Story-Telling Ballads / Selected and Arranged for Story-Telling and Reading Aloud and for the Boys' and Girls' Own Reading

ALL UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE

Frances Jenkins Olcott

Then did he shake hands with his merry men all,

And bid them at present good b’w’ye;

Then, as near a brook his journey he took,

A stranger he chancd to espy.

They happend to meet on a long narrow bridge,

And neither of them would give way;

Quoth bold Robin Hood, and sturdily stood,

“I’ll show you right Nottingham play.”

With that from his quiver an arrow he drew,

A broad arrow with a goose-wing:

The stranger reply’d, “I’ll liquor thy hide,

If thou offerst to touch the string.”

Quoth bold Robin Hood, “Thou dost prate like an ass,

For were I to bend but my bow,

I could send a dart quite thro thy proud heart,

Before thou couldst strike me one blow.”

“Thou talkst like a coward,” the stranger reply’d;

“Well armd with a long bow you stand,

To shoot at my breast, while I, I protest,

Have nought but a staff in my hand.”

“The name of a coward,” quoth Robin, “I scorn,

Wherefore my long bow I’ll lay by;

And now, for thy sake, a staff will I take,

The truth of thy manhood to try.”

Then Robin Hood stept to a thicket of trees,

And chose him a staff of ground-oak;

Now this being done, away he did run

To the stranger, and merrily spoke:

“Lo! see my staff, it is lusty and tough,

Now here on the bridge we will play;

Whoever falls in, the other shall win

The battel, and so we’ll away.”

“With all my whole heart,” the stranger reply’d;

“I scorn in the least to give out;”

This said, they fell to’t without more dispute,

And their staffs they did flourish about.

And first Robin he gave the stranger a bang,

So hard that it made his bones ring:

The stranger he said, “This must be repaid,

I’ll give you as good as you bring.

“So long as I’m able to handle my staff,

To die in your debt, friend, I scorn:”

Then to it each goes, and followd their blows,

As if they had been threshing of corn.

The stranger gave Robin a crack on the crown,

Which caused the blood to appear;

Then Robin, enrag’d, more fiercely engag’d,

And followd his blows more severe.

So thick and so fast did he lay it on him,

With a passionate fury and ire,

At every stroke, he made him to smoke,

As if he had been all on fire.

O then into fury the stranger he grew,

And gave him a damnable look,

And with it a blow that laid him full low,

And tumbld him into the brook.

“I prithee, good fellow, O where art thou now?”

The stranger, in laughter, he cry’d;

Quoth bold Robin Hood, “Good faith, in the flood,

And floating along with the tide.

“I needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul;

With thee I’ll no longer contend;

For needs must I say, thou hast got the day,

Our battel shall be at an end.”

Then unto the bank he did presently wade,

And pulld himself out by a thorn;

Which done, at the last, he blowd a loud blast

Straitway on his fine bugle-horn.

The eccho of which through the vallies did fly,

At which his stout bowmen appeard,

All cloathed in green, most gay to be seen;

So up to their master they steerd.

“O what’s the matter?” quoth William Stutely;

“Good master, you are wet to the skin:”

“No matter,” quoth he; “the lad which you see,

In fighting, hath tumbld me in.”

“He shall not go scot-free,” the others reply’d;

So strait they were seizing him there,

To duck him likewise; but Robin Hood cries,

“He is a stout fellow, forbear.

“There’s no one shall wrong thee, friend, be not afraid;

These bowmen upon me do wait;

There’s threescore and nine; if thou wilt be mine,

Thou shalt have my livery strait.

“And other accoutrements fit for a man;

Speak up, jolly blade, never fear;

I’ll teach you also the use of the bow,

To shoot at the fat fallow-deer.”

“O here is my hand,” the stranger reply’d,

“I’ll serve you with all my whole heart;

My name is John Little, a man of good mettle;

Nere doubt me, for I’ll play my part.”

“His name shall be alterd,” quoth William Stutely,

“And I will his godfather be;

Prepare then a feast, and none of the least,

For we will be merry,” quoth he.

They presently fetchd in a brace of fat does,

With humming strong liquor likewise;

They lovd what was good; so, in the greenwood,

This pretty sweet babe they baptize.

