soldier, who was all the time invisible, danced with them too; and when any of the princesses took a glass of wine, he drank it all up, so that when she put the glass to her mouth it was empty. At this, too, the youngest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always made her keep silence. They danced on till three o'clock in the morning, and by this time all their shoes were worn out, and they gave over.

The princes rowed them back again over the lake; (but this time the soldier went into the boat with the eldest princess ;) and, on the other side of the lake, they took leave of each other, promising to meet again the next night.

When they came to the stairs, the soldier ran on before the princesses, and laid himself down in his bed; and as the twelve sisters came up the steps, slowly and wearily, they heard him snoring; so they said, "Now we are quite safe; he won't hurt us." Then they undressed themselves, put away their fine clothes, placed their worn-out shoes under their beds, and laid themselves down. Next morning the soldier said nothing, for he wished to see more of this strange adventure; so he went again the second and third night, and everything took place just as before; the princesses danced till their shoes were worn out, and then returned home. However, on the third night, the soldier brought away one of the cups as a token of where he had been.

As soon as the time came when he was to tell the secret, he went to the king with the three branches and the cup, and the twelve princesses stood behind the door listening to hear what he would say. And when the king asked him, "Where do my twelve daughters wear out their shoes in dancing at night?" he said, "With twelve princes in a castle under ground."

And then he told the king all that he had seen, and showed the three branches and the cup which he had brought away as a token. Then the king called for the princesses, and asked them whether what the soldier said was true: and, when they saw that they were discovered, and that it was of no use to deny it, they said it was all true. Then the king asked the soldier which of them he would choose for his wife; and he said, "As I am getting rather old myself, I will have the oldest." And they were married that very day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king's heir; but the princes were kept enchanted for as many days as they had danced nights with the twelve princesses.

SIR ROLAND GRAEME.

THE trumpet has rung on Helvellyn side,
The bugle in Derwent vale;

And an hundred steeds came hurrying fleet,
With an hundred men in mail:

And the gathering cry, and the warning word
Was, "Fill the quiver and sharpen the sword."

And away they bound-the mountain deer
Starts at their helmets' flash :-

And away they go-the brooks call out

With a hoarse and a murmuring dash;
The foam flung from their steeds as they go
Strews all their track like the drifting snow.

What foe do they chase? for I see no foe;
And yet all spurr'd and gored:

Their good steeds fly-say, seek they work
For the fleet hound or the sword?

I see no foe-yet a foe they pursue,

With bow and brand, and horn and halloo.

Sir Richard spurs on his bonnie brown steed,
Sir Walter on his black;

There are a hundred steeds, and each

Has a Selby on its back:

And the meanest man there draws a brand
Has silver spurs and a Baron's land.

The Eden is deep in flood-lo! look
How it dashes from bank to bank!
To them it seems but the bonnie green lea,
Or the vale with brackens rank.

They brave the water, and breast the banks,
And shake the flood and foam from their flanks.

The winding and haunted Eske is nigh,

With its woodlands wild and green;

"Our steeds are white with foam; shall we wash Their flanks in the river sheen?"

But their steeds may be doom'd to a sterner task,
Before they pass the woodland Eske.

All at once they stoop on their horses' necks,
And utter a long shrill shout;

And bury their spurs in their coursers' flanks,
And pluck their bright blades out:

The spurn'd-up turf is scatter'd behind,

For they go as the hawk when he sails with the wind.

Before them not far on the lilied lea

There is a fair youth flying;
And at his side rides a lovely maid

Oft looking back and sighing:

On his basnet dances the heron's plume,

And fans the maid's cheek all of ripe rose bloom.

"Now do thy best, my bonnie grey steed,

And carry my true love over,

And thy corn shall be served in a silver dish,
And heap'd and running over-

O bear her safe through dark Eske's fords,

And leave me to cope with her kinsmen's swords!"

Proud look'd the steed, and had braved the flood,
Had it foam'd a full mile wider;

Turn'd his head in joy, and his eye seem'd to say,
I'm proud of my lovely rider :

And though Selbys stood thick as the leaves on the tree,
All scatheless I'd bear thee o'er mountain and lea.

A rushing was heard on the river banks,
Wide rung wood, rock, and linn-

And that instant an hundred horsemen at speed
Came foaming and fearless in.

"Turn back, turn back, thou Scottish loon

Let us measure our swords 'neath the light of the moon!"

An hundred horsemen leap'd lightly down,

With their silver spurs all ringing;

And drew back, as Sir Richard his good blade bared, While the signal trump kept singing:

Sir Roland Graeme down his mantle threw

With a martial smile, and his bright sword drew.

With a measuring eye and a measured pace

Nigher they came and nigher;

Then made a bound and made a blow,
And the smote helms yielded fire:
December's hail, or the thunder's blast,
Ne'er flash'd so bright, or fell so fast.

"Now yield thee, Graeme, and give me back
Lord Selby's beauteous daughter;

Else I shall sever thy head and heave't

To thy light love o'er the water."

"My sword is steel, Sir Richard, like thine,
And thy head's as loose on thy neck as mine."

And again their dark eyes flash'd, and again
They closed-on sweet Eske side,

The ring-doves sprung from their roosts, for the blows Were echoing far and wide:

Sir Richard was stark, and Sir Roland was strong;

And the combat was fierce, but it lasted not long.

There's blood upon young Roland's blade,
There's blood on Sir Richard's brand;

There's blood shower'd o'er their weeds of steel,
And rain'd on the grassy land;