
flowers, or the dear light of heaven; and
that if he lingered any longer he should
lose all power to part with her.
"My poor friend, where will you go,
and what will you do, without me, who am
your eyes, now, you know," said the lady,
very gently, taking the hand which was
groping about for hers to clasp in farewell.
"Listen to me, De Montfort.-My father
is dead; my kinsmen are slain or banished; the king will seize upon my lands,
as he has seized upon thine; and I shall
soon be as poor and friendless as thou art.
Take me with thee, to serve and comfort




9-2-  STORIES FROMI FAMOUS BALLADS.
thee.. I have no. refuge but thee; besides,,"
she added,. softly,. almost in a whisper, "I,,
too, love thee, — love thee all. the- better
for thy misfortunes, and cannot: let thee go
forth into the dark, cruel world, alone."
O, very gladly the young soldier consented! and soon. the noble lovers were
married, by a good priest, who faithfully
kept their secret.  The lady sold her jewels, for a. large sum of money, which. she
treasured up for future need.  For the
present, the only safety of her husband
was in humbleness and apparent poverty.
He. was believed to- have been slain at the
battle of Evesham; but should hiss enemies
now discover him he would speedily suffer
dea.tlh.
So it was that the rightful Earl of Leicester and his fair wife clothed themselves
in russet, and lived like the poorest peasants;   that. he who had once taken. his
place with the. proudest nobles of the- land
became. the "I3lind- Beggar of BednallGreen."




THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY.   93
It was not till after they had been married many years that Heaven sent " Pretty
Bessee" to bring brightness and sweet
comfort to the lowly cottage of the Montforts. She grew up a good and prudent
girl; but never, till the day when he saw
her the wife of a powerful noble, in high
favor with the king, had her father dared
to reveal, even to her, her honorable birth,
and his own true name.
"This, my lords," said the minstrel,
"is the end of the story of one who once
belonged to your own rank.  I should
never have revealed the secret but for my
Bessee's sake. For myself, I should be
content to die as unnoted and despised as
I have lived these forty years; yet shall I
be well content to see my Bessee's mother
honored according to' her'great deserts,as a lady born, as well as the truest wife
that lives in all our England."
When he ceased, there softly stepped
forth, from the crowd around him, a tall,
fair woman, richly but simply clad, - not
young, but still beautiful and stately,



94   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
who walked majestically to the minstrel's
side, and laid her hand on his shoulder.
And the old man, standing up very proudly,
said to all the company, in the grand, unforgotten way of a great noble, "My
wife!.."
At this, all the lords and ladies came
-forward, and reverently greeted her, and;gave their hands to her husband, addressiing him by his ancient title. Then they
kissed and embraced the fair bride,- who
was smiling and weeping, with surprise:and joy, - and congratulated her that she
was, one of them, - of as good blood as
any in the realm.
So "Pretty Bessee" was proved to be.a lady born; but, to the generous young
lord who stood so proud and happy by her
side, she was no better, fairer, or dearer,
for all that; though that it was a good
thing he did not deny.
The old ballad says that the banquet',ended most joyfully, and that the noble'knight spent a long and happy life with
"his gentle lady, the "Pretty Bessee."




THE HEIR OF LINNE.
A LONG, long time ago, somewhere in
Scotland, there lived a. young lord, the
Lord of Linne.  HIis father had been a
good old man, and his mother a high-born
lady; but they were both dead, leaving
him sole heir to the wide lands and stately
house belonging to his title.
-.He was of a gay, careless, reckless disposition; but he had, withal, a frank,
warm, generous heart, which, at first, I
doubt not, prompted him to spend his
money freely, because it seemed to make
others happy. But before long he found
his way into the company of a set of gay,
dissolute young men, and spent his days
with them, in merry carousings, and his
nights' in revelling, and drinking, and
gaming; scattering his wealth with so free
a hand that. his friends half concluded his




96   STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
father must have left him, instead of a
limited quantity of gold, the purse of Fortunatus, or a "magic rose," such as the
fairy gave to Prince Leander, from which,
you remember, as he shook it, there fell a
golden rain.
But, as I said before, his father and
mother were dead, and he had no good
friends near to caution or advise him; or,
if he had, he did not heed them; and so
he went on, in this mad, reckless way,
hunting, and coursing, and feasting," always spending, and never sparing,"until all his gold was gone.
Instead of being frightened, as one
would expect him to be, at this condition
of things, it seems only to have made him
more mad and reckless than ever; for he
determined to sell his house and lands.
A man who had been the steward of the
old Lord of Linne - a cunning, covetous,
miserly knave, who, by one means and
another, had got rich, and become a "gentleman" -is now brought into the story.




