VALENTINE AND URSINE.

THE common story of Valentine and Orson, was originally a translation from one of the oldest French romances, probably of the Thirteenth Century. It is likely that some facts were the groundwork, with a plentiful sprinkling of marvellous fable. In Dr. Percy's MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a very corrupt state, from which a few particulars were adopted by him, and the greater part of the rest taken from the prose story.

WHEN Flora 'gins to deck the fields

With colours fresh and fine,
Then holy clerks their matins sing,
To good Saint Valentine.

The King of France * that morning fair,
He would a hunting ride :

To Artoy's forest prancing forth,
In all his princely pride.

To grace his sports, a courtly train

Of gallant peers attend;

And with their loud and cheerful cries,

The hills and valleys rend.

* Afterwards called King Pepin; he reigned in the middle of the Eighth Century, and was the father of the great Charlemagne.

Through the deep forest swift they pass,

Through woods and thickets wild; When down within a lonely dell,

They found a new-born child.

The sudden sight surprised them all,
The courtiers gathered round;
They look, they call, the mother seek,—
No mother could be found.

At length the king himself drew near,
And as he gazing stands,

The pretty babe looked up and smiled,
And stretched his little hands.

Now, by the rood! King Pepin says,
This child is passing fair;

I wot he is of gentle blood,
Perhaps some prince's heir.

Go bear him home unto my court,
With all the care ye may;
Let him be christened Valentine,

In honour of this day.

And look me out some cunning nurse,

Well nurtured let him be;

Nor aught be wanting that becomes,
A bairn of high degree.

They look him out a cunning nurse,
And nurtured well was he;
Nor aught was wanting that became,
A bairn of high degree.

Thus grew the little Valentine,
Beloved of king and peers;
And shewed in all he spake or did,

A wit beyond his years.

But chief in gallant feats of arms
He did himself advance,
That ere he grew to man's estate
He had no peer in France.

And now the early down began,
To shade his youthful chin;
When Valentine was dubbed a knight,
That he might glory win.

A boon! boon! my gracious liege,
I beg a boon of thee;

The first adventure that befalls
May be reserved for me.

The first adventure shall be thine,

The king did smiling say.—
Nor many days, when lo! there came
Three Palmers clad in grey.

Help, gracious lord! they weeping said,
And knelt, as it was meet;
From Artoy's forest we be come,

With weak and weary feet.

Within those deep and dreary woods,

There wends a savage boy,

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield

Thy subjects dire annoy.

'Mong ruthless bears he sure was bred, He lurks within their den;

With bears he lives, with bears he feeds, And drinks the blood of men.

To more than savage strength he joins, A more than human skill;

For arms, no cunning may suffice

His cruel rage to still.

Up then rose Sir Valentine,

And claimed that arduous deed:

Go forth and conquer, said the king,
And great shall be thy meed.

Well mounted on a milk-white steed,
His armour white as snow,
As well beseemed a virgin knight,
Who ne'er had fought a foe.

To Artoy's forest he repairs,
With all the haste he may;
And soon he spies the savage youth,
A rending of his prey.

His unkemped hair all matted hung
His shaggy shoulders round;
His eager eye all fiery glowed,
His face with fury frowned.

Like eagles' talons grew his nails,-
His limbs were thick and strong;
And dreadful was the knotted oak
He bore with him along.

Soon, as Sir Valentine approached, He starts with sudden spring, And yelling forth a hideous howl, He made the forests ring.

As when a tiger, fierce and fell,

Hath spied a passing roe, And leaps at once upon his throat,So sprung the savage foe.

So lightly leaped with furious force, The gentle knight to seize;

Such was the rule of chivalry.

But met his tall uplifted spear,
Which sunk him on his knees.

A second stroke, so stiff and stern,
Had laid the savage low;

But springing up, he raised his club,
And aimed a dreadful blow.

The watchful warrior bent his head,
And shunned the coming stroke ;
Upon his taper spear it fell,

And all to shivers broke.

Then lighting nimbly from his steed,
He drew his burnished brand:
The savage quick as lightning flew
To wrest it from his hand.

Three times he grasped the silver hilt,—
Three times he felt the blade,-
Three times it fell with furious force,-
Three ghastly wounds it made.

Now with redoubled rage he roared,
His eye-ball flashed with fire;
Each hairy limb with fury shook,
And all his heart was ire.

Then closing fast, with furious gripe,
He clasped the champion round,
And with a strong and sudden twist,
He laid him on the ground.

But soon the knight, with active spring,
O'erturned his hairy foe :

And now between their sturdy fists

Passed many a bruising blow.