Thus farewell, most gallant captain!
Farewell too my heart's content!
Count not Spanish ladies wanton,

Though to thee my love was bent:
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee!'

'The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladie.'

['It was a tradition in the West of England,' says Percy, that the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gentleman of the Popham family, and that her picture, with the pearl necklace mentioned in the ballad, was, not many years ago, preserved at Littlecot, near Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable family. Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the subject of this ballad; who married Margaret, daughter of Charles, Earl of Nottingham; and was eminently distinguished as a naval officer and commander, in all the expeditions against the Spaniards, in the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that to Cadiz, in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhampton church.' In the Edinburgh Review, No. 168, April, 1846, the writer, speaking of the uncertainty there is about both the traditions relative to the supposed actors in the scene of this ballad, as given by Percy, says, 'Had the necklace been still extant, the preference would have been due to Littlecot; but, as that piece of evidence had disappeared before Percy's time, we own we incline to prefer the claim of the Admiral to that of the gentleman of the Popham family." This produced a letter, which appeared in The Times' of April 30th, 1846, in which the writer, who signs himself Charles Lee,' and dates from 'Coldrey, Hants,' affirms that 'the necklace is still extant, in the possession of a member of my family, and in the house from whence I write.' 'The hero,' he goes on to say, 'of this beautiful ballad was my ancestor, Sir John Bolle, of Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire, of most ancient and loyal family, and father of that Col. Bolle, who fell in Alton Church, whilst fighting against the rebels, in December, 1643. Of the truth of this I am prepared to give to the curious in these matters the most abundant evidence.' Mr. Lee then refers to Illingworth's Topographical Account of Scampton, with Anecdotes of the Family of Bolles,' in which work it is stated, he says, that 'the portrait of Sir John, drawn in 1596, at the age of 36 years, having on the gold chain given him by the Spanish lady, &c., is still in the possession of his descendant, Captain Birch.' 'That portrait,' says Mr. Lee, 'is now in the possession of Captain Birch's successor, Thomas Bosvill Bosvill, Esq., of Ravenfield Park, Yorkshire, and may be seen by any one.' Mr. Lee then adds, from Illingworth, On Sir John Bolle's departure from Cadiz, the Spanish lady sent, as presents to his wife, a profusion of jewels and other valuables, amongst which was her portrait, drawn in green, plate, money, and other treasure. Some articles are still in the possession of the family, though her picture was unfortunately, and by accident, disposed of about half a century since. This portrait being drawn in green, gave occasion to her being called in the neighbourhood of Thorpe Hall, the green lady,' where, to this day, there is a traditionary superstition among the vulgar, that Thorpe Hall was haunted by the green lady, who used nightly to take her seat in a particular tree near the mansion.' Mr. Lee concludes his interesting letter, by mentioning, that in Illingworth there is a long and full account of the Spanish lady, and the ballad given at length.'

The ballad would appear to have been always popular; and, like 'The Nut-Brown Maid,' has found imitators among more modern poets. The reader of Shenstone, if, indeed, 'in these degenerate days' he have any readers, will remember the Moral Tale, as he calls it, entitled 'Love and Honour,' in which, to use his own words, he brought out the Spanish Ladye and her Knight' in less grovelling accents than the simple guise of ancient record;' while no one --for who does not read him ?--will require to be reminded of Wordsworth's Armenian Lady's Love,' in which he has been eloquently said (Ed. Rev.) to have imitated 'the purity of sentiment, the expressive transitions of dialogue, and the peculiar melody of versification,' of 'The Spanish Lady's Love.']

Sir Hugh le Blond.

[From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.'-' This ballad,' says Sir Walter, 'is a northern composition, and seems to have been the original of the legend called Sir Aldingar, which is printed in the Reliques of Antient Poetry. The names of Aldingar and Rodingham approach near to each other in sound, though not in orthography, and the one might, by reciters, be easily substituted for the other. I think I have seen both the name and the story in an ancient prose chronicle, but am unable to make any reference in support of my belief. The tradition upon which the ballad is founded, is universally current in the Mearns; and the editor is informed that, till very lately, the sword with which Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended the life and honour of the queen, was carefully preserved by his descendants, the viscounts of Arbuthnot.