He was, I must tell you, but seven foot high,

And, may be, an ell in the waste;

A pretty sweet lad; much feasting they had;

Bold Robin the christning grac’d,

With all his bowmen, which stood in a ring,

And were of the Nottingham breed;

Brave Stutely comes then, with seven yeomen,

And did in this manner proceed.

“This infant was called John Little,” quoth he,

“Which name shall be changed anon;

The words we’ll transpose, so where-ever he goes,

His name shall be calld Little John.”

They all with a shout made the elements ring,

So soon as the office was ore;

To feasting they went, with true merriment,

And tippld strong liquor gillore.

Then Robin he took the pretty sweet babe,

And cloathd him from top to the toe

In garments of green, most gay to be seen,

And gave him a curious long bow.

“Thou shalt be an archer as well as the best,

And range in the greenwood with us;

Where we’ll not want gold nor silver, behold,

While bishops have ought in their purse.

“We live here like squires, or lords of renown,

Without ere a foot of free land;

We feast on good cheer, with wine, ale, and beer,

And evry thing at our command.”

Then musick and dancing did finish the day;

At length, when the sun waxed low,

Then all the whole train the grove did refrain,

And unto their caves they did go.

And so ever after, as long as he livd,

Altho he was proper and tall,

Yet nevertheless, the truth to express,

Still Little John they did him call.

And as we were going towards the green bower,

Two hundred good bucks we espy’d;

She chose out the fattest that was in the herd,

And she shot him through side and side.

“By the faith of my body,” said bold Robin Hood,

“I never saw woman like thee;

And com’st thou from east, ay, or com’st thou from west,

Thou needst not beg venison of me.

“However, along to my bower you shall go,

And taste of a forrester’s meat:”

And when we come thither we found as good cheer

As any man needs for to eat.

For there was hot venison, and warden pies cold,

Cream clouted, with honey-combs plenty;

And the sarvitors they were, besides Little John,

Good yeomen at least four and twenty.

Clorinda said, “Tell me your name, gentle sir:”

And he said, “’Tis bold Robin Hood:

Squire Gamwel’s my uncle, but all my delight

Is to dwell in the merry Sherwood;

“For ’tis a fine life, and ’tis void of all strife.”

“So ’tis, sir,” Clorinda reply’d.

“But oh!” said bold Robin, “how sweet would it be,

If Clorinda would be my bride!”

She blusht at the motion; yet, after a pause,

Said, “Yes, sir, and with all my heart.”

“Then let us send for a priest,” said Robin Hood,

“And be married before we do part.”

When dinner was ended, Sir Roger, the parson

Of Dubbridge, was sent for in haste:

He brought his mass-book, and he bade them take hands,

And joyn’d them in marriage full fast.

And then, as bold Robin Hood and his sweet bride

Went hand in hand to the green bower,

The birds sung with pleasure in merry Sherwood,

And ’t was a most joyful hour.

And when Robin came in the sight of the bower,

“Where are my yeomen?” said he:

And Little John answer’d, “Lo, yonder they stand,

All under the green-wood tree.”

Then a garland they brought her, by two and by two,

And plac’d them upon the bride’s head:

The music struck up, and we all fell to dance,

So the bride and bridegroom were wed.

(Condensed)

Word is gane to our noble King,

In Edinburgh where that he lay,

That there was an Outlaw in Ettrick Forest,

Counted him nought, nor a’ his courtrie gay.

“I make a vow,” then the gude King said,

“Unto the Man that dear bought me,

I’se either be King of Ettrick Forest,

Or King of Scotland that Outlaw sall be!”

Then spake the Lord hight Hamilton,

And to the noble King said he,

“My sovereign Prince, some counsel take,

First at your nobles, syne at me.

“I rede ye, send yon braw Outlaw till,

And see gif your man come will he:

Desire him come and be your man,

And hold of you yon forest free.

“Gif he refuses to do that,

We’ll conquer baith his lands and he!

Or else we’ll throw his Castle down,

And mak’ a widow o’ his gay Ladye.”

The King then called a gentleman,

James Boyd (the Earl of Arran’s brother was he);

When James he came before the King,

He kneeled before him on his knee.

“Welcome, James Boyd!” said our noble King,

“A message ye maun gang for me;

Ye maun hie to Ettrick Forest,

To yon Outlaw, where bideth he.

