The king's daughter at length, by lot, Was doomed to work his woe; 130 From her fair hands a fatal shot, Out of a golden bow, Must put a period to the strife; At which grief did her seize.
She of her father begg'd his life 135 Upon her bended knees;
Saying, "my gracious sovereign Lord, And honoured father dear, He well deserves a large reward; Then be not so severe. 140 Give me his life!" He grants the boon, And then without delay, This Spanish champion, ere 'twas noon, Rid with her quite away.
Now come we to Saint Anthony, 145 A man with valour fraught, The champion of fair Italy, Who many wonders wrought.
First, he a mighty giant slew, The terror of mankind: 150 Young ladies fair, pure virgins too, This giant kept confined
Within his castle walls of stone, And gates of solid brass, Where seven ladies made their moan, 155 But out they could not pass.
Many brave lords, and knights likewise, To free them did engage, Who fell a bleeding sacrifice To this fierce giant's rage. 160
Fair daughters to a royal king!
Yet fortune, after all, Did our renowned champion bring To free them from their thrall.
Assisted by the hand of heaven, 165 He ventured life and limb: Behold the fairest of the seven, She fell in love with him.
That champion good, bold Saint Andrew, The famous Scottish knight, 170 Dark gloomy deserts travelled through, Where Phoebus gave no light.
Haunted with spirits, for a while His weary course he steers, Till fortune blessed him with a smile, 175 And shook off all his fears.
This Christian champion travell'd long, Till at the length he came Unto the giant's castle strong, Great Blanderon by name, 180 Where the king's daughters were transform'd Into the shape of swans: Though them he freed, their father storm'd, But he his malice shuns.
For though five hundred armed knights 185 Did straight beset him round, Our Christian champion with them fights, Till on the heathen ground Most of those Pagans bleeding lay; Which much perplexed the king; 190 The Scottish champion clears the way, Which was a glorious thing.
Saint Patrick too, of Ireland, That noble knight of fame, He travelled, as we understand, 195 Till at the length he came Into a grove where satyrs dwelt, Where ladies he beheld, Who had their raged fury felt, And were with sorrow fill'd. 200
He drew his sword, and did maintain A sharp and bloody fray, Till the ring-leader he had slain; The rest soon fled away.
This done, he asked the ladies fair, 205 Who were in silks array'd, From whence they came, and who they were.
They answered him and said:
"We are all daughters to a king, Whom a brave Scottish knight 210 Did out of tribulation bring: He having took his flight, Now after him we are in quest."
Saint Patrick then replies, "He is my friend, I cannot rest 215 Till I find him likewise.
"So, ladies, if you do intend To take your lot with me, This sword of mine shall you defend From savage cruelty." 220 The ladies freely gave consent To travel many miles; Through shady groves and woods they went, In search of fortune's smiles.
The Christian champion David, went 225 To the Tartarian court, Where at their tilt and tournament, And such like royal sport, He overthrew the only son Of the Count Palatine; 230 This noble action being done His fame began to shine.
The young Count's sad and sudden death Turn'd all their joys to grief; He bleeding lay, bereaved of breath, 235 The father's son in chief; But lords and ladies blazed the fame Of our brave champion bold; Saying, they ought to write his name In characters of gold. 240
Here have I writ a fair account Of each heroic deed, Done by these knights, which will surmount All those that shall succeed.
The ancient chronicles of kings, 245 Ere since the world begun, Can't boast of such renowned things As these brave knights have done.
Saint George he was for England, Saint Dennis was for France, 250 Saint James for Spain, whose valiant hand Did Christian fame advance: Saint Anthony for Italy, Andrew for Scots ne'er fails, Patrick too stands for Ireland, 255 Saint David was for Wales.
Thus have you those stout champions names In this renowned song: Young captive ladies bound in chains, Confined in castles strong, 260 They did by knightly prowess free, True honour to maintain: Then let their lasting memory From age to age remain.
107, which Dennis.
THOMAS OF ERSSELDOUNE.
This beautiful tale is transferred to these pages from Mr. Laing's _Select Remains of the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scotland_. The two "fytts" of prophecies which accompany it in the manuscripts, are omitted here, as being probably the work of another, and an inferior, hand. From the exordium by which the story is introduced, it might be concluded that the author was an Englishman. Indeed, all the poems and prophecies attributed to Thomas the Rhimer which remain to us, are preserved in English manuscripts and an English dress; but, in the judgment of Mr. Jamieson, the internal evidence still almost amounts to proof that the romance itself was of Scottish origin, although no indubitably Scottish copy is now known to be in existence.
