Christmas songs at times have tried.
Let us by the fire

Ever higher

Sing them till the night expire!

Washerwomen old,

To the sound they beat,
Sing by rivers cold,

With uncovered heads and feet.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher

Sing them till the night expire!

Who by the fireside stands
Stamps his feet and sings;
But he who blows his hands
Not so gay a carol brings.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher

Sing them till the night expire!

DUKE WILLIAM AT ROUEN.

FROM THE ROMAN DU ROU.

THEN Duke William was right sorrowful, and strength and power had none,

For he thought that in the battle he should well-nigh stand

alone;

He knew not who would fight for him, or who would prove a

foe:

"Why should we linger here," quoth he, "I into France will go."

Then said Boten,—“Duke William, thou hast spoke a coward's word;

What! fly away at once, ere thou hast wielded lance or sword? Think'st thou I e'er will see thee fly? Thou talk'st quite

childishly,

Summon thy men, prepare for fight, and have good heart in thee,

Perjured thy foemen are, and they shall surely vanquished be!" "Boten," said William, “how can I prepare me for the fight? Rioulf can bring four well-armed men for every single wight I can command ;-I sure shall die, if I against him go."

"That thou'rt a coward," said Boten, "Saint Frier well doth

know;

But, by the faith which firm I hold to the Son of God, I say, Whoe'er should do as thou, deserves sound beating in the fray; For thou wilt neither arm nor fight, but only run away." "Mercie!" cried William, "See ye not how Rioulf me sieges here,

And my perjured knights are all with him; must it not cost me dear?

And they all hate me unto death, and round encompass me; I never can, by my soul I swear, drive them from this countrie; I must forsake it, and to France right speedily I'll flee.” Then spake Bernart,-" Duke, know this well, we will not follow thee.

Too much of ill these men have wrought, but a day will surely

come

For payment, and we'll pay them well. When erst we left our home

In Denmark, and to this land came, we gained it by our might,

But thou to arm thee art afraid, and dar'st not wage the fight, Go, then, to France, enjoy thyself, a wretched caitiff wight; No love of honest praise hast thou, no prayer will e'er avail thee,

O wicked one! why shouldst thou fear that God will ever fail thee?

Rollo, like bold and hardy chief, this land by his good sword won,

And thou wouldst do even as he did, wert thou indeed his son ?"

"Bernart," said William, "well, methinks, thou hast reviled

me,

Offence enow to me hast given, enow of villainye;

But thou shalt see me bear myself even as a man right wode, Whoe'er will come and fight with me shall swear my will is

good.

Boten, good friend," said he, "Bernart, now list to me, I pray,

No longer hold me evil one, nor coward from this day;

Call my men unto the battle-field, I pledge my word, and

know

That henceforth for the strife of swords ye shall not find me slow."

Then all did rush to arms, and all with equal spirit came, 21

And fully armed, thrice haughtily defiance did proclaim
To Rioulf and his vassals, who the challenge heard with glee,
And flung it back to William, who returned it joyfully.
Full harnessed was he now, and toward his foemen blithe he

ran,

"God be our aid" he shouted, and rushed on like a giant man. Ye never saw such heavy blows as Duke William gave that

day,

For when the sword was in his grasp, scant need of leech had

they

Who felt its edge; and vain were lance and brand 'gainst him, I trow,

For when Duke William struck them down, joy had they

never moe.

'Twas blithe to see how he bore himself, like a wild bull, 'mid

the fight,

And drove his foemen left and right, all flying with sore aff

right,

For truly he did pay them off, and with a right good will. Now when Rioulf saw his vassals there, lying all cold and still Upon the field, while William's men boldly maintained their

ground,

He seized his good steed's bridle rein, and madly turned him round,

And stayed not to prick and spur, till near a wood he drew; Then, fearing that Duke William's men did even yet pursue, His hawberk, lance, and trusty sword away he gladly threw, That more swiftly he might speed along; but though he was not caught,

Scarce better fate that gallant fight unto bold Rioulf brought, For there he died, heart broke, I ween, with shame and

mickle woe,

And his corpse was after in the Seine (do not all that story know?)

Found floating on the rising tide. So the victory was won, And far and wide was the story spread of the deeds the Duke

had done.

RICHARD'S ESCAPE.

FROM THE ROMAN DU ROU.

"AND now, fair sir," said Osmont, "I pray you sickness

feign,

And keep your bed, nor eat, nor drink, but, as in bitter pain, Groan loudly, sigh, and moan, and then at last, as near your

end,

Pray that a priest, to housel ye, the king at least may send; And bear ye warily in all, for I do trust that ye

By God's aid, even yet shall 'scape from this captivity." "This will I do," said Richard, "even as ye counsel me." And well did Richard act the part that Osmont taught. He kept his bed, nor ate, nor drank, and thus so low was brought,

That his flesh was soft and sallow, his visage deadly pale, For so well acted he his part, that all thought his life must

fail;

But when King Louis heard of it, his woe was scant, I trow, For he thought Duke Richard's heritage to his eldest son

would go.

Then Osmont made loud sorrow, and mourned and wept full

sore.

"Alas, Sire Richard! one so mild and courteous never more Shall we behold !-Ay, 'twas alone for thy goodly heritage That Louis snatched thee from thy friends, and at such

tender age

A captive doomed thee.-O, his hate but from thy lands arose ! Alas! that our rich Normandie should make so many foes!Oh, what will Bernart say, who watched thy tender infancy,— That thou here shouldst die, not in the town of thy nativity? O God! look down, for only thou our failing hope can raise ! Thou knowest how well beloved he was, how worthy of all

praise

And honour, too! O, there was none ever beloved as he !"
Now when the warders heard Osmont mourning so bitterly,
They doubted not that Richard then upon his death-bed lay:
And others thought so, too, and each did to the other say,
That Richard's spirit certainly was passing swift away.
Now it came to pass that night the King at supper sat,
And they who guarded Richard most carelessly of late
Kept watch and ward, for well they thought he was so weak
and low,

That save unto his burial, abroad he ne'er would go;
For how could he live long who never spoke, or tasted food?
And wherefore else should Osmont weep and be so sad of nood?
That when good Osmont saw the watch right from the door
depart,

His steed he caused ydight to be, in readiness to start;
Then he hastened to Duke Richard's bed, and bade him swift

uprise;

Then in a truss of rushes green hides him from prying eyes, And binds and cords the bundle well; bids his menye

mount

and ride; In a churchman's gown he wraps himself, nor heeds what may betide,

So Richard's safe; then last of all, he follows his menye The night was dark, and that was well, for no need of light

had he.

Soon as outside the walls they came, Duke Richard they unbound,

And brought to him as gallant steed as ever stepped onground;
Right glad was he to mount, I ween, right glad were they also,
And off they set, and spurred well, for they had far to go.
O, when Duke Richard seized the rein, a joyful one was he!
But, whether he rode fast or no, ye need not ask of me.

Anglo-Saxon.

THE GRAVE.

FOR thee was a house built
Ere thou wast born.

For thee was a mould meant

Ere thou of mother camest.

But it is not made ready,

Not its depth measured,
Nor is it seen

How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee.
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.