“Ask him of whom he holds his lands,

Or man wha may his master be,

And desire him come and be my man,

And hold of me yon forest free.

“To Edinburgh to come and gang,

His safe warrant I sall gie;

And gif he refuses to do that,

We’ll conquer baith his lands and he.

“Thou mayst vow I’ll cast his Castle down,

And mak’ a widow o’ his gay Ladye;

I’ll hang his merrymen, pair by pair,

In ony frith where I may them see.”

PART II

James Boyd took his leave o’ the noble King,

To Ettrick Forest fair cam’ he;

Down Birkendale Brae when that he cam’,

He saw the fair forest wi’ his ee.

Baith dae and rae, and hart and hind,

And of a’ wild beasts great plentie;

He heard the bows that boldly ring,

And arrows whidderan’ him near by.

Of that great Castle he got a sight;

The like he ne’er saw wi’ his ee!

On the fore front o’ that Castle fair,

Twa unicorns were bra’ to see;

The picture of a Knight, and Lady bright,

And the green hollin abune their bree.

Thereat he spyed five hundred men,

Shooting with bows on Newark Lee;

They were a’ in ae livery clad,

O’ the Lincoln green sae gay to see.

His men were a’ clad in the green,

The Knight was armed capapie,

With a bended bow, on a milk-white steed;

And I wot they ranked right bonnilie.

Thereby Boyd kend he was master man,

And served him in his ain degree.

“God mote thee save, brave Outlaw Murray!

Thy Ladye, and all thy chivalrie!”

“Marry, thou’s welcome, gentleman,

Some King’s messenger thou seems to be.”

“The King of Scotland sent me here,

And, gude Outlaw, I am sent to thee;

I wad wot of whom ye hold your lands,

Or man wha may thy master be?”

“Thir lands are mine,” the Outlaw said;

“I ken nae King in Christentie;

Frae Soudron I this forest wan,

When the King nor his Knights were not to see.”

“He desires you’ll come to Edinburgh,

And hauld of him this forest free;

And, gif ye refuse to do this thing,

He’ll conquer baith thy lands and thee.

He hath vowed to cast thy Castle down,

And mak’ a widow o’ thy gay Ladye;

“He’ll hang thy merrymen, pair by pair,

In ony frith where he may them find.”

“Ay, by my troth!” the Outlaw said,

“Than wauld I think me far behind.

“Ere the King my fair country get,

This land that’s nativest to me,

Mony o’ his nobles sall be cauld;

Their ladies sall be right wearie.”

Then spak’ his Lady, fair of face:

She said, “’T were without consent of me,

That an outlaw suld come before a King;

I am right rad of treasonrie.

Bid him be gude to his lords at hame,

For Edinburgh my Lord sall never see.”

PART III

James Boyd took his leave o’ the Outlaw keen,

To Edinburgh boun’ is he;

When James he cam’ before the King,

He kneeled lowly on his knee.

“Welcome, James Boyd!” said our noble King,

“What forest is Ettrick Forest free?”

“Ettrick Forest is the fairest forest

That ever man saw wi’ his ee.

“There’s the dae, the rae, the hart, the hind,

And of a’ wild beasts great plentie;

There’s a pretty Castle of lime and stane,

Oh! gin it stands not pleasantlie!

“There’s in the fore front o’ that Castle

Twa unicorns, sae bra’ to see;

There’s the picture of a Knight, and a Lady bright

Wi’ the green hollin abune their bree.

“There the Outlaw keeps five hundred men,

He keeps a royal companie;

His merrymen in ae livery clad,

O’ the Lincoln green sae gay to see:

He and his Lady in purple clad;

Oh! gin they live right royallie!

“He says, yon forest is his awn;

He wan it frae the Southronie;

Sae as he wan it, sae will he keep it,

Contrair all Kings in Christentie.”

“Gar warn me Perthshire, and Angus baith,

Fife, up and down, and Lothians three,

And graith my horse!” said our noble King,

“For to Ettrick Forest hie will I me.”

Then word is gane the Outlaw till,

In Ettrick Forest, where dwelleth he,

That the King was coming to his countrie,

To conquer baith his lands and he.

“I mak’ a vow,” the Outlaw said,

“I mak’ a vow, and that trulie:

Were there but three men to tak’ my part,

Yon King’s coming full dear suld be!”

