Up then started the stranger knight,
Said, "Lady, be not afraid;

I'll fight for thee with this grim Soldan,
Though he be unmackly1 made?

And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sword,
That lieth within thy bower,

I trust in Christ for to slay this fiend,
Though he be stiff in stour."

"Go fetch him down the Eldridge sword,"
The king he cried, "with speed:
Now heaven assist thee, courteous knight:
My daughter is thy meed."

The giant he stepped into the lists,
And said, "Away, away:
I swear as I am the hend Soldan,
Thou lettest me here all day."

Then forth the stranger knight he came,

In his black armor dight:

The lady sighed a gentle sigh,

"That this were my true knight!"

1 [Ungainly, misshapen.]

And now the giant and knight be met Within the lists so broad;

And now with swords so sharp of steel, They gan to lay on load.

The Soldan struck the knight a stroke,
That made him reel aside :
Then woe-begone was that fair lady,
And thrice she deeply sighed.

The Soldan struck a second stroke,
And made the blood to flow:

All pale and wan was that lady fair,
And thrice she wept for woe.

The Soldan struck a third fell stroke,

Which brought the knight on his knee : Sad sorrow pierced that lady's heart,

And she shrieked loud shriekings three.

The knight he leaped upon his feet,
All reckless of the pain :

Quoth he, "But heaven be now my speed,
Or else I shall be slain."

He grasped his sword with main and might,
And spying a secret part,

He drove it into the Soldan's side,
And pierced him to the heart.

Then all the people gave a shout,
When they saw the Soldan fall:
The lady wept and thanked Christ
That rescued her from thrall.

And now the king with all his barons,
Rose up from off his seat,

And down he stepped into the lists.

That courteous knight to greet.

But he, for pain and lack of blood,

Was fallen into a swoon,

And there all weltering in his gore,
Lay lifeless on the ground.

"Come down, come down, my daughter dear Thou art a leech of skill;

Far liever had I lose half my lands,

Than this good knight should spill."1

Down then stepped that fair lady,
To help him if she may:

But when she did his beaver raise, "It is my life, my lord," she says,

And shrieked and swooned away.

Sir Cauline just lift up his eyes,
When he heard his lady cry:

"O lady, I am thine own true love;
For thee I wished to die."

But when she found her comely knight
Indeed was dead and gone,

She laid her pale cold cheek to his,
And thus she made her moan:

"O stay, my dear and only lord,
For me, thy faithful fere;

'Tis meet that I should follow thee,

Who hast bought my life so dear."

Then fainting in a deadly swoon,
And with a deep-fette sigh,
That burst her gentle heart in twain,
Fair Christabel did die.

This old romantic tale was preserved in the Editor's folio MS., but in so very defective and mutilated a condition (not from any chasm in the MS., but from great omission in the transcript, probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel), that it was necessary to supply several stanzas in the first part, and still more in the second,1 to connect and complete the story in

[In point of fact Percy has "supplied" nearly the whole of the Second Part, and in such a way that one can scarcely restrain a sense of outrage against the good Bishop; for the original, in the Folio, is wholly different in tone and result; the knight Sir Cauline is set upon by a lion, which has been let loose with treacherous intent against the knight's life by a false steward, but conquers the beast by