THE HEIR OF LINNE.      97
His name was John o' the Scales, and he
wanted very much to make himself master
of the lands and title of Linne. So, when
he found the Heir had spent all his money,
he said to him that if he wanted to sell his
house and lands, he would give him good
store of gold for them. The rash young
Heir, without pause or thought, at once
drew up the deeds which were to make
John o' the Scales lord of all the broad,
beautiful lands of Linne, and of the grand
old house where his ancestors, maybe, had
lived for centuries; where he himself was
born, - an only son; where his dear, dead
mother had watched over him, and cared
for him, and kissed him so many, many
blessed times; where his good, kind old
father had humored and spoiled his boyhood, and unconsciously led the way to the
wasteful, wanton life he was now leading.
But let us be generous enough to believe
that in his wild excitement he did not
remember these things. At all events, if
he did the remembrance was not strong
9               G




98   STORIES FROM FAMOUS'BALLADS.
enough to stay his hand from signing the
deeds. He sold all to John o' the Scales,
-all, save one poor little lodge, that
stood far off in a lonely glen; and for every
pound that John gave him the land was
well worth three.
The old Lord of Linne seems to have
foreseen, or, at least, feared, the thriftless
course of his son; for, as you will see,
before he died he contrived a very ingenious plan for saving him from utter poverty,
and turning him away from his idle,
wicked life.
One day, not long before he died, he
called him to him, and said, "My son,
when I am gone thou wilt spend thy lands
and gold; but swear to me, on this cross,
that thou wilt never part with the little
lodge that stands in the lonesome glen;
for when all the world doth frown on thee,
there thou wilt find a friend."
One would think that when the remembrance of that oath came to the Heir, as
it did, —for you remember he did not sell




THE HEIR OF LINNE.        99
the lodge,- it would have brought with it
such a feeling of shame that his father's
prediction of his prodigality had come so
true, that he would have'kept out of his
old, bad ways, for ai.little while, at least.
But no; he at once -called, his gay companions about him, and said, "Come, my
friends, let'9s drink, and riot, and make'
merry again'
They said to themselves, "The Fortunatus purse is mended, —the rose has recovered its magic;" and led him on to
wilder dissipation than ever.
But by and by, the purse was again
worn out,-the roSe lost its magic once
more; and all that remained to the poor
Heir of Linne of his broad lands and yellow
gold were three pennies,-  one of brass,
one of lead, and one of silver.  He then
began to repent of his wastefulness; but
he quickly consoled himself with the
thought that he had many trusty friends,
who, as he had given so freely to them,
would be glad of the opportunity to return




100 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
his kindness.  Poor fellow; -— he knewv
but little of the world. One was not at
home;i another had just paid all his money
away; and a third called him a thriftless
loon, and bade himn go about his business.
So he settled sorrowfully down to the reflection that he who had been the owner of
a noble house and vast estates, - who had
spent his gold bounteously as a king, -
who had given splendid feasts, and revels
without number, - was now left without
house, without lands, without money, and
without friends; - with nothing to do but
to beg or steal. But he was too proud to
do the first, and still too noble to do the
other.
Just then, the remembrance of his oath
to his father came back to him again; and
at once off he started, over hill and hollow,
and moor and fen, till he came tO, the little
low lodge in the lonely glen.  HIe looked
at it, up and down, in the hope that there
might be something in its appearance to
cheer and comfort him; but alas! it was a




THE HEIR OF LINNE.           101
sorry place to look to for comfort;- the:
walls were damp, mouldy, bare, and cheerless, and there was but one little window,
all darkened up with vines of ivy, briar,
and yew. No cheering sunlight or playful breeze ever found its way there.  It
was the very picture of desolation and
loneliness; and the poor Heir of Linne
leaned against the wall, completely overcome by grief, shame, and remorse. Presently, when his eyes had become a little
accustomed to the gloom, he saw a rope,
with a running noose, dangling above his
head, and over it, in large letters, were
written these words:
"Ah, graceless wretch! hast spent thine all,
And brought thyself to penury.
" All this my boding maind misgave;
I therefore left this trusty friend.
Let itnow shield thy foul disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end."
As the poor, outcast Heir read these
words, his heart was ready to burst with
N9




1 02  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADE
shame and sorrow; but he choked down
his feelings, and said to himself, " This is
a trusty friend indeed, and is right welcome unto Hme."
IHe shut his teeth hard, put the rope
about his neck, and sprang up from the
floor, when at once down he tumbled to
the ground, with the -rope and part of the
ceiling on top of him. Ie lay there a
little while, half stunned by the fall, hardly
knowing whether he was alive or dead;
but, quickly reviving, he crawled out from
under the fragments of the ceiling, when
he spied among them a piece of paper.
IIe picked it up, and out fell a little key
of gold.  The paper told him of a secret
hole in-the wall, in which there were hidden three chests. It did not take hin long
to find the hole, you may depend, nor to
teach the little gold key to say " Open
sesame!" to the three chests. -Two of
them were full'of beaten gold, and one
was full of silver; and over them was
written, "Once more, my son, I set thee




THE HEIR OF LINNE.       10 3
clear. Forsake thy follies, and amend thy
sinful life. If thou dost not, this rope will
surely be thy end, at last."
Tears of sincere repentance came into
-the tender blue eyes of the Heir of Linne,
as he read these words, and thought of the
dear, dead father who had written them;
and, solemnly kneeling down, he vowed to
henceforth live a nobler, better life.
Then he fastened up the chests securely,
after having taken some bags of gold out
of one of them, and started off, with a
swift foot and light heart, to the house of
John o' the Scales.  When he got there,
he found a gay company, with three lords
among them, sitting and drinking wine
with John, who sat at the head of the
table; for he was now Lord of Linne.
Putting on a piteous face, the Heir said,
"I pray thee, good John o' the Scales, to
lend me forty pence."
At this speech, John grew very red and
angry.  " Away, thou  thriftless loon,