Then messengers he called forth,

And bade them hie them speedilye:

“Ane of ye gae to Halliday,

The Laird of the Corehead is he.

“He certain is my sister’s son;

Bid him come quick and succor me;

The King comes on for Ettrick Forest,

And landless men we a’ will be.”

“What news? what news?” said Halliday,

“Man, frae thy master unto me?”

“Not as ye would, seeking your aid;

The King’s his mortal enemie.”

“Ay, by my troth!” said Halliday,

“Even for that it repenteth me;

For gif he lose fair Ettrick Forest,

He’ll tak’ fair Moffatdale frae me.

“I’ll meet him wi’ five hundred men,

And surely mair, if mae may be;

And before he gets the forest fair,

We a’ will die on Newark Lee!”

The Outlaw called a messenger,

And bid him hie him speedilye

To Andrew Murray of Cockpool:

“That man’s a dear cousin to me;

Desire him come and mak’ me aid

With a’ the power that he may be.”

“It stands me hard,” Andrew Murray said,

“Judge gif it stand na hard wi’ me;

To enter against a King wi’ crown,

And set my lands in jeopardie!

Yet, if I come not on the day,

Surely at night he sall me see.”

To Sir James Murray of Traquair,

A message came right speedilye:

“What news? what news?” James Murray said,

“Man, frae thy master unto me?”

“What needs I tell? for weel ye ken

The King’s his mortal enemie;

And now he is coming to Ettrick Forest,

And landless men ye a’ will be.”

“And, by my troth,” James Murray said,

“Wi’ that Outlaw will I live and dee;

The King has gifted my lands lang syne,—

It cannot be nae warse wi’ me.”

PART IV

The King was coming thro’ Caddon Ford,

And full five thousand men was he;

They saw the dark forest them before,

They thought it awsome for to see.

Then spak’ the Lord hight Hamilton,

And to the noble King said he,

“My sovereign Liege, some counsel tak’,

First at your nobles, syne at me.

“Desire him meet thee at Permanscore,

And bring four in his companie;

Five Earls sall gang yoursell before,

Gude cause that you suld honoured be.

“And, gif he refuses to do that,

We’ll conquer baith his lands and he;

There sall never a Murray, after him,

Hold land in Ettrick Forest free.”

The King then called a gentleman,

Royal banner-bearer there was he,

James Hoppringle of Torsonse by name;

He cam’ and kneeled upon his knee.

“Welcome, James Pringle of Torsonse!

A message ye maun gang for me:

Ye maun gae to yon Outlaw Murray,

Surely where boldly bideth he.

“Bid him meet me at Permanscore,

And bring four in his companie;

Five Earls sall come wi’ mysell,

Gude reason I suld honoured be.

“And gif he refuses to do that,

Bid him look for nae good o’ me;

There sall never a Murray, after him,

Have land in Ettrick Forest free.”

James cam’ before the Outlaw keen,

And served him in his ain degree:

“Welcome, James Pringle of Torsonse!

What message frae the King to me?”

“He bids ye meet him at Permanscore,

And bring four in your company;

Five Earls sall gang himsell before,

Nae mair in number will he be.

“And gif you refuse to do that,

(I freely here upgive wi’ thee,)

He’ll cast yon bonny Castle down,

And mak’ a widow o’ that gay Ladye.

“He’ll loose yon bloodhound Borderers,

Wi’ fire and sword to follow thee;

There will never a Murray, after thysell,

Have land in Ettrick Forest free.”

“It stands me hard,” the Outlaw said,

“Judge gif it stands na hard wi’ me:

What reck o’ the losing of mysell,

But a’ my offspring after me!

“Auld Halliday, young Halliday,

Ye sall be twa to gang wi’ me;

Andrew Murray and Sir James Murray,

We’ll be nae mae in companie.”

When that they cam’ before the King,

They fell before him on their knee:

“Grant mercy, mercy, noble King!

E’en for His sake that dyed on tree.”

“Sicken like mercy sall ye have,

On gallows ye sall hangit be!”

“Over God’s forbode,” quoth the Outlaw then,

“I hope your Grace will better be!

Else, ere you come to Edinburgh port,

I trow thin guarded sall ye be.

“Thir lands of Ettrick Forest fair,

I wan them from the enemie;

Like as I wan them, sae will I keep them,

Contrair a’ Kings in Christentie.”

