"No pardon, no pardon," said the bishop,

"No pardon I thee owe;

Therefore make haste and come along with me, For before the king you shall go."

Then Robin set his back against a tree,
And his foot against a thorn,
And from underneath his shepherd's coat
He pulled out a bugle horn.

He put the little end to his mouth,

And a loud blast did he blow,

Till three score and ten of bold Robin's men
Came running all on a row.

All making obeisance to bold Robin Hood, 'Twas a comely sight for to see.

"What is the matter, master?" said Little John,

"That you blow so hastily?"

"O here is the Bishop of Hereford,

And no pardon we shall have:"

"Cut off his head, master," said Little John, "And throw him into his grave."

"O pardon, O pardon," said the bishop,

"O pardon I thee pray!

For if I had known it had been you,

I'd have gone some other way."

"No pardon, no pardon," said bold Robin Hood,

"No pardon I thee owe;

Therefore make haste and come along with me,

For to merry Barnsdale you shall go."

The Hand Post.

Then Robin he took the bishop by the hand,

And led him to merry Barnsdale ;

He made him to stay and sup with him that night,
And to drink wine, beer, and ale.

"Call in a reck'ning," said the bishop,

"For methinks it grows wondrous high :" "Lend me your purse, master," said Little John, And I'll tell you by and bye."

Then Little John took the bishop's cloak,

And spread it upon the ground,

And out of the bishop's portmantua
He told three hundred pound.

"Here's money enough, master," said Little John,
"And a comely sight 'tis to see ;

It makes me in charity with the bishop,
Though he heartily loveth not me."

Robin Hood took the bishop by the hand,
And he caused the music to play;

And he made the bishop to dance in his boots,

And glad he could so get away.

OLD BALLAD.

THE HAND-POST.

(HE night was dark, the sun was hid
Beneath the mountain gray:

And not a single star appeared,

To shoot a silver ray.

143

Across the path the owlet flew,

And screamed along the blast, And onward with a quickened step, Benighted Henry passed.

At intervals, amid the gloom

A flash of lightning played,

And showed the ruts with water filled, And the black hedge's shade.

Again in thickest darkness plunged,
He groped his way to find;
And now he thought he spied beyond
A form of horrid kind.

In deadly white it upward rose,
Of cloak or mantle bare,
And held its naked arms across,
To catch him by the hair.

Poor Henry felt his blood run cold
At what before him stood;

But well, thought he, no harm, I'm sure,
Can happen to the good.

So calling all his courage up,

He to the goblin went ;

And eager through the dismal gloom

His piercing eyes he bent.

And when he came well nigh the ghost

That gave him such affright,

He clapped his hands upon his side,

And loudly laughed outright.

How they brought the Good News.

145

For 'twas a friendly hand-post stood

His wand'rings steps to guide;
And thus he found that to the good

No evil can betide.

And well, thought he, one thing I've learnt,

Nor soon shall I forget,
Whatever frightens me again,

To march straight up to it.

And when I hear an idle tale
Of goblins and a ghost,

I'll tell of this my lonely ride,

And the tall, white hand-post.

ANN TAYLOR.

"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX.

SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;
"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts
undrew;

Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but, while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;

At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;
And from Mechlin church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
So Joris broke silence with, 'Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last,
With resolute shoulders each butting away

The haze, as some bluff river, headland its spray;

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,—ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance !
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix"-for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Loos and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

'Neath our foot broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-tower sprang white,

And "Gallop," cried Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"