She brought him to a river side, Whereon a copper basin hung, He struck so hard the basin broke ; 'Sir knight,' then said Sir Lancelot, 'Bring me that horse-load hither, And lay him down and let him rest ; We'll try our force together: 'For, as I understand, thou hast, Done great despite and shame unto 'If thou be of the table round,' 'That's overmuch,' quoth Lancelot, 'tho, Defend thee bye and bye,' They set their spears unto their steeds, They couch'd their spears, (their horses ran Their horses' backs brake under them, To avoid their horses they made haste They took them to their shields full fast, They wounded were and bled full sore, 6 'And tell to me what I shall ask.' 'Say on,' quoth Lancelot, 'tho.' 'Thou art,' quoth Tarquin, ‘the best knight That ever I did know; 'And like a knight that I did hate : So that thou be not he, I will deliver all the rest, 'That is well said,' quoth Lancelot ; What knight is that thou hatest thus ? 'His name is Lancelot du Lake, He slew my brother dear; Him I suspect of all the rest : 'Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknown, Now knight of Arthur's table round; 'And I desire thee do thy worst.' 'If thou be Lancelot du Lake, They buckled then together so Like unto wild boars rashing ; And with their swords and shields they ran, At one another slashing : The ground besprinkled was with blood: And low did bear his shield. This soon Sir Lancelot espied, Forthwith he struck his neck in two, And, when he had so done, From prison threescore knights and four Old Ballad CLV THE THREE FISHERS Three fishers went sailing away to the west, Each thought on the woman who loved him best, town; For men must work, and women must weep, Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And they trimm'd the lamps as the sun went down; They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown. But men must work and women must weep, Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come home to the town; For men must work and women must weep, And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. C. Kingsley CLVI ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY The post-boy drove with fierce career, Was smitten with a startling sound. As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound,-and more and more; At length I to the boy call'd out; The boy then smack'd his whip, and fast Forthwith alighting on the ground, 'Whence comes,' said I, 'that piteous moan?' And there a little girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise alone. 'My cloak !' no other word she spake, As if her innocent heart would break; |