All the nobles the King about,

Said pity it were to see him dee.

“Yet grant me mercy, sovereign Prince,

Extend your favour unto me!

“I’ll give thee the keys of my Castle,

Wi’ the blessing o’ my gay Ladye,

Gin thou’lt make me sheriff of this forest,

And a’ my offspring after me.”

“Wilt thou give me the keys of thy Castle,

Wi’ the blessing of thy gay Ladye?

I’se make thee sheriff of Ettrick Forest,

Surely while upward grows the tree;

If you be not traitor to the King,

Forfaulted sall thou never be.”

“But, Prince, what sall come o’ my men?

When I gae back, traitor they’ll ca’ me.

I had rather lose my life and land,

Ere my merrymen rebuked me.”

“Will your merrymen amend their lives,

And a’ their pardons I grant thee?

Now, name thy lands where’er they lie,

And here I render them to thee.”

“Fair Philiphaugh is mine by right,

And Lewinshope still mine shall be;

Newark, Foulshiells, and Tinnies baith,

My bow and arrow purchased me.

“And I have native steads to me,

The Newark Lee and Hanginshaw;

I have mony steads in Ettrick Forest,

But them by name I dinna knaw.”

The keys of the Castle he gave the King,

Wi’ the blessing o’ his fair Ladye;

He was made sheriff of Ettrick Forest,

Surely while upward grows the tree;

And if he was na traitor to the King,

Forfaulted he suld never be.

Wha ever heard, in ony times,

Sicken an outlaw in his degree

Sic favour get before a King,

As did Outlaw Murray of the forest free?

Englished by William Allingham

The sudden sight surprised them all;

The courtiers gathered round;

They look, they call, the mother seek;

No mother could be found.

At length the King himself drew near,

And as he gazing stands,

The pretty babe looked up and smiled,

And stretched his little hands.

“Now, by the rood,” King Pepin says,

“This child is passing fair;

I wot he is of gentle blood;

Perhaps some Prince’s heir.

“Go bear him home unto my Court

With all the care ye may:

Let him be christened Valentine,

In honour of this day.

“And look me out some cunning nurse;

Well nurtured let him be;

Nor aught be wanting that becomes

A bairn of high degree.”

They looked him out a cunning nurse,

And nurtured well was he;

Nor aught was wanting that became

A bairn of high degree.

PART II

Thus grew the little Valentine,

Beloved of King and peers;

And showed in all he spake or did

A wit beyond his years.

But chief in gallant feats of arms

He did himself advance,

That ere he grew to man’s estate

He had no peer in France.

And now the early down began

To shade his youthful chin;

When Valentine was dubbed a Knight,

That he might glory win.

“A boon, a boon, my gracious Liege,

I beg a boon of thee!

The first adventure that befalls

May be reserved for me.”

“The first adventure shall be thine;”

The King did smiling say.

Nor many days, when lo! there came

Three palmers clad in gray.

“Help, gracious Lord,” they weeping said;

And knelt, as it was meet;

“From Artois forest we be come,

With weak and weary feet.

“Within those deep and dreary woods

There wends a savage boy;

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield

Thy subjects dire annoy.

“’Mong ruthless bears he sure was bred;

He lurks within their den:

With bears he lives; with bears he feeds,

And drinks the blood of men.

“To more than savage strength he joins

A more than human skill;

For arms, nor cunning may suffice

His cruel rage to still.”

Up then rose Sir Valentine

And claimed that arduous deed.

“Go forth and conquer,” said the King,

“And great shall be thy meed.”

Well mounted on a milk-white steed,

His armour white as snow;

As well beseemed a virgin Knight,

Who ne’er had fought a foe,

To Artois forest he repairs

With all the haste he may;

And soon he spies the savage youth

A-rending of his prey.

His unkempt hair all matted hung

His shaggy shoulders round;

His eager eye all fiery glowed;

His face with fury frowned.

Like eagles’ talons grew his nails;

His limbs were thick and strong;

And dreadful was the knotted oak

He bare with him along.

Soon as Sir Valentine approached,

He starts with sudden spring;

And yelling forth a hideous howl,

He made the forests ring.

As when a tiger fierce and fell

Hath spied a passing roe,

And leaps at once upon his throat;

So sprung the savage foe;

So lightly leaped with furious force

The gentle Knight to seize;

But met his tall uplifted spear,

Which sunk him on his knees.

