and deeper until two miles beyond the
village it ran into the beautiful river Tweed. And to-day the
ruins of an old tower are visited by many folk who have heard
that it was once the home of the ancient harpist.

Thomas of Ercildoune, Thomas the Rhymer, and True Thomas were
thus only different names for one marvellous man who sang and
played, never told an untruth, and who, moreover, was able to
tell beforehand events that were going to take place.

Listen, and I will tell you how Thomas of Ercildoune came to
visit Elfland.

It was one beautiful May morning that Thomas felt something
stirring in his heart. Spring had come, spring was calling to
him. He could stay no longer in the grim tower on the banks of
the Leader. He would away, away to the woods where the thrush and
the jay were singing, where the violets were peeping forth with
timid eyes, where the green buds were bursting their bonds for
very joy.

Thomas hastened to the woods and threw himself down by the bank
of a little brook.

Ah yes! spring has come. How the little birds sing, how the
gentle breezes whisper! Yet listen! what is it Thomas hears
beyond the song of the birds, the whisper of the breeze?

On the air floats the sound of silver bells. Thomas raises his
head. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle! The sound draws nearer, clearer. It
is music such as one might hear in Elfland.

Beyond the wood, over the lonely moors, rode a lady. So fair a
lady had Thomas never seen.

Her palfrey was dapple-grey and she herself shone as the summer
sun. Her saddle was of pure ivory, bright with many precious
stones and hung with cloth of richest crimson.

The girths of her saddle were of silk and the buckles were each
one a beryl. Her stirrups of clear crystal and adorned with
pearls hung ready for her fairy feet. The trappings of her
palfrey were of finest embroidery, her bridle was a chain of
gold.

From the palfrey's mane hung little silver bells, nine-and-fifty
little silver bells. It was the fairy music of the bells that had
reached the ears of Thomas as he lay dreaming on the bank of the
little brook.

The lady's skirt was green, green as the leaves of spring, her
cloak was of fine velvet. Her long black hair hung round her as a
veil, and her brow was adorned with gems.

By her side were seven greyhounds, other seven she led by a
leash. From her neck hung a horn and in her belt was thrust a
sheath of arrows.

It seemed as though the lady gay were on her