 wassail,« he added, gravely casting up his eyes - »all the
fault of wine and wassail! - I told Allan-a-Dale, the northern minstrel, that he
would damage the harp if he touched it after the seventh cup, but he would not
be controlled - Friend, I drink to thy successful performance.«
    So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the same time shaking
his head at the intemperance of the Scottish harper.
    The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings into some order, and
after a short prelude, asked his host whether he would choose a sirvente in the
language of oc, or a lai in the language of oui, or a virelai, or a ballad in
the vulgar English.23
    »A ballad, a ballad,« said the hermit, »against all the ocs and ouis of
France. Downright English am I, Sir Knight, and downright English was my patron
Saint Dunstan, and scorned oc and oui, as he would have scorned the parings of
the devil's hoof - downright English alone shall be sung in this cell.«
    »I will essay, then,« said the knight, »a ballad composed by a Saxon
glee-man, whom I knew in Holy Land.«
    It speedily appeared, that if the knight was not a complete master of the
minstrel art, his taste for it had at least been cultivated under the best
instructors. Art had taught him to soften the faults of a voice which had little
compass, and was naturally rough rather than mellow, and, in short, had done all
that culture can do in supplying natural deficiencies. His performance,
therefore, might have been termed very respectable by abler judges than the
hermit, especially as the knight threw into the notes now a degree of spirit,
and now of plaintive enthusiasm, which gave force and energy to the verses which
he sung.
 

                             The Crusader's Return.

                                       1.
 
High deeds achieved of knightly fame,
From Palestine the champion came;
The cross upon his shoulders borne,
Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn.
Each dint upon his batter'd shield
Was token of a foughten field;
And thus, beneath his lady's bower,
He sung, as fell the twilight hour: -
 
                                       2.
 
»Joy to the fair! - thy knight behold,
Return'd from yonder land of gold;
No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need,
Save his good arms and battle-steed;
His spurs, to dash against a foe,
His lance
