S' Gawaine took the ladye by the one arme K Arthur welcumed them there all K Arthur beheld that ladye faire for S Gawaine that gentle knight Soe did the knights both more and lesse reioiced all that day for the good chance y' hapened was to S Gawaine & his ladye gaye FFINIS. KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. THIS Composition, with several others, is taken from the old romance of MORTE D'ARTHUR; but in this, according to Dr. Percy, are several variations, coinciding with the traditions of the ancient Welsh Bards, who believed that this king was not dead, but in some secret and pleasant place, under the care of the fairies, from whence he should at some time return, to resume the sceptre of Britain: a fond and extravagant tradition, which obtained a very general reception, and is mentioned in several of the old Chronicles. "The Bretons supposed that he shall come yet, and conquer all Bretaigne; for certes, this is the prophecy of Merlin. He sayd, that his death shall be douteous; and sayd sooth (i. e. truth), for men thereof yet have doubte, and shullen (shall) for evermore, for men wyl not whether that he lyveth or is dede." An old Chronicle of Gerard de Leew. Antwerp, 1493.-Dг. PERCY. : See also, Don Quixote, Chap. xiii. "Have you not read, sir," answered Don Quixote, "the Annals and Histories of England? wherein are recorded the famous exploits of King Arthur, whom in our Castilian tongue we perpetually call King Artus, of whom there goes an old tradition, and a common one all over that kingdom of Great Britain, that this king did not die, but that by magic art he was turned into a raven; and that, in process of time, he shall reign again, and recover his kingdom and sceptre for which reason it cannot be proved, that from that time any Englishman hath killed a raven." Of this story of the raven, wherever Cervantes procured it, no traces are at present discoverable. A similar tradition in the instance of Don Sebastian King of Portugal, is actually believed by some of the Portuguese to the present day. He was missing after the battle fought at Tangiers, 1578, in which he doubtless met with an honorable death; but, as in the case of King Arthur, he was supposed to exist corporeally, in some enchanted retreat, from whence he was to return, in kingly pomp and dignity, to his native realm. King Arthur actually died A.D. 542, after a distinguished reign of twenty-six years.-ED. ON Trinity-Monday in the morn, This sore battle was doomed to be, Ere the first crowing of the cock, When as the king in his bed lay, Now as you are mine uncle dear, And as you prize your life this day, O meet not with your foe in fightPut off the battle, if you may. For Sir Lancelot is now in France, And with him many a hardy knigh The king then called his nobles all, His nobles all this counsel gave, That, early in the morning, he Should send away an herald at arms, To ask a parley fair and free. Then twelve good knights King Arthur chose, The best of all that with him were, To parley with the foe in the field, And make with him agreement fair. The king he charged all his host, And Mordred on the other part, Twelve of his knights did likewise bring, * Sir Gawaine was lately dead. E The best of all his company, Sir Mordred also charged his host, For he durst not his uncle trust, Nor he his nephew, sooth to tell,Alack! it was a woeful case, As e'er in Christenty befell. But when they were together met, An adder crept forth from a bush, Stung one of the king's knights on the knee;Alack! it was a woeful chance As ever was in Christenty. When the knight found him wounded sore, A piteous case, as ye shall hear! For when the two hosts saw the sword, Till of so many noble knights, On one side there was left but three. For all were slain that durst abide, Ah me! it was a bloody field, As e'er was fought in summer's day. Upon King Arthur's own party, And Lukyn, Duke of Glo'ster free, And when the king beheld his knights Now rest ye all, brave knights! he said, Most loyal have ye been to me! Most true and faithful, unto death! And oh! to raise ye up again, How freely could I yield my breath. But see! the traitor 's yet alive; Lo! where he stalks among the dead; Now bitterly he shall abide, And vengeance fall upon his head. O stay, my liege, then said the Duke- O stay me not, thou worthy wight, Then straight he grasped his trusty spear, Alas! then said the noble king, |