ord fell,
Down to the depths of hell,
Thousands of Dacians went.

* * * * *

"Oh Thou, where'er, thy bones at rest,
Thy sprite to haunt delighteth best,
Whether upon the blood-embrued plain--
Or where thou ken'st from far,
The dismal cry of war,
_Or see'st some mountain made of corses slain,_

"Or see'st the war-clad steed
That prances o'er the mead,
And neighs to be among the pointed spears--
Or in black armour stalk around
Embattled Bristol, once thy ground,
Or haunt with lurid glow the castle stairs,

"Or, fiery, round the Minster glare!
Let Bristol still be made thy care;
Guard it from foeman and consuming fire;
Like Avon's stream embrace it round,
Nor let a sparkle harm the ground,
Till in one flame the total world expire."

The quatrains entitled Lydgate's answer, are amply complimentary on the
foregoing song, but otherwise as prosaic as the lines that introduce it.

* * * * *

"Among the Grecians Homer was
A poet much renown'd;
Among the Latins _Virgilius_
Was best of poets found.

"The British Merlin often had
The gift of inspiration;
And Afled to the Saxon men
Did sing with animation.

"In Norman times Turgotus and
Good Chaucer did excel;
Then Stowe, the Bristol Carmelite,
Did bear away the bell.

"Now Rowley, in these murky days,
Sends out his shining lights,
And Turgotus and Chaucer live
In every line he writes."

The next is the Tournament, an interlude. Sir Simon de Burton, its hero,
is supposed to have been the first founder, in accomplishment of a vow
made on the occasion, of a church dedicated to _Our Lady_, in the place
where the church of St Mary Redcliff now stands. There is life and force
in the details of this tourney; and the songs of the minstrel are good,
especially the first, which is a gallant hunting stave in honour of
William the Red King, who hunts the stag, the wolf, and "the _lion_
brought from sultry lands." The sentiment conveyed in the burden of this
spirited chorus sounds oddly considerate, as the command issued by
William Rufus:--

"Go, rouse the lion from his hidden den,
Let thy darts drink the blood of any thing but men."

To the paternity of the next in order--the Brist