When And the widows of Ashur are loud in their Banners

wail,

are And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal! Waving

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the

sword,

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the

Lord!

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON.

Tales of the Olden Time

These ancient ballads have come down to us from the long ago, having been told, like the old nursery tales, from generation to generation, altered, abbreviated, patched, and added to, as they passed from mouth to mouth of poet, high harper, gleeman, wandering minstrel, balladmonger, and camp-follower. Some of them were repeated by the humble stroller who paid for a corner in the chimney-nook by the practice of his rude art; others were sung by minstrels of the court; most of them were chanted to a tune which served for a score of similar songs, while the verses were frequently interrupted by refrains of one sort or another, as, for instance, in Hynde Horn," which is sometimes printed as follows:

66

"Near the King's Court was a young child born
With a hey lillalu and a how lo lan;

And his name it was called Young Hynde Horn
And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie."

Many of the ballads are gloomy and tragic stories, but told simply and with right feeling; others are gay tales of true love ending happily. Some, like "Sir Patrick Spens" and "Chevy Chace," are built upon historical foundations, and others, while not following history, have a real personage for hero or heroine. Lord Beichan, for instance, is supposed to be Gilbert Becket, father of the famous Saint Thomas of Canterbury, while Glenlogie is Sir George, one of the "gay Gordons," but whoever they are, wise abbots, jolly friars, or noble outlaws, they are always bold fellows, true lovers, and merry men.

Inconsequent, fascinating, high-handed, impossible, picturesque, these old ballads have come to us from the childhood of the world, and still speak to the childheart in us all.

XV

TALES OF THE OLDEN TIME

Sir Patrick Spens

THE king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine;
"O whare will I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this new ship o' mine!"

O up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee,—
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,
That ever sail'd the sea."

The king has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the faem;

The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

Tales The first word that Sir Patrick read,

of the

Olden
Time

Sae loud, loud laughèd he;

The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his e'e.

"O wha is this has done this deed,

And tauld the king o' me,

To send us out, at this time of the year,

To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
Our ship must sail the faem;

The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,

Wi' a' the speed they may;

They hae landed in Noroway,
Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week,

In Noroway, but twae,

When that the lords o' Noroway

Began aloud to say,

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud,

And a' our queenis fee."
"Ye lee, ye lee, ye liars loud!

Fu' loud I hear ye lee.