hat he
sent him reeling from his saddle, and with a hollow groan he fell
senseless on the ground; but time will not permit an account of each
separate combat of that far-famed tournament.

Six valiant Knights did Saint David meet, each of whom was vanquished by
his arm. At length, the only son and heir of the Emperor, seeing that
no more worthy antagonist could be found, and willing to retrieve the
disgrace he conceived his countrymen had received, entered the lists,
and bravely challenged the Champion of Wales. The heart of the gallant
Saint David bounded at the thought of engaging in so noble a contest as
that with the Emperor's son, and he declared himself ready to commence
the course whenever it was the pleasure of the noble prince to meet his
lance.

"No time like the present, Sir Knight," replied the gallant Tartar, who
was arrayed in armour of rare and curious workmanship, studded all over
with gold and precious gems.

"It were a pity to slay so brave a prince," thought Saint David; "yet
for the honour of my country, than which no nobler exists, as also for
my own, than whom no..." (what Saint David thought need not be
repeated). "If he presses me it must be done."

The trumpets sounded, the steeds sprang forward, the ground trembled
beneath their feet, clouds of dust arose in the air; terrific was the
shock, but both Knights kept their seats, though both were sorely
pressed. Again they charged, with a like result. A third time they
met, and Saint David felt that he was reeling in his saddle; but
recovering himself by a mighty effort, he prepared for another and more
desperate encounter. Little wotted the proud son of the great Emperor
of all the Tartars with what a doughty Champion he had to contend;
little thought he of the gallant heroes that far-distant land of Cambria
was able to produce. Shaking his spear, he shouted loudly to Saint
David to prepare himself for an overthrow. The Welsh Knight only
grasped his own spear the tighter in consequence, and pressed his knees
the firmer against his charger's sides.

"And the Prince expects that he is going to throw my master, does he?"
observed the faithful Owen. "Let him beware of Saint David; I may tell
him he has borne down to the ground twelve as good men as he is, with
one thrust of his lance, before now."

The trumpets sounded, and the Tartar Prince and the Champion of Wales
met in the middle of the lists. Terrific was the encounter; the spea