Fayre ladye, it is for your love

That all this dill I drye:

For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,
Then were I brought from bale to blisse,
No longer would I lye.

Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,
I am his only heire ;

Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte,
I never can be your feere.

O ladye, thou art a kinges daughtér

And I am not thy peere,

But let me doe some deedes of arines,
To be youre bacheleere.

Christabel sends Cauline to the hill of Eldridge, where a solitary thorn grows on the border of a moor. The knight of Eldridge is a foul paynim of mickle might. Sir Cauline meets him in single combat, cuts off his hands and disarms him; Christabel declares that if she may not wed the conqueror, she will have no other feere.

In the second part of the ballad, the king who had gone out to enjoy the fresh evening breeze, unfortunately falls in with Christabel and Cauline engaged in dalliance sweet. He immures Cauline in a vault, and Christabel at the top of a tower. His first impulse was to slay the knight, for an angrye man was hee.

Yielding however, to the queen's entreaties, he was satisfied with condemning them to perpetual banishment: nevertheless, he attempts to console his weeping daughter, and orders a tournament. An unknown knight, clad in sable armour, enters the lists, followed by a giant, who is pledged to avenge the giant of Eldridge. The sable knight alone ventures to contend with the challenging miscreant, kills him, and dies of his wounds. Christabel also dies, as soon as she has recognized Sir Claudine in the person of the black knight, and dressed his wounds.

Then fayntinge in a deadly swoune,

And with a deep-fette sighe

That burst her gentle heart in twayne.

Faire Christabelle did dye.

Thus did the loves expire like Pyramus and Thisbe. The French ballad says of the latter

Ils étaient si parfaits
Qu'on disait qu'ils étaient

Les plus beaux de la ville—

verses breathing the purest nature, and such as, thank God, it is now the fashion to compose.

The subject of the ballad of Sir Cauline is to be met with almost every where. The ballad of Childe Waters depicts all that is most affecting

and pathetic in private life. The word childe or chield, child at the present day, is used by old English poets as a sort of title: this title is given to Prince Arthur in the Fairie Queen; the king's son is named Childe Tristram. The subject of this ballad, with the exception of a few stanzas is as follows. It will be observed that Ellen repeats nearly verbatim the words of Childe Waters, in the same manner as Homer's heroes repeat the messages of the chiefs. Nature, when unsophisticated, possesses a common type, the impression of which is stamped upon the manners of all nations.

CHILDE WATERS.

Childe Waters in his stable stoode

And stroakt his milke-white steede :
To him a fayre yonge ladye came

As ever ware woman's weede.

Sayes, Christ you save! good Childe Watèrs
Sayes, Christ you save! and see
My girdle of gold, that was too longe,
Is now too short for mee.

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,
Be mine, as you tell mee;

Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your own to bee.

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,
Be mine as you do sweare;

Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that childe your heyre.

She sayes, I had rather have one kisse,

Childe Waters, of thy mouth,

Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,

That lye by north and southe.

And I had rather have one twinkling,

Childe Waters, of thine ee;

Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,

To take them mine owne to bee.

Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes

An inch above your ee :

You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall bee.

Shee, all the longe daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote by his syde;

Yet was he never so courteous a knyghte,
To say, Ellen, will you ryde?

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote thorow the broome;
Yet was he never so courteous a knighte,

To say, put on your shoone.

Ride softlye, she said, O Childe Waters
Why doe you ride so fast?

The childe, which is no man's but thine,
My body itt will brast.

He sayth, seest thou yond water, Ellèn,
That flows from banke to brimme?

I trust in God, O Childe Waters,
You never will see me swimme!

But when she came to the water syde
She sayled to the chinne :

Nowe the Lord of Heaven be my speede
For I must learne to swimme.

The salt waters bare up her clothes;
Our Lady bare up her chinne :
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,
To see faire Ellen swimme.