An evil principle innate, Contending with our better fate, And oh! victorious still?

Howe'er it be, dispute is vain.

On all without thou hold'st thy reign,
Nor less on all within;

Each mortal passion's fierce career,
Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear,
Thou goadest into sin.

Whene'er a sunny gleam appears,
To brighten up our vale of tears,

Thou art not distant far;
'Mid such brief solace of our lives,
Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives
To tools of death and war.

Thus, from the moment of our birth,
Long as we linger on the earth,

Thou rul'st the fate of men;
Thine are the pangs of life's last hour,
And-who dare answer?-is thy power,
Dark Spirit! ended THEN?

"Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he said,
And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head,
"Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad,
And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead,
For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread:
And charge, thus attired, in the tournament dread,
And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed,
And bring honour away, or remain with the dead."

Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently hath kiss'd:

"Now bless'd be the moment, the messenger be blest! Much honour'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest; And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress'd, To the best arm'd champion I will not veil my crest; But if I live and bear me well 'tis her turn to take the test."

Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest.

Chap. iii.

(2.)-SONG OF BLONDEL.-THE BLOODY VEST.

"THE song of Blondel was, of course, in the Norman language; but the verses which follow express its meaning and its manner."

'Twas near the fair city of Benevent,

When the sun was setting on bough and bent,
And knights were preparing in bower and tent,
On the eve of the Baptist's tournament;
When in Lincoln green a stripling gent,
Well seeming a page by a princess sent,
Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went,
Enquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent.

Far hath he fared, and farther must fare,
Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,-
Little save iron and steel was there;
And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer's care,
With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare,
The good knight with hammer and file did repair
The mail that to-morrow must see him wear,
For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair.

"Thus speaks my lady," the page said he,
And the knight bent lowly both head and knee,
"She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree,
And thou art as lowly as knight may well be-
He that would climb so lofty a tree,

Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee,
Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see
His ambition is back'd by his high chivalrie.

When with Poetry dealing
Room enough in a shieling :
Neither cabin nor hovel
Too small for a novel :
Though my back I should rub
On Diogenes' tub,

How my fancy could prance

In a dance of romance!

But my house I must swap

With some Brobdignag chap,

(2.)-MOTTOES.

(1.)-CHAP. II.

COME forth, old man— -Thy daughter's side
ls now the fitting place for thee:
When Time hath quell'd the oak's bold pride,
The youthful tendril yet may hide

The ruins of the parent tree.

(2.)-CHAP. III.

Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your stage,
To vapour forth the acts of this sad age,
Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the West,
And northern clashes, where you still fought best;
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear,
When bullets flew between the head and ear,
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit,
Of you I speak.

Legend of Captain Jones.

Nap."

Life, vol. vii. p. 391.

There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shower.But Duty guides not that way-see her stand,