104  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
away!" said he; "a curse be upon my
head if ever I lend thee one penny! "
Then the Heir turned to the wife of
John, and said, "Madame, bestow some
alms on me, I pray you, for sweet Saint
Charity's sake."
But the wife was even more heartless
than the husband.  She, too, bade him
"Away!" half threatening to have him
hung.
But one of the company at the table
- a good-hearted, honest fellow — said,
" Turn again, thou Heir of Linne. Once
thou wast a right good lord, and spent thy
gold merrily; therefore I'll lend thee forty
pence, and forty more, if need be." Then,
turning around, he' said, "And John o'
the Scales, I pray thee let him make one
of our company; for well I know thou
didst get h's lands at a right good bargain."
John o' the Scales sprang up, with his
face even redder than before, and said, in
a loud, coarse tone, "Now, may Christ's




TTIE HEIR OF LINNE.    105.
curse light upon my head if I did not lose
by that bargain!" Then, turning about to
the Heir of Linne, he said, with a sneering, cunning look, "And here, before
these good lords, I offer thee back thy bargain, at a hundred marks less than I did
buy it of thee."
At this, the Heir of Linne started
quickly forward, exclaimin'g, "By my
faith, I take thee at thy word, and call
these  lords to  witness   Here's thy
money!"
With that he drew forth three bags of
gold, and laid them down upon the table,
before John o' the Scales, who sat there
so full of rage and astonishment that he
could not say a word. The Heir of Linne
then opened the bags, and counted out the
bright: gold pieces, one by one, making.
them ring upon the table, as he did so,
just to aggravate John o' the Scales, who
writhed and twisted in his chair, furious
with rage, to think that he was not only no
longer the lord and owner of the fine house




106 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
and wide lands of Linne, but that he had
parted with them at a hundred marks less
than the price he -had paid the Heir for
them.
Like a great many other men who strive
to get along rapidly in the world, by making good bargains for themselves, and bad
ones for those with whom they deal, John
o' the Scales had overreached himself.
He knew that he had not paid the Heir of
Linne one half the worth of his lands, but
supposing that of course the poor Heir,
who had just been; begging for forty pence,
could have no gold, he thought that by the
cunning trick of offering to sell them back
to him,, at even a less sum than he had
given, he could make the lords believe he
had made a bad bargain.  But we have
seen how sadly mistaken he was.
After the Heir had counted out before
John the right amount, he said, "The gold
is thine; the land is mine; and -now I am
again the Lord of Linne.'  Then, turning
to the young man who had offered to lend




THE HEIR OF LINNE.     107
him the forty pence, he continued, "Come
here, thou good fellow! For the forty
pence thou didst lend me, I give thee forty
pounds; and I'11 make thee keeper of my
forest, both of the wild deer and the tame."
As the other, feeling that he had only done
a simple, manly act, which needed no reward, was about to protest, the Heir
quickly added, "If I did not reward thy
generous heart, I were much to blame."
All this time, Joan, the wife of John o'
the Scales, - who, by the way, was a
great, fat, funny-looking old woman,was rolling herself about in her chair,
making the queerest faces, and moaning to
herself, "Now, well-a-day! woe is my
life! Yesterday I was Lady of Linne, and
now I am- only the wife of John o' the
Scales!"  and here she fell to making more
queer faces, and rolling herself about still
more absurdly, till the old butler of the
house, who was delighted to have his
young master back again, took her. by the
arm, and pointed to the door, out of which




108  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
John was just shuffling, his face all twisted
up with the ugliest frown imaginable.
She shook the butler's hand off angrily,
seizd her cane, and waddled out after her
husband, just as the Heir of Linne exclaimed, "Fare thee well, John o' the
Scales; and may a curse come upon me if
ever I put my lands in jeopardy again!"
And so the ballad ends.




SIR PATRICK SPENS.
IN the royal palace, in Dunfermline
town, King Alexander the Third, an ancient Scottish monarch, sat at the banquet
table, with his queen and courtiers, drinking rich, red wine, and eating luscidus
fruit. A proud earl, at his right hand,
was humbly waiting on him; the young
sons of great lords were acting as pages
and cup-bearers; a famous minstrel stood
ready with his lute, to sing a splendid ode
in praise of his high mightiness; and
doubtless the old king's heart would have
swelled with pride, and danced with pleasant jollity, on the occasion, had it not
been that as he looked about him his eyes
fell on no noble prince or fair princess, to
rule'in his place, and wear his crown,
when he should be- called to go " the way
of all the earth," kings not excepted.
10