The hero of this legend is believed to have lived through nearly the whole of the 13th century. He derived his territorial appellation from the village of Erceldoune, in the county of Berwick, lying on the river Leader, about two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The Huntly bank on which the meeting of Thomas with the Queen of Fairy took place, is situated, according to Mr. Laing, on one of the Eldoun hills, but the same distinction is claimed for another place of like name, which, together with an adjoining ravine, called from time immemorial the _Rymer's Glen_, was included in the domain of Abbotsford. (See _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iv. 110. v. 1.)
"During the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries, to get up a prophecy in the name of Thomas the Rhymer appears to have been found a good stroke of policy on many occasions. Thus was his authority employed to countenance the views of Edward III. against Scottish independence, to favor the ambitious views of the Duke of Albany in the minority of James V., and to sustain the spirits of the nation under the harassing invasions of Henry VIII. A small volume containing a collection of the rhymes thus put into circulation was published by Andro Hart in Edinburgh, in 1615."--CHAMBERS, _Pop. Rhymes of Scotland_, p. 6.
"This poem," says Mr. Laing, "is preserved in three ancient manuscripts, each of them in a state more or less mutilated, and varying in no inconsiderable degree from the others. A portion of it was first printed in the _Border Minstrelsy_, [iv. 122,] from the fragment in the British Museum, among the Cotton MSS.; and the one which Mr. Jamieson adopted in his collection of _Popular Ballads and Songs_ [ii. 11,] was carefully deciphered from a volume of no ordinary curiosity, in the University Library, Cambridge, written in a very illegible hand, about the middle of the 15th century. It is now printed from the other copy, as it occurs in a volume, compiled at a still earlier period, which is preserved in the Cathedral Library of Lincoln. On comparison, it will be readily perceived, that the text is in every respect preferable to that of either of the other manuscripts.... An endeavor has been made to fill up the defective parts from the Cambridge copy, though in some instances, as will be seen, without success."--Mr. Halliwell has republished the Cambridge text in his _Fairy Mythology_, (p. 58,) and he cites a fourth manuscript, which, however, appears to be of slight importance.
THOMAS OF ERSSELDOUNE.
Lystnys, lordyngs, bothe grete and smale, And takis gude tente what I will say: I sall yow telle als trewe a tale, Als euer was herde by nyghte or daye:
And the maste meruelle fforowttyn naye, 5 That euer was herde byfore or syen, And therfore pristly I yow praye, That ye will of youre talkyng blyn.
It es an harde thyng for to saye, Of doghety dedis that hase bene done; 10 Of felle feghtyngs and batells sere; And how that knyghtis hase wonne thair schone.
Bot Jhesu Christ, that syttis in trone, Safe Ynglysche men bothe ferre and nere; And I sall telle yow tyte and sone, 15 Of battells done sythen many a yere;
And of batells that done sall bee; In whate place, and howe and whare; And wha sall hafe the heghere gree; And whethir partye sall hafe the werre; 20
[Transcriber's note: one stanza missing here, lines 21-24]
Wha sall take the flyghte and flee; 25 And wha sall dye and byleue thare: Bot Jhesu Christ, that dyed on tre, Saue Inglysche men whare so thay fare.
Als I me wente this endres-daye, Full faste in mynd makane my mone, In a mery mornynge of May, By Huntle bankkes my selfe allone,
I herde the jaye, and the 'throstelle,'[L5] 5 The mawys menyde of hir songe, The wodewale beryde als a belle, That all the wode abowte me ronge.
Allone in longynge, thus als I laye, Vndre nethe a semely tre, 10 'Saw I' whare a lady gaye, 'Came ridand' ouer a longe lee.
If I suld sytt to Domesdaye, With my tonge, to wrebbe and wrye, Certanely that lady gaye, 15 Neuer bese scho askryede for mee.
Hir palfraye was a dappill graye; Swilke one I saghe ne neuer none: Als dose the sonne, on someres daye, That faire lady hir selfe scho schone. 20
Hir selle[L21] it was of reele bone, Full semely was that syghte to see!
Stefly sett with precyous stones, And compaste all with crapotee,
Stones of Oryence, grete plente. 25 Hir hare abowte hir hede it hange; Scho rode ouer that lange lee; A whylle scho blewe, a nother scho sange.
Hir garthes of nobyll sylke they were; The bukylls were of berelle stone; 30 Hir steraps were of crystalle clere, And all with perelle ouer bygone.
Hir payetrelle was of iralle fyne; Hir cropoure was of orfare; And als clere golde hir brydill it schone; 35 One aythir syde hange bellys three.