Butt, euermore, to your dyinge hower,

Remembere, whate'er befalle,

Keepe free your hartes from the foule fiende's power,
And your heddes from newe mortared-walle.

Thenne of Alle Deuiles' Daye thys the storye is,
And of Alle Deuiles' Halle lykewyse;

A wonderous tale, yett soe trewe ytt is,
That noe bodye it denyes.

[Stanza 7. Good Kynge Harrye'- Henry VIII.-whom the ordinary reader may, perhaps, not at once recognise under that epithet.

St. 7.

Angels'-metallic currency, not spirits of another world.

St. 9. Ribaulderie'-a sort of converse much in use among the soldiers of the Pays des Ribauds; desultory troops under the command of the Duke of Burgundy in the holy wars.-Du Cange.

St. 15. Despaire of heuen'- Que faut-il faire pour dissiper l'ennuie ? C'est le mois de Novembre. Il fait mauvais temps-temps de brouillards. Que faut-il faire pour dissiper l'ennuie? Les Anglois se pendent. Que fautil faire, dis-je, pour dissiper l'ennuie? Il faut boire du ponche !-Almanach des Gourmands."]

Forth at its sound, from his stately hall,
Hath the Lord of Lambton come,
With knight and squire in rich attire,
Page, seneschal, and groom.

The white-hair'd peasant and his dame,
Have left their woodland cot;
Children of toil and poverty,

Their cares and toil forgot.

And buxom youth and bashful maid,
In holiday array,

Thro' verdant glade and greenwood shade,
To Brigford bend their way.

And soon within its sacred dome
Their wandering steps are stayed;
The bell is rung, the mass is sung,
And the solemn prayer is prayed.

But why did Lambton's youthful heir,
Not mingle with the throng?
And why did he not bend his knee,
Nor join in the holy song?

O, Lambton's heir is a wicked man!
Alike in word and deed;

He makes a jest of psalm and priest,
Of the Ave and the Creed.

He loves the fight, he loves the chase;
He loves each kind of sin;

But the holy church, from year to year,
He is not found within.

And Lambton's heir, at the matin prayer,
Or the vesper, is not seen;
And on this day of rest and peace

He hath donned his coat of green;

And with his creel slung on his back,
His light rod in his hand,

Down by the side of the shady Wear
He took his lonely stand.

There was no sound but the rushing stream,

The little birds were still,

As if they knew that Lambton's heir,

Was doing a deed of ill.

735

Many a salmon and speckled trout
Through the quiet waters glide;
But they all sought the deepest pools,
Their golden scales to hide.

The soft west wind just rippled the brook, And the clouds flew gently by,

And gleamed the sun,-'twas a lovely day
To the eager fisher's eye.

He threw his line, of the costly twine,
Across the gentle stream;
Upon its top the dun-flies drop
Lightly as childhood's dream.

Again, again, but all in vain,
In the shallow or the deep;
No trout rose to his cunning bait ;
He heard no salmon leap.

And now he wandered east the stream,
And now he wandered west;

He sought each bank or hanging bush,
Which fishes love the best.

But vain was all his skilful art;
Vain was each deep disguise;
Vain was alike the varied bait,
And vain the mimic flies.

When, tired and vexed, the castle bell,

Rung out the hour of dine,

"Now," said the Lambton's youthful heir,

"A weary lot is mine.

For six long hours, this April morn,

My line in vain I've cast;

But one more throw; come weal come wo, For this shall be the last."

He took from his bag a maggot worm,
That bait of high renown;

His line is wheeled quickly through the air,
Then sunk in the water down.

When he drew it out, his ready hand

With no quivering motion shook, For neither salmon, trout nor ged, Had fastened on his hook.

But a little thing, a strange formed thing,
Like a piece of muddy weed;

But like no fish that swims the stream,
Nor ought that crawls the mead.

'Twas scarce an inch and a half in length,
Its colour the darkest green;
And on its rough and scaly back
Two little fins were seen.

It had a long and pointed snout,
Like the mouth of the slimy eel,
And its white and loosely hanging jaws,
Twelve pin-like teeth reveal.

It had sharp claws upon its feet,
Short ears upon its head,

A jointed tail, and quick bright eyes,
That gleamed of a fiery red.

"Art thou the prize," said the weary wight,
66 For which I have spent my time ;
For which I have toil'd till the hour of noon,
Since rang the matin chime?"

From the side of the dell, a crystal wel

Sends its waters bubbling by;

"Rest there, thou ugly tiny elf,

Either to live or die."

He threw it in, and when next he came,

He saw, to his surprise,

It was a foot and a half in length;

It had grown so much in size.

And its wings were long, far-stretched and strong. And redder were its eyes.

THE CURSE.

But Lambton's heir is an altered man;
At the church on bended knee,
Three times a day he was wont to pray;
And now he's beyond the sea.

He has done penance for his sins,
He has drank of a sainted well,

He has joined the band from the Holy Land