110 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
Alexander had no living children, and
the heir to his throne was his grandchild,
the young daughter of the King of Norway. Somehow, this day he felt, more
than ever before, a longing to see this
little princess; and as he had just had'a
fine new ship built, he resolved to send for
her at once. So, looking round at his
courtiers, he asked, "Can any of you tell
me where I can get a skillful skipper, to
sail this new ship of mine?"
One of the knights who sat at the right
of the king answered, that, in his opinion,
Sir Patrick Spens was the best sailor that
ever sailed the sea.
Now, it was the winter time, - avery
dangerous season for navigation,'in those
northern seas; but the king was not going
to sail himself; and kings are not apt to
make much account of the lives of even
the best of their subjects.  So Alexander
at once called for pen, ink, and paper, and
wrote a letter with his own royal hand,
and sealed it, with his big royal seal, corn



SIR PATRICK SPENS.      111
manding Sir Patrick Spens to make the
voyage to Norway, and bring home King
Eric's daughter, without loss of time.
This letter was brought to Sir Patrick
when he was walking on the strand, thinking over his perilous voyages, and thanking
Heaven that he was to be safe on land for
two good months, or more. When he
opened the letter, and glanced at the grand
signature, he laughed a glad,.proud laugh,
lifted his head high, and stepped haughtily,
as a correspondent of kings should; but
before he had read all, the bitter tears
almost blinded his eyes, and he exclaimed,
"0! who has done this unfriendly deed?
Who has put it into" the rash old king's
head to send me out to sea, at this blustering time of year? Be it wind, or rain, or
hail, or sleet, we must sail the foam; for
this daughter of the King of Norway must,
at, all hazards, be brought to Dunfermline,
to sit on her grandpapa's knee, and learn
how to govern us unruly Scots."
But though Sir Patrick murmured a




112 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
little, he obeyed, like a loyal subject and
sensible man; for he knew he could not
help himself, and he preferred the chance
of' drowning to the certainty of losing his
head.  So, on the next Wednesday, he set
sail, with a gay company of noble young
Scots, whom- the king sent as an escort for
the princess, his granddaughter.
The weather proved fair', and they
landed in Norway on Monday, and presented themselves at court without delay.
They found the princess a very little girl
indeed, whom it seemed a pity to take
away from her nurse, her dolls, and pets,
and carry over the wintry sea, to a strange
country.  King Eric probably treated his
guests politely, - invited them to dinner,
once or twice, -got up a famous hunting
party for them, and kept all the game for
his own kitchen, but he'certainly did not
dispatch business according to Sir Patrick's
ideas; for he detained him and the Scottish
nobles for a fortnight, and yet the princess
and her train were not ready. Then the




SIR PATRICK SPENS.      113
Norwegian courtiers, who seem  to have
been a mean, inhospitable set of men, began to say, in the faces of their guests,
"You Scots are overstaying your welcome;-you are spending all the gold
and silver of our king and queen, and eating and drinking them out of palace and
home."
Then Sir.Patrick's blood was up, I can
assure you; and, like the rough, honest
sailor he was, he told the insolent Norwegians that they lied, and lied again! —
that he and his men had spent their own
money, and paid their own way; and that,
princess or no princess, he would not stay
another hour in such a churlish and shabby
court. So he called together the Scottish
lords, and commanded his men to hoist sail,
and put out to sea directly.
One of the old sailors begged his master
to delay a day or two; because, the night
before, he had seen the new moon " with
the old moon in her arms;" and he was
sure that a deadly storm was. coming up.
10           IE




114  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
But Sir Patrick was too angry and proud
to hear to reason; -put out to sea he
would; and put out to sea he did.
They had not sailed more than three
leagues before the sky grew black, and the
winds grew loud, and the great waves began to rage and roar about them, and dash
over and over the ship.
In the midst of the tempest, Sir Patrick
cried, " Where will I get a man to hold
the helm, while I go lloft to see if I can
spy land."
And a brave sailor answered, " Here am
I, ready to take the helm, while you climb
the topmast; but much I fear, dear master, that you will never more see land."
Sir Patrick had hardly taken a step
when a bolt was wrenched out of the ship's
side, and the sea came pouring in.
Then Sir Patrick commanded his men to
bring a web of silken cloth from the cabin,
and stuff it into the hole in the ship's side.
This they did, but still the sea came pouring in.  It flooded the rich tapestried




SIR PATRICK SPENS.      115
cabin; it dashed up over the purple dais,
put there for the princess and her maids;
it flowed, and foamed, and gushed, and
gurgled everywhere, rising higher and
higher.
The dainty young lords were loth, at
first, to wet their high-heeled silken shoes;
but before their trouble was over their velvet hats and gay plumes were quite as
badly wet; for they all went down,passengers and crew; and King Alexander's fine new ship was a total loss.
Many were the beautiful court ladies, at
Dunfermline, who sat with their fans in
their hands, and their gold combs in their
hair, waiting for their lovers to come back
from Norway; but never, never did they
see Sir Patrick's ship come sailing to the
strand.  They longed, and waited, and
watched in vain; for, full forty miles off
Aberdeen, where the water was fifty fathoms deep, Sir Patrick Spens- a good
sailor, but a rather too hasty and hot



