Then up came Garcia Perez-Don Carlos by his side— 'O! dearly shalt thou rue, Sir Knight, thy self-deceiving pride !'

Sir Eustace stroked his gallant barb, and with a sudden bound,

Hurled Garcia Perez from his seat, sore mangled, on the ground;

Then turning on Don Carlos, like a lion in his wrath, He stretched him with one desperate blow, all stiff across the path.

Nine Spaniards still remained behind, but motionless they stood,

And looked with silent wonder on that young knight's hardihood:

'Come one-come all!' Sir Eustace cried, 'I neither yield nor fly,

But for the Lady Isabel, or you or I must die.'

Then the Count Alcaras recognised Sir Eustace D'Argen

6

IV.

court,

His favoured rival in the love of Isabel D'Etours;

And on he urged his dastard friends, and as a cloud they

came

Base traitors!' shouted D'Argencourt, how can ye fight

"

for 'shame?

Such odds were never seen before-nine armed men 'gainst

one!

God guard thee, Lady Isabel-my race of life is run !'

V.

Yet fiercely did Sir Eustace fight, and fast flowed Spanish gore,

Till the Count Alcaras came behind-he dared not come before

And stabbed the brave knight in the back-a false, dishonest blow ;

Sir Eustace turned him round, and fixed one long gaze on his foe,

Then feeble fell his gallant arm, and clouds swam round his head,

And the Spaniards raised a joyful shout, for they thought Sir Eustace dead.

They bound his arms behind his back, they tied him to a tree,

And beside him stuck his broken lance, in graceless mockery;

And now, Sir Knight,' Alcaras cried, 'I'll wear this

gaw too,

Methinks I

guess who wove this scarf-this scarf of gold and blue.

gew

Away! my friends, there's little breath in proud Sir D'Ar

gencourt,

Away! my friends, I win her yet fair Isabel D'Etours !'

VI.

Bright shines the sun upon the waves-the waters of blue Garonne,

But brighter shine those diamond eyes in the lists at Roussilon ;

And trumpets bray, and banners stream, and chargers gallop round,

And noble hearts beat quick for praise, with many an aching bound;

But who is she who wins all looks for whom all ride the ring

To gain a smile of whose dark eye were glory for a king? Ha! did you mark that sudden blush-that deadly paleness then

See you the knight on whom is fixed so eagerly her ken? It is the Count Alcaras,' for his Spanish crest she knew, 'But why wears he that plaited scarf-that scarf of gold and blue ?'

VII.

'I took it, lady,' boastingly, the crafty Spaniard said, From one I forced to yield beneath my more victorious blade;

He

gave it me with right good will, his life was all he sought, Too cheaply with the coward's death, so rich a prize I

bought.'

Now, by St Louis! braggart base!' fair Isabel replied, "I tell thee in thy craven teeth, that loudly thou hast lied!' Then bared she strait her snow-white hand, and down she threw her glove,

Oh! is there is any knight who here, for honour or for love,

Will make the Count Alcáras his unhallowed falsehood rue, And win me back that well-known scarf-that scarf of gold and blue ?'

VIII.

A hundred swords leaped forth at once, to do her proud behest,

A hundred lords were at her feet, a hundred spears in rest; But she has singled from them all that solitary knight Who wears his coal-black vizor down, nor yet has proved his might.

The heralds sound the onset, and they meet with deadly shock ;

The Count has fallen from his horse, the knight sits as a rock ;

But when he saw Alcaras down, he staid not on his steed,

And when he saw Alcaras' lance was shivered as a reed, Away, without one word, the knight that instant cast his

own ;

And forth he drew his glittering sword, that as a sunbeam shone,

With one fierce blow he cleft the casque the Spaniard proudly wore,

And with the next struck off the arm on which the scarf he bore!

Then thrice he kissed that well-won scarf-that scarf of gold and blue,

And raised his vizor as he knelt to her he found so true; Oh dearly was that scarf beloved by Sir Eustace D'Argencourt,

But dearer far the prize he won in Isabel D'Etours !

H. G. B.

FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

They bid me sleep-they bid me pray,

They say my brain is warped and wrung.

I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

I cannot pray in Highland tongue.—