Medyl erth you sall not se.
Alas he seyd, ful wo is me,

I trow my dedes will werke me care,
Jesu my sole tak to ye,

Whedir so euyr my body sal fare.
She rode furth with all her myzt,
Undir nethe the derne lee,
It was as derke as at midnyzt,
And euyr in water unto the kne;
Through the space of days thre,
He herde but swowyng of a flode;
Thomas sayd, ful wo is me,
Nowe I spyll for fawte of fode;
To a garden she lede him tyte,
There was fruyte in grete plente,
Peyres and appless ther were rype,
The date and the damese,

The figge and als fylbert tre;

The nyghtyngale bredyng in her neste,
The papigaye about gan fle,

The throstylcock sang wold hafe no rest.
He pressed to pulle fruyt with his hand

As man for faute that was faynt;
She seyd, Thomas lat al stand,
Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt.
Sche said, Thomas I the hyzt,
To lay thi hede upon my kne,
And thou shalt see fayrer syght,
Than euyr sawe man in their kintre.
Sees thou, Thomas, yon fayr way,
That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn?
Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay,
Whan synful sawles haf derayed their payne.

Sees thou, Thomas, yone secund way,

That lygges lawe undir the ryse?

Streight is the way sothly to say,

To the joyes of paradyce.

Sees thou, Thomas, yone thyrd way,
That ligges ouyr yone how?
Wide is the way sothly to say,
To the brynyng fyres of heil.

Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayre castell,
That standes ouyr yone fayr hill?

Of town and tower it beereth the belle,
In middell erth is non like theretill.
Whan thou comyst in yone castell gaye

I

pray thu curteis man to be;

What so any man to you say,
Soke thu answer non but me.
My lord is servyd at yche messe,
With xxx kniztes feir and fre;
I sall say syttyng on the dese,
I toke thy speche beyonde the le.
Thomas stode as still as stone,

And behelde that ladye gaye;

Than was sche fayr and ryche anone,

And also ryal on hir palfreye.

The grewhoundes had fylde them on the dere,

The ratches coupled, by my fay,

She blewe her horn Thomas to chere,

To the castell she went her way.

The lady into the hall went,
Thomas folowyd at her hand;
Thar kept hyr mony a lady gent,

With curtasy and lawe.

Harp and fedyl both he fande,

The getern and the sawtry,

Lut and rybib ther gon gang,
Thair was al maner of mynstralsy.
The most fertly that Thomas thoght,

When he com emyddes the flore,
Fourty hertes to quarry were broght,
That had ben befor both long and store.
Lymors lay lappyng blode,

And kokes stondyng with dressyng knyfe,
And dressyd dere as thai wer wode,
And rewell was thair wonder

Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre,
All that leue long day.

Ladyes that were gret of gre,

Sat and sang of rych aray.

Thomas sawe much more in that place,

Than I can descryve,

Til on a day alas, alas,

My lovelye ladye sayd to me,

Busk ye Thomas you must agayn,
Here you may no longer be:

Hy then zerne that you were at hame,
I sal ye bryng to Eldyn Tre.
Thomas answerd with heuy cher,
And sayd, lowely ladye lat ma be,

For I say ye certenly here

Haf I be bot the space of dayés three.

Sothly Thomas as I telle ye,

You hath ben here thre yeres,

And here you may no longer be;
And I sal tele ye a skele,

To-morowe of helle ye foule fende
Amang our folke shall chuse his fee;
For you art a larg man and an hende,
Trowe you wele he will chuse thee.
Fore all the golde that may be,
Fro hens unto the worldes ende,
Sal you not be betrayed for me,
And thairfor sall you hens wend.
She broght hym euyn to Eldon tre,
Undir nethe the grene wode spray,
In Huntle bankes was fayr to be,
Ther breddes syng both nyzt and day.

Ferre ouyr yon montayns gray,

Ther hathe my facon;

Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way.

[The elfin queen, after restoring Thomas to earth, pours forth a string of prophecies, in which we distinguish references to the events and personages of the Scottish wars of Edward III. The battles of Duplin and Halidon are mentioned, and also Black Agnes, countess of Dunbar. There is a copy of this poem in the museum in the cathedral of Lincoln, another in the collection in Peterborough; but unfortunately they are all in an imperfect state. Mr Jamieson, in his curious collection of Popular Ballads and Songs, lately published, has an entire copy of this ancient poem, with all the collations. The lacuna of the former edition have been supplied from his copy.]

THOMAS THE RHYMER,

PART SECOND.

ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES

THE prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Ercildoune, have been the principal means of securing to him remembrance " amongst the sons of his people." The author of Sir Tristrem would long ago have joined, in the vale of oblivion, "Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventures of "Schir Gawain," if, by good hap, the same current of ideas respecting antiquity, which causes Virgil to be regarded as a magician by the lazaroni of Naples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoune to the prophetic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself affected it during his life. We know, at least, for certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge was current soon after his death.