116  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
headed old gentleman-lay at the bottom
of the sea,
"With the Scots lords at his feet."
As for the princess, the ballad does not
say that she was on board the ship at all;
but history tells us that when Alexander
of Scotland wYas killed, by a fall from his
horse, this grandchild was declared the
rightful heir to his throne; and, though
then only eight years old, was sent for, to
be made  Queen  of the  Scots.  King
Edward the First, of England, proposed
that she should be married to his eldest
son; and a most magnificent future seemed
opening before her. But, alas! on her
voyage across the rough, northern water,
the poor little girl fell ill with sea-sickness, and, perhaps, home-sickness; and
though she landed on one of the Orkney
islands, she got no better, but grew worse,
and died,
Her death caused great troubles and




SIR PATRICK SPENS.      117
disputes in Scotland, which finally grew
into long and terrible wars. But I doubt
not it was better and happier for the child
to be so early called away from the perils,
and cares, and temptations of royalty, than
to have reached Scotland, ascended her
grandpapa's throne, held his heavy sceptre in her small, white hand, and worn his
great crown on her bonnie little head.




AULD ROBIN GRAY.
ONCE there, lived on the estate of the
Earl of Balcarres, in Scotland, a humble
peasant family, consisting of a poor old
couple and their one daughter, Jenny, a
young woman who was famed, through all
the country round, for her beauty, and
loved for her goodness.
Jenny had a lover, whose name was
Jamie,:- a good, brave, and handsome
young man, but poor, like herself. Indeed, when he asked Jenny to promise to
be his wife, he had only one crown-piece
in his pocket. To make this crown a
pound, he took leave of his betrothed, and
went to sea.
He had not been gone much over a year
when Jenny's father broke his arm, and
her mother fell sick, and Crummie, the
cow, that might almost have supported




AULD ROBIN GRAY.      119
them all with her milk, was stolen; and a
rich old gentleman, by the name of Robin
Gray, came a-courting Jenny.  Poor girl!
she had a very hard time of it. Her
father could not do any work; her mother
could only sit propped up with pillows, in
an arm-chair, and watch her daughter toiling, hour after hour, for their daily bread.
Sometimes she would beg that her little
wheel might be brought to her, and she
would try to spin; but she was so weak,
and her hand trembled so, that'she always
had to give over very soon; and when her
daughter put away the wheel she would
look after her, with tears in her dim, old
eyes, and then put on her spectacles, and
take up her Bible, so that Jenny should
not see her cry.
But with all that this poor girl could do,
by working all day, and nearly all night,
she could not support her parents and herself; so they were obliged to accept help
from old Robin Gray, who would not see
them want for anything.  To be sure, he




120  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
did them this kindness principally because
he wanted Jenny for his wife.
"I know, Jenny," he would say, "that
I am but a plain, rough old man, whom
you can't fancy much; but if, for the sake
of the poor old folks, you will marry me, I
will be a good son to them, and a kind
husband to you."
-But Jenny always refused; for, you
know, she had given her heart and her
promise to Jamie; and she expected him
home every day. But, instead of him,
there came the news that his ship had been
wrecked, and that all on board were lost.
So, with all her other troubles, Jenny had
to mourn for her drowned lover;. and things
were a great deal worse than before; for
now she had no dear hope to keep her up.
Then her father reasoned with her, trying to persuade her tq marry good old
Robin Gray.  ier mother did not say
anything, but she looked into her daughter's eyes with such a pleading, pitiful
look, that Jenny could not bear it. So, at




AUILD ROBIN GRAY.       121
last, she gave her hand to old Robin Gray;
but she told him that the best love of her
heart was away down in the dark, deep
sea, where her dear, lost Jamie was lying.
Well, these two were married; and old
Robin was as good as his word. He always treated his pretty young wife very
kindly, and he made the old people very
comfortable indeed.
But Jenny had not been married many
weeks, when, one day, as she was sitting
alone, on the stone steps, at the cottage
door, she thought she saw her Jamie's
ghost! But she soon found that it was
the young sailor himself, escaped from the
wreck; for he clasped her in his arms,
saying, " I have come home, my love, to
marry you."
Then she was obliged to tell him all;how she had believed him drowned; and
how she was already married, for the sake
of her poor father and mother; and that
he must not call her his Jenny,any more,
but Mrs. Robin Gray, of Balcarres.
11




122  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
Jamie did not blame her, though he was
shocked and grieved to tears. They both
wept, and then parted, supposing it was
forever.
Poor Jenny was now sadder than ever.
She grew paler and thinner every day.
She did not care to spin any more, and she
never laughed'nor sung, as she used to do.
But she was always kind to her father and
mother, and tried her best to be a loving
wife to old Robin Gray, who was very
good to her.
As for him, he was so grieved to see
her moping about in this way, and blamed
himself so much for her unhappiness, that
he finally took to his bed, with his deathsickness. He would not take any medicine, for he said that he did not care to
live.
Hle called his friends together, and confessed that he had done wrong, in taking
advantage of the illness and poverty of the
old folks,,to get Jenny to be his wife.
IHe even owned that he had stolen Crum



