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SIR ALDINGAR.

IN Sir Walter Scott's "Border Minstrelsy," is a ballad somewhat similar, in design, to the present, bearing the title of Sir Rodingham. Dr. Percy has given to this some conjectural emendations, and also supplemental stanzas.

OUR King he kept a false steward,
Sir Aldingar they him call;

A falser steward than he was one,
Served not in bower nor hall.

He would have lain by our comely Queen,
Her dear worship to betray:

Our queen she was a good woman,

And evermore said him nay.

Sir Aldingar was wroth in his mind,-
With her he was never content,
Till traitorous means he could devise
In a fire to have her brent.

There came a Lazar to the king's gate,-
A lazar both blind and lame,

He took the lazar upon his back,

Him on the queen's bed has lain.

*

Lie still, lazar, where as thou liest,—
Look thou go not hence away;

I'll make thee a whole man and a sound,
In two hours of the day.*

Then went him forth Sir Aldingar,
And hied him to our king:

If I might have grace, as I have space,
Sad tidings I could bring.

Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar,—
Say on the sooth to me.

Our queen hath chosen a new, new love,
And she will have none of thee.

If she had chosen a right good knight,
The less had been her shame;

But she hath chose her a lazar-man,—
A lazar both blind and lame.

If this be true, thou Aldingar,

The tidings thou tellest to me,

Then will I make thee a rich, rich knight,—
Rich both of gold and fee.

But if it be false, Sir Aldingar,-
As God now grant it be !—
Thy body, I swear by the holy rood,
Shall hang on the gallows tree.

He brought our king to the queen's chamber,
And opened to him the door.

“A lodlye + love," King Harry says,

For our queen, dame Elinore.

Probably alluding to the supposed virtue of the royal touch.

+ Loathsome.

If thou wert a man, as thou art none,
Here on my sword thou'st die;

But a pair of new gallows shall be built,
And there shalt thou hang on high.

Forth then hied our king, I wis,

And an angry man was he; And soon he found Queen Elinore, That bride so bright of blee.

Now God you save, our queen, madam,
And Christ you save and see!
Here you have chosen a new, new love,
And you will have none of me.

If you had chosen a right good knight,
The less had been your shame;
But you have chose you a lazar-man,—

A lazar both blind and lame.

Therefore a fire there shall be built,
And brent all shalt thou be.
Now out, alack! said our comely queen,
Sir Aldingar's false to me.

Now out, alack! said our comely queen,
My heart with grief will brast;

I had thought swevens* had never been true;—
I have proved them true at last.

I dreamt in my sweven, on Thursday eve,

In

my bed whereas I lay,

I dreamt a grype † and a grimly beast

Had carried my crown away.

* Dreams.

+ Grype-griffin, a fabulous beast, with wings.

My gorget, and my kirtle of gold,

And all my fair head-gear;

And he would worry me with his tush,

And to his nest y' bear.

Saving, there came a little grey hawk,

A Merlin him they call,—

Which unto the ground did strike the grype, That dead he down did fall.

Giff I were a man, as now I am none,

A battle would I prove,

To fight with that traitor, Aldingar,-
At him I cast my glove.

But seeing I'm able no battle to make,
My liege, grant me a knight,

To fight with that traitor, Sir Aldingar,
To maintain me in my right.

Now forty days I will give thee,

To seek thee a knight therein;
If thou find not a knight in forty days,
Thy body it must brenn.

Then she sent east, and she sent west,

*

By north and south bedeen;
But never a champion could she find
Would fight with that knight so keen.

Now twenty days were spent and gone,
No help there might be had;
Many a tear shed our comely queen,
And aye her heart was sad.

Then came one of the queen's damsels,
And knelt upon her knee;

Cheer up, cheer up, my gracious dame,
I trust yet help may be.

* Both.

And here I will make mine avow,
And with the same me bind,
That never will I return to thee,
Till I some help may find.

Then forth she rode on a fair palfrey,
O'er hill and dale about;

But never a champion could she find,
Would fight with that knight so stout.

And now the day drew on apace,
When our good queen must die,-
All woe-begone was that fair damsel,
When she found no help was nigh.

All woe-begone was that fair damsel,

And the salt tears fell from her eye,
When lo! as she rode by a river side,
She met with a tiny Boy.

A tiny Boy she met, God wot!
All clad in mantle of gold,

He seemed no more in man's likeness,
Than a child of four year old.

Why grieve you, damsel fair, he said,
And what does cause you moan?
The damsel scant would deign a look,
But fast she pricked on.

Yet turn again-thou fair damsel,
And greet thy queen from me,
When bale is at highest, boot is nighest,
Now help enough may be.

Evil-boot, help. Both from the Saxon.

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way;

And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.

GOLDSMITH.

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