A second stroke so stiff and stern

Had laid the savage low;

But springing up, he raised his club

And aimed a dreadful blow.

BUT SPRINGING UP, HE RAISED HIS CLUB
AND AIMED A DREADFUL BLOW

The watchful warrior bent his head,

And shunned the coming stroke;

Upon his taper spear it fell,

And all to shivers broke.

Then lighting nimbly from his steed,

He drew his burnisht brand.

The savage quick as lightning flew

To wrest it from his hand.

Three times he grasped the silver hilt;

Three times he felt the blade;

Three times it fell with furious force;

Three ghastly wounds it made.

Now with redoubled rage he roared;

His eye-ball flashed with fire;

Each hairy limb with fury shook;

And all his heart was ire.

Then closing fast with furious gripe

He clasped the champion round,

And with a strong and sudden twist

He laid him on the ground.

But soon the Knight, with active spring,

O’erturned his hairy foe;

And now between their sturdy fists

Past many a bruising blow.

They rolled and grappled on the ground,

And there they struggled long:

Skillful and active was the Knight;

The savage he was strong.

But brutal force and savage strength

To art and skill must yield:

Sir Valentine at length prevailed,

And won the well-fought field.

Then binding straight his conquered foe

Fast with an iron chain,

He ties him to his horse’s tail,

And leads him o’er the plain.

To Court his hairy captive soon

Sir Valentine doth bring;

And kneeling down upon his knee,

Presents him to the King.

With loss of blood and loss of strength

The savage tamer grew;

And to Sir Valentine became

A servant, tried and true.

And ’cause with bears he erst was bred,

Ursine they call his name;

A name which unto future times

The Muses shall proclaim.

PART III

In high renown with Prince and peer

Now lived Sir Valentine;

His high renown with Prince and peer

Made envious hearts repine.

It chanced the King upon a day

Prepared a sumptuous feast;

And there came lords and dainty dames,

And many a noble guest.

Amid their cups that freely flowed,

Their revelry and mirth,

A youthful Knight taxed Valentine

Of base and doubtful birth.

The foul reproach, so grossly urged,

His generous heart did wound;

And strait he vowed he ne’er would rest

Till he his parents found.

Then bidding King and peers adieu,

Early one summer’s day,

With faithful Ursine by his side,

From Court he took his way.

O’er hill and valley, moss and moor,

For many a day they pass;

At length, upon a moated lake,

They found a bridge of brass.

Beyond it rose a Castle fair,

Y-built of marble-stone;

The battlements were gilt with gold,

And glittered in the sun.

Beneath the bridge, with strange device,

A hundred bells were hung;

That man, nor beast, might pass thereon

But strait their larum rung.

This quickly found the youthful pair,

Who boldly crossing o’er,

The jangling sound bedeafed their ears,

And rung from shore to shore.

Quick at the sound the castle-gates

Unlocked and opened wide,

And strait a Giant huge and grim

Stalked forth with stately pride.

“Now yield you, caitiffs, to my will!”

He cried with hideous roar;

“Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,

And ravens drink your gore.”

“Vain boaster,” said the youthful Knight,

“I scorn thy threats and thee;

I trust to force thy brazen gates,

And set thy captives free.”

Then putting spurs unto his steed,

He aimed a dreadful thrust;

The spear against the Giant glanced

And caused the blood to burst.

Mad and outrageous with the pain,

He whirled his mace of steel;

The very wind of such a blow

Had made the champion reel.

It haply missed; and now the Knight

His glittering sword displayed,

And riding round with whirlwind speed

Oft made him feel the blade.

As when a large and monstrous oak

Unceasing axes hew,

So fast around the Giant’s limbs

The blows quick-darting flew.

As when the boughs with hideous fall

Some hapless woodman crush,

With such a force the enormous foe

Did on the champion rush.

A fearful blow, alas! there came;

Both horse and Knight it took,

And laid them senseless in the dust;

So fatal was the stroke.

Then smiling forth a hideous grin,

The Giant strides in haste,

And, stooping, aims a second stroke:

“Now caitiff breathe thy last!”

But ere it fell, two thundering blows

Upon his skull descend;

From Ursine’s knotty club they came,

Who ran to save his friend.