AULD ROBIN GRAY.       123
mie, the cow, so that the family should
have no dependence but him. When
Jamie came back, and he saw how disappointed he was to have lost his bride, and
how sorry Jenny was that she had married,
he felt that he had done them both a great
wrong, and that the best thing for him to
do was to die; and so he was dying.
He asked for Jamie, and when the
young sailor came he took his hand and
put it into Jenny's, and said, "You love
each other well. Forgive me; and, O! let
me do some good before I die.  I give
you, young man, all my houses, a;nd lands,
and cattle, and the dear wife who never
ought to have been mine."
Then Jamie and Jenny bent down, and
kissed his hands, and wept over them.
Those hands grew cold against their lips.
They looked up, and saw a sweet smile
on their friend's face; but that'face was
still and very white. — Old Robin Gray
was dead.
After a while, Jamie and Jenny were




124  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
married, and were very happy, in a new
and comfortable home. The old folks
lived to see a little grandson -a "wee
bit bairn," as Jenny called him-toddling
about the house, and hanging around them,
as they sat in their cosy arm-chairs, by
the fire-side. And this is the last we have
heard about that family; but I doubt not
they always spoke tenderly of the old man
that was gone, and I think it very likely
they named that " wee bit bairn" Robin.




FRIDOLIN; OR, THE MESSAGE TO THE
FORGE.
HUNDREDS of, years ago, there lived,
somewhere in Germany, in a great castle,
surrounded by vast estates, a mighty lord,
called the Count Von Savern. It was in a
time when the wise and benificent'laws
which now secure justice and protection to
the very poorest people were not even
dreamt of; - when the great lords and
barons held unlimited power over their
attendants, peasants, and  serfs, — the
power to punish, torture, or put them to
death, at will.
Besides his large domains, his villages,
his castle, and his mighty name, the
Count Von Savern possessed a young and
lovely wife, who, with her many gentle
virtues, and tender graces, gave a nobler
nobility to his sounding titles than she
received from them.
115




126  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
Among the attendants of this fair and
beauteous lady was a young page, named
Fridolin, who was -noted as well for his
gentleness and piety as for his delicate,
graceful beauty.  Early and late-from
dawn of day till the bell tolled for vespers
-Fridolin's constant thought and care
were his duties to his mistress; —  her
every wish was fulfilled, almost before she
could speak it. So watchful and unceasing was his devotion to her service that
she would often gently chide him, and bid
him not weary himself with such constant
toil for her. Then his beautiful, soft eyes
would fill with tears, and he would answer,
pleadingly, " What I do for one so dear to
me does not seem like toil;" at which the
lady would smile, a sweet, half-motherly
smile; for he was to her more like a
gentle, loving child, than a servant.
And so, out of all her many attendants,
the countess always selected Fridolin to
execute her commands, and her lips were
ever ready to speak his praise; while he




FRIDOLIN.           127
strove, day by day, more and more eagerly
in her service, wishing for no reward but
the kindly smile, which he never failed to
receive; until his beautiful, radiant presence grew to be one of the pleasant accompantiments of her life, and she missed it,
when absent, as she missed the sunshine
from her chamber, when the day clouded.
Among the attendants of the Count Von
Savern was a huntsman, named Robert, a
dark, jealous, treacherous man. Robert
had long noticed, with envious eyes, how
Fridolin's comely face, and dutiful, willing heart, were winning him the generous
favor and kindly preference of the countess; and he determined to bring about the
ruin and death of the beautiful, innocent
youth, for no other reason than because he
was beautiful and innocent.
One day, as the huntsman was returning, with his master, from the chase, he
said, in al crafty, stealthy way, "Truly,
thine is a happy lot, my-lord. No jealous
doubts disturb the quiet of thy sleep. En



128 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
circled by her holy virtues, thy noble lady
stands secure in faith and truth."
The Count Von Savern had a generous,
noble heart, but he had, also, a most passionate temper; and when this was roused
it was not difficult, as the cunning Robert
well knew, to blind his better judgment,
and lead him on to savage, cruel deeds.
At Robert's soft, insinuating words, -he
wheeled his horse fiercely round, and,
with flashing eyes and frowning brow,
exclaimed, " How now, bold man! What
is this thou sayest?  Think'st thou I rest
my faith on aught so fickle as a woman's
truth, - woman, whose ear is ever open to
the smooth voice of flattery? Not I. - I
build on firmer ground. -My august name,and lordly might are the buckler of my
lady's virtue and my own honor."
"Right!"  said  Robert;  "and  thy
noble scorn is punishment enough f6r one
who, though born a vassal, yet holds himself so loftily that; he dares aspire even to
the lady whom he serwes."




