His garb it was of fourfold hue, Into the hall walk'd little Roland, On a golden dish he laid his hand, And silent forth he strode. "What may this mean?" our good king thought; "It passes, by my fay!" But since the deed he question'd not, None else said Roland nay. There did but pass a little space, Ere back came Roland bold; He sped to the king with hasty pace, And seized his cup of gold. "Now out and hold, thou urchin bold!" And dared him with his eye. The king frown'd awhile, but soon must he smile, And mirthsome wax'd his mood: "Thou tread'st as bold in our hall of gold As in thy good green wood. "Thou bearest a dish from a royal board Like an apple from the tree; Thou fetchest, as though from the streamlet's flow, My wine so red to see.” "The peasant girl drinks of the running stream, The apple she breaks from the tree; But venison and lamprey my mother beseem, "Now an thy mother so noble be, "And who may be sewer to carve at her board, And who may bear her cup ?" "My right hand is sewer to carve at her board, My left hand bears her cup." "And pr'ythee, who may her warders be?" "My little eyen so blue;" "And who may be her minstrel free?" "My mouth of the rosy hue." "A goodly train hath thy fair ladye, "In every quarter of the town,' Eight boys this arm o'erthrew, And they brought to me, for liegeman's fee, "A gallant page hath thy dame I ween, A better there could not be: I trow she is some beggar-quec1, Gramercy, 'twere shame so noble a dame So rise, three ladies! rise, three knights! Forth from the hall went little Roland, And bore the golden prize. At the royal word, three knights from the board, The king he tarried a little space, He fix'd his eye, and loud 'gan cry, Help, heaven! My sister Bertha, pale, Help, heaven! in this our royal hall, Dame Bertha at his footstool fell, That ladye meek and mild; Still seem'd that feud his heart to swell, He stared on her so wild. Dame Bertha that look could scarcely brook, Young Roland raised his eyes and gazed, And hail'd his uncle free. Then spake the king in gentlest tone, Dame Bertha rose, o'ercome with joy: Shall, like his king, uprear his helm "Shall tear from many a royal board FROM GERMAN BALLADS." N.B. Madame Bertha, sister of the Emperor Charlemagne, having, contrary to the wish of her royal brother, married the Chevalier Milon, was obliged to quit the palace of her ancestors, and follow her husband. Misfortune overtook the unhappy pair. In fording a river the current carried Milon away, and he was drowned; and Bertha was left alone with her sorrows, and her little son Roland. Exiled and homeless, she took up her abode at last in a grotto, formed in a large rock, near Aix-la-Chapelle. The Marriage Bells. WHEN folks with headstrong passion blind, A dame more buxom, blithe, and free, And,-what was more her fate than blame, |