'I was favoured with the following copy of Sir Hugh le Blond by K. Williamson Burnet, Esq. of Monboddo, who wrote it down from the recitation of an old woman, long in the service of the Arbuthnot family. Of course the diction is very much humbled, and it has, in all probability, undergone many corruptions; but its antiquity is indubitable, and the story, though indifferently told, is in itself interesting. It is believed that there have been many more verses.']

THE birds sang sweet as ony bell,
The world had not their make,
The queen she's gone to her chamber,
With Rodingham to talk.

'I love you well, my queen, my dame
'Bove land and rents so clear,
And for the love of you, my queen,
Would thole pain most severe.'

If well you love me, Rodingham,
I'm sure so I do thee:

I love you well as any man,

Save the king's fair bodye.'

'I love you well, my queen, my dame;
'Tis truth that I do tell:

And for to lye a night with you,

The salt seas I would sail.'

'Away, away, O Rodingham!
You are both stark and stoor;
Would you defile the king's own bed,
And make his queen a whore?

To-morrow you'd be taken sure,
And like a traitor slain;
And I'd be burned at a stake,

Although I be the queen.'

He then stepp'd out at her room-door,
All in an angry mood;
Until he met a leper-man,
Just by the hard way-side.

He intoxicate the leper-man

With liquors very sweet;

And gave him more and more to drink, Until he fell asleep.

He took him in his arms two,

And carried him along,

Till he came to the queen's own bed,
And there he laid him down.

He then stepp'd out of the queen's bower,
As swift as any roe,

Till he came to the very place
Where the king himself did go.

The king said unto Rodingham,
'What news have you to me?'
He said, 'Your queen's a false woman,
As I did plainly see.'

He hasten'd to the queen's chamber,
So costly and so fine,

Until he came to the queen's own bed,
Where the leper-man was lain.

He looked on the leper-man,
Who lay on his queen's bed;
He lifted up the snaw-white sheets,
And thus he to him said:

'Plooky, plooky, are your cheeks
And plooky is your chin,
And plooky are your arms two
My bonnie queen's layne in.

'Since she has lain into your arms,

She shall not lye in mine;

Since she has kiss'd your ugsome mouth, She never shall kiss mine.'

In anger he went to the queen,

Who fell upon her knee;

He said, 'You false, unchaste woman,

305

The queen then turn'd herself about,
The tear blinded her e'e-

'There's not a knight in a' your court
Dare give that name to me.'

He said, "Tis true that I do say;
For I a proof did make:

You shall be taken from my bower,
And burned at a stake.

'Perhaps I'll take my word agai
And may repent the same,
If that you'll get a Christian mar
To fight that Rodingham.'

'Alas! alas!' then cried our queen,

'Alas, and woe to me!

There's not a man in all Scotland
Will fight with him for me.'

She breathed unto her messengers,
Sent them south, east, and west;
They could find none to fight with him,
Nor enter the contest.

She breathed on her messengers,

She sent them to the north;

And there they found Sir Hugh le Blond,
To fight him he came forth.

When unto him they did unfold
The circumstance all right,
He bade them go and tell the queen,
That for her he would fight.

The day came on that was to do
That dreadful tragedy;

Sir Hugh le Blond was not come up
To fight for our lady.

'Put on the fire,' the monster said;

'It is twelve on the bell!'

"Tis scarcely ten, now,' said the king;
'I heard the clock mysel'.'

Before the hour the queen is brought,
The burning to proceed;

In a black velvet chair she's set,
A token for the dead.

She saw the flames ascending high,
The tears blinded her e'e:

Where is the worthy knight,' she said,
'Who is to fight for me?'

Then up and spake the king himsel',
'My dearest have no doubt,
For yonder comes the man himsel',
As bold as e'er set out.'

They then advanced to fight the duel
With swords of temper'd steel,
Till down the blood of Rodingham
Came running to his heel.

Sir Hugh took out a lusty sword,
'Twas of the metal clear;
And he has pierced Rodingham
Till's heart-blood did appear.

'Confess your treachery, now,' he said,
This day before you die!'

'I do confess my treachery,

I shall no longer lye:

'I like to wicked Haman am,

This day I shall be slain.'

The queen was brought to her chamber,
A good woman again.

The

queen then said unto the king, 'Arbattle's near the sea,

Give it unto the northern knight,

That this day fought for me.'

Then said the king, 'Come here, sir knight,
And drink a glass of wine;

And, if Arbattle's not enough,
To it we'll Fordoun join.'