FRIDOLIN.           129
"IHow!"  cried the count, trembling
with a terrible anger; "dost thou speak
of one that now  lives, and dares this
thing?"
"Can it be," said the wily Robert,
"that that *which is so clear to all thy
house is yet unknown to thee? If so, let
me not be the one to undeceive thee."
At this, the passion of the count burst
all bounds.  "Fool!" he cried; "fool!
thy words have decreed ha death! Give
me to know who dares' so wild a crime as
this! "
"My lord, I speak of Fridolin," said
the black-hearted knave; adding, with
subtle art, "truly his face is comely to
behold."'
Count Von Savern started, as if a sword
had pierced him; his face grew red and
pale by turns, and his breath fairly hissed
through his set teeth. Robert's heart
swelled with a malignant joy, as he noted
how well his scheme was working; but,
not yet content with his work, he said,
I




130  STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
" Surely my gracious master must see that
it is only in her presence the youth lives.
When she is absent so are his thoughts, -
so is almost his very self.  Altiyour board
he stands heedless of duty, - spell-bound
beside her chair, his eyes feeding his heart
with this most unholy passion. And then,
the rhymes he writ! In them stood bold
confessed his most audacious love.  Ay,
nor that alone; the shameless knave begged
that she might -love him in return. All
this the countess,'filled with tender pity
for his youth, and hoping each day, I
doubt not, to find this unhappy passion
flown of itself, has withheld from you. I
fear me she did only right, in this, and
that I have overdone my duty in departing
from her gentle example."
Not a word said the count; but, with
his black brows knotted in terrible resolve,
he struck the spurs into his good horse,
and galloped fiercely away to the woods,
where lay the iron-furnaces, which formed
a part of his possessions.




FRIDOLIN.          131
Here, night. and day, the great bearded
smiths fed the vast furnaces with huge
masses of iron, until they boiled'and surged
like fiery seas, while mighty hammers
joined their' ponderous clang to the roar
of monster bellows, and, above all, the
chimneys, steeple-high, shot solid columns
of red fire into the very heavens.
The Count Von Savern checked his
panting horse at the threshold, and, beckoning forth two swarthy, herculean smiths,
he said to them, in cold, slow, deadly
words, "Soon I shall send a messenger to
you, who, will ask, Have you obeyed'my
lord's command?  Seize the wretch, and
thrust him into yon hell-fire, that his very
bones may scatter to the winds. Let him
never offend my sight again."
Those brawny monsters needed no second
command.- They rubbed their hands, in
savage glee, and their inhuman breasts
swelled with joy,. at the prospect of this
cruel deed.  No gentle, humane instincts
had ever.quickened in their brutish, na



132 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
tures, - no tender flowers of pity had ever
bloomed in their rude hearts.  With the
cold-blooded zeal of pagan priests, at some
infernal sacrifice, they hastened back to
the furnace, and plied the great bellows,
to make more hot the dreadful fires.
In the mean time, the count, hastening
back to -the castle, sent the wicked huntsman to summon Fridolin to receive his
message.  When the gentle boy appeared,
not daring to trust himself to many words,
lest he should betray his horrid purpose,
the count said, briefly, "Hasten to the
forge, in the woods, and say to the smiths,
Have you obeyed my lord's command?"
" It shall be done," said Fridolin, as he
bowed himself out of the hall.  Then,
thinking that his beloved mistress might
have some service which he could do bythe way, he hastened to her presence.
He found her in the nursery, bending anxiously over the cradle of her beautiful
child.  "My lord bids me seek the forge,
with a message for the smiths," he said;




W~~~~~~AW
gm;
Fd i          VeF<hu
/                 \/'i
FiidnteFihu








?RIDOLIN.          133
"but ere I go, hast thou no command to
lay upon the willing heart of thy servant?"
The gentle countess smiled her thanks,
for his tireless thought of her, and said, in
a voice that was soft and sweet as the
flowing of summer streams, " I had wished
to hear the holy mass, this morn, that I
might pray for my little babe, who is far
from well. But do thou seek the shrine,
and let thy fervent prayer take the place
of mine.  As thou shalt free thine own
soul from the taint of sinful thought, so.
will it find grace to win God's mercy for
mine, and for the gentle body of my
child."
The fair lady could have asked no more
welcome service of Fridolin.  With quick
and happy feet, he sped along the path,
through the cool, solemn woods, where the
singing of birds made a sunshine for the
ear;   over the winding stream, in whose
clear deeps other'woods seemed to liefairy woods, with softer shadows and fairer
12




1 34 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
lights; by the marge of lovely meadows,
whose tender green was touched into a
beautiful, golden bronze, by the free, midsummer -bounty of the sun.  On went the
gentle youth, his joyous nature thrilling
with a silent, involuntary response to all
these sights and sounds, through which
God's great love is ever yearning to his
children. On he went, till the'peaceful
little village came in sight, its quaint,
speckled cottages huddled like eggs in the.
nest-like valley, while over all brooded the
dome of mother-church.
Fridolin had thought to do his master's
bidding first, and was speeding past the
village, when suddenly, from the churchtower, there drifted the peal of the bell,
calling to the service of the Holy Sacrament. Saying to himself, in pious thoughtfulness, "If God is found upon the way
thou must not pass him by," he turned
back, and entered the church to pray.
The harvest season was just then at its
height, and so busy with scythe and sickle




FRIDOLIN.             135
were the villagers, gathering God's bounty
from the fields, that they neglected the
call of the bell to gather the harvest of his
mercy, from  the lesson of our Saviour's
sacrifice.  So Fridolin found the church
almost empty, with not a single chorister
to serve the mass * or share the rites.
Seeing this, he felt a holy impulse to serve
as sacristan himself, thinking that that
which promoted the cause of Heaven could
not be a delay.
With meek and humble bearing, he
passed into the chancel, robing the priest
in " cingulum" and "stole," and nimbly
arranging all the holy vessels required for
the high mass. When this portion of the
service was over, urged by a pious zeal, he
still remained, to  act as ministrant,bowing before the altar, with the massbook in his hands, -kneeling right and
left, watchful of every sign, and tinkling
the little bell three times as the "sanc" At this time, the Roman Catholic was almost the only
form of the Christian religion in existence.