Down sunk the Giant gaping wide,

And rolling his grim eyes;

The hairy youth repeats his blows;

He gasps, he groans, he dies.

PART IV

Quickly Sir Valentine revived

With Ursine’s timely care;

And now to search the castle walls

The venturous youths repair.

The blood and bones of murdered Knights

They found where’er they came;

At length within a lonely cell

They saw a mournful dame.

Her gentle eyes were dimmed with tears;

Her cheeks were pale with woe;

And long Sir Valentine besought

Her doleful tale to know.

“Alas! young Knight,” she weeping said,

“Condole my wretched fate;

A childless mother here you see;

A wife without a mate.

“These twenty winters here forlorn

I’ve drawn my hated breath;

Sole witness of a monster’s crimes,

And wishing aye for death.

“Know, I am sister of a King,

And in my early years

Was married to a mighty Prince,

The fairest of his peers.

“With him I sweetly lived in love

A twelvemonth and a day;

When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest

Y-wrought our loves’ decay.

“With treason, villainy, and wrong,

My goodness he repayed;

With jealous doubts he filled my Lord,

And me to woe betrayed;

“But, ’cause I then was ill, my Lord

At length my life he spared;

But bade me instant quit the realm,

One trusty Knight my guard.

“Forth on my journey I depart,

Oppressed with grief and woe,

And tow’rds my brother’s distant Court,

With breaking heart, I go.

“Long time thro’ sundry foreign lands

We slowly pace forlorn,

At length within a forest wild,

I had two babies born.

“The eldest fair and smooth, as snow

That tips the mountain hoar;

The younger’s little body rough

With hairs was covered o’er.

“But here afresh begin my woes:

While tender care I took

To shield my eldest from the cold,

And wrap him in my cloak,

“A prowling bear burst from the wood,

And seized my younger son;

Affection lent my weakness wings

And after them I run.

“But all forewearied, weak and spent,

I quickly swooned away;

And there beneath the greenwood shade

Long time I lifeless lay.

“At length the Knight brought me relief,

And raised me from the ground;

But neither of my pretty babes

Could ever more be found.

“And, while in search we wandered far,

We met that Giant grim,

Who ruthless slew my trusty Knight,

And bare me off with him.

“But charmed by Heaven, or else my griefs,

He offered me no wrong;

Save that within these lonely walls

I’ve been immured so long.”

“Now, surely,” said the youthful Knight,

“You are Lady Bellisance,

Wife to the Grecian Emperor;

Your brother’s King of France.

“For in your royal brother’s Court

Myself my breeding had;

Where oft the story of your woes

Hath made my bosom sad.

“If so, know your accuser’s dead,

And dying owned his crime;

And long your Lord hath sought you out

Thro’ every foreign clime.

“And when no tidings he could learn

Of his much-wronged wife,

He vowed thenceforth within his Court

To lead a hermit’s life.”

“Now Heaven is kind!” the Lady said;

And dropt a joyful tear;

“Shall I once more behold my Lord?

That Lord I love so dear?”

“But, Madam,” said Sir Valentine,

And knelt upon his knee;

“Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,

If you the same should see?”

And pulling forth the cloth of gold

In which himself was found,

The Lady gave a sudden shriek,

And fainted on the ground.

But by his pious care revived,

His tale she heard anon;

And soon by other tokens found

He was indeed her son.

“But who’s this hairy youth?” she said;

“He much resembles thee;

The bear devoured my younger son,

Or sure that son were he.”

“Madam, this youth with bears was bred,

And reared within their den.

But recollect ye any mark

To know your son again?”

“Upon his little side,” quoth she,

“Was stamped a bloody rose.”

“Here, Lady, see the crimson mark

Upon his body grows!”

Then clasping both her new-found sons,

She bathed their cheeks with tears;

And soon towards her brother’s Court

Her joyful course she steers.

What pen can paint King Pepin’s joy,

His sister thus restored!

And soon a messenger was sent

To cheer her drooping Lord,

Who came in haste with all his peers,

To fetch her home to Greece;

Where many happy years they reigned

In perfect love and peace.

To them Sir Ursine did succeed,

And long the sceptre bare.

Sir Valentine he stayed in France,

And was his uncle’s heir.

Attributed in part to Bishop Percy
(Done into modern spelling)

Clyx.com