136 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
tus" fell from the lips of the priest.  Then,
as the meek priest bends low before the
altar, lifting on high the sacred cross,
again the silver tinkle of his bell is heard,
while all present, kneeling down, mark
their breasts with  the  sign.  And  so,
through all the service, did he assist the
rites with knowing and ready hand; for
all the customs of that holy place were set
down in his earnest heart.  Then, when
the service closed with the blessing, and
he had reverently put away all the consecrated chalices and sacred symbols, and
sprinkled the shrine with holy water, he
once more took his way to the forge, murmuring slowly to himself twelve paternosters.
When he reached the forge, he found
the two smiths standing beside one of the
furnaces, with a horrid expression of exultation on their coarse faces.  "How fares
it, my friends?" said Fridolin.  "Have ye
obeyed my lord's command?"
At this question, the smiths both burst




FRIDOLIN.           137
into a laugh that made Fridolin's blood run
cold; so ghastly and terrible was it, Then,
pointing into the yawning, fiery throat of
the furnace, they said, "Go thy ways,
lad. He's caught and cared for; and thy
lord shall give us good praise, we warrant
thee."
Back went Fridolin to the castle, striving, with fleet foot, to recoyer the time
spent in the church.  When he entered
the great hall, the count started back, as
though one from the dead had appeared to
him. He could hardly believe his eyes;
but, quickly recovering himself, he said,'with a frown, "Whence  comest thou,
boy?"
"From the forge," said Fridolin, wondering to himself at the count's strange
manner.
" So " said the count; "and nowhere
else? By my troth, thy legs are but slow
transports, for their age. How comes it
thou hast loitered thus?"',' My lord," replied Fridolin, "I de12*




138 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
layed no longer than to fulfill a command
my lady, the countess, had charged me
with; for, pardon me, on quitting thy
presence I sought her's, to ask if there was
aught I could do for her by the way.  She
bade me seek the church, and hear the
mass for her. No command, even from
her gracious lips, could be more sweet to
me. So, as I passed the village by, the
bell, loud ringing from the tower, seemed
like the echo of my lady's wish; and I
turned aside to pray, beseeching the good
Saviour for long life, and health, and joy
to my lord and lady both, and also to your
precious babe, for whom the countess most
did wish my prayers."
Softened, in spite of himself, by the
earnest sweetness of Fridolin's speech and
manner, and still wondering how the youth
could have escaped the dreadful fate he
had prepared for him, the count asked,
"And when thou did'st reach the forge,
what answer made the smiths?"
"They pointed into the fierce furnace,




FRIDOLIN.          139
and said to me, with a ghastly, terrible
laugh,' Go thy way. He's caught and1
cared for; and thy lord shall give us good
praise.'"
"And Robert?" gasped the count, as
an awful suspicion flashed across his mind;
" thou must surely have crossed his path!
I sent him to the wood."
"Neither in wood nor meadow, my
lord," said Fridolin, "have I seen any
trace of him."
The count stood, pale and death-like,
for a moment; then, lifting up his hands,
he said, solemnly,  "0, God of heaven!
thou, in thy surpassing wisdom, hath
judged the right."
Then, with his fierce pride all gone,
meekly and gently he took the hand of
Fridolin, and, leading him into the chamber of the countess, said, as the lovely lady
looked up, in silent wonder, "No angel is
more pure than -this dear child! Long
may thy love for him continue."  Then,
lifting his plumed cap from his head, he




140 STORIES FROM FAMOUS BALLADS.
raised his face heavenward, and added,
reverently, " How weak is our poor human
strength!  how  dim  our mortal sight!
God and his host keep watch over Fridolin."
Lest some of the younger readers of
this story should not perfectly understand
what became of the huntsman, Robert, or
how it was that the smiths did not thrust
Fridolin into the furnace, as the count had
intended, I will explain it a little more
clearly than the ballad does.
While Fridolin was fulfilling the duties
of sacristan, in the church, Robert grew so
impatient to learn the success. of his wicked
plot that he went to the furnace himself.'He arrived there before Fridolin had quitted the church, and when he asked the
smiths if they had done what his lord
had commanded them' to do, the words
were so nearly like those the count had
used that they supposed he must be their
victim; so they at once seized him, and,




FRIDOLIN.            141
in spite of his, cries, and fierce struggles,
and efforts to explain, pitched him headlong into the terrible fire, which he -had
intended should destroy